The Wanderer of the North

Chapters

1. The Exilarch: Part 1. A Quaint Northern Homestead
1. The Exilarch: Part 2. The Calm Waters
1. The Exilarch: Part 3. Innocence Lost
2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 1. Irredeemable
2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 2. Warmth in Winter's Chill
2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 3. Poneva
2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 4. The Wintermail
2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 5. An Old Friend
2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 6. The Dragoness
3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 1. The Minotaur
3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 2. The Mountain-borne Keep
3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 3. The Prince of Canterlot
3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 4. A Soot-Covered Queen
3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 5. The Ways of the Sword and Quill
3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 6. The Alicorns' Lament
3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 7. Reconciliation
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 1. After All These Years
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 3. The Battle of Windhock Vale
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 4. The Downfallen
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 5. The Congress of Lords
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 6. Venerable Arts
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 7. The Journey West
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 8. Where the Monsters Dwell
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 9. A Different Sort of Cruelty
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 10. Forward
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 11. Call the Banners!
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 12. Ruin and Wrath
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 13. Inspiration
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 14. Aristeia
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 15. The Everfree
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 16. Scepter and Sword
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 17. Undone
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 18. Taking Charge
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 20. Celestia and Luna
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 2. The Royal Sisters
4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 19. The Battle for Equestria

1. The Exilarch: Part 1. A Quaint Northern Homestead

1. The Exilarch: Part 1. A Quaint Northern Homestead

Many stained glass windows adorned the halls of Canterlot Castle, each depicting mighty and ancient events in the Kingdom's long history. In recent years, however, several more were commissioned, honoring the efforts of a band of very special ponies. To the Ruler of Day, Princess Celestia, those six seemed to have been sent to fulfill a promise; a promise made long ago.

Advancing down the giant corridor, the solar mare traveled further and further into the past. At the far end were placed the oldest windows of all. They were warped and uneven, a relic of the days before glass making had been perfected. These particular ones existed perhaps a millennium or two before even the white alicorn took up residence within the castle. As impossible as it seemed to most, Celestia had not witnessed ten-thousand years pass by.

She was mortal, and had not always roamed the Earth.

Deeper and deeper within the Castle, the Princess came to a small chamber very much hidden from most ponies; not because of secrecy, but rather most had no knowledge of it or the desire to go there. Inside was a small altar, beautifully gilded and crafted with fanciful sculptures of all sorts of creatures. Upon the altar were fragrant candles and bundles of incense.

Admiring the scent, Celestia approached a small font of water, and removed the golden slippers from her hooves. Washing her feet, the alicorn then took off the rest of her regalia. Normally unseen under her golden collar, Celestia wore a finely crafted silver necklace bearing a strange symbol. Bowing before the altar, the Ruler of Equestria humbled herself for the sake of some unseen thing. Uttering a prayer in a tongue long forgotten, Celestia shed a few tears before rising up a few minutes later.

Redressing herself with the regalia, the Princess left the chamber, and closed its wooden doors quietly. Celestia mentioned this ritual very seldom and only then to close confidants. One such pony would arrive very soon, by her reckoning. Today was very special.

The Princess had finished all of the day's chores. To many, the burden of running a great kingdom for a thousand years was a duty reserved for her kind. To them, no challenge could try the divine. And while true, Celestia would not dare place herself in that camp.

But she had learned to efficiently and effectively manage her country with the same diligence for all these years. Though appearing as a stoic and stern, but kind and benevolent figure, deep down Celestia treasured her scant free time by innocent pranks and games. Her sister and niece were well aware of this side of the alabaster mare. And one of her favorite things to do was tell stories.

Once again in the main hall of the Castle, Princess Celestia observed the day guard giving their posts to the night watch. Among those leaving was a small light blue filly, her mane a deep purple. The little pony was not bearing a cutie mark, and trotted next to a much larger stallion.

Brazen Shield, a senior officer of the Royal Guard, was being accompanied by his young daughter. Admiring the impeccable polish of his golden armor, Celestia approached the stallion, smiling in her quiet, motherly fashion.

"Lieutenant Shield, thank you for your services today. Have a safe trip home."

"Of course, Majesty. It's my pleasure," he gave a slight bow, inciting his daughter to do the same.

Shifting her gaze to the filly, Celestia leaned in closer, "And who is this little one?"

The tiny pony smiled with exuberant energy. "My name's Twinkling Star! Daddy showed me all sorts of things today! But he never said you'd be so...big!" the little filly said, standing in the kind of awe and wonder that only a child could experience.

Celestia laughed to herself, finding the pony just simply adorable, "I hope to see you around here real soon, My Little Pony."

"Okee dokee! This was sooo much fun!" she sprung onto the back of her father, "You're the best daddy ever!"

Brazen Shield was heart-warmed at this, and continued on, "Come on, Twinkle. How about we stop and get some ice cream?" As Celestia went her own way, the distant cheering of that filly resonated in the hall.

But a feeling of sadness, however small, still caught the alicorn. Then a happy thought came: she had the greatest father in the world. A muted grin curled upon her face.

Walking up the staircase of her personal tower, Celestia rose up the levels until she reached the very top. Acknowledging the saluting guards standing beside her door, the Princess then conjured her magic to open the only thing separating her from what awaited inside.

Within this "penthouse" was a very eager-looking winged unicorn, albeit much smaller and younger than her. Overcome with joy, Celestia rushed in and embraced her most faithful student. Towering over this lavender pony, Celestia took off her regalia for the second time and placed them a shelf.

Celestia then noticed a hefty tome beside her student, as of yet unfilled. Smiling in approval, the Princess unfurled her wing and placed it on Twilight Sparkle.

"I see you've come prepared."

"I want to write down every word, so future generations will know the real Princess Celestia."

Celestia had invited her dear student to a slumber party of sorts, in order to tell a story never before revealed. Looking at a sword hanging on the wall, the Princess sighed.

"You asked me so many questions that night, but you have so many more. A pony of your curiosity is not a common thing," looking back at Twilight, Celestia rested on a large cushion. Using her magic to tend the fire roaring beside her, she continued, "What have you been able to find about the Fall of Equestria, or its first Kings?"

"Not much. A few passing mentions in scattered books. It says most of the history has been lost, and nopony really knows what it was like. Why is that?"

"It's very complicated," placing the fire poker back on the rack and closing the fence, Celestia opened the tome and dipped the quill in ink for Twilight, "Then let's start there."

Wide-eyed, Twilight awaited the first word to come from Celestia's mouth.

"The Dark Ages. A series of weak kings and devastating wars sapped Equestria of her resources, and eventually our enemies overran us. There was once a city that served as the capital, wrought in marble and thought impenetrable for many hundreds of years."

"Where is this city?" Twilight asked, mentally envisioning a map of Equestria.

"Gone. It was leveled to the ground. Not since its destruction has a pony inhabited its ruins. It was located in the north, and only a few stones remain of its splendor. The northern half of Equestria nowadays is a steadily growing place. During the Fall, all ponies living there were wiped out or driven southwards."

"What became of the southern part?"

"At first, there was hope. King Vasílion, named in Equestrian ‘Thunderhoof the Valiant’, was a strong warrior. It was said every time he struck the ground, it would shake and drive his enemies back to whence they came. His slaying served only to instill vengeance in his people. Great nobles convened in the fortress of Canterlot, and elected a new King. They defeated the invaders...but the damage had been done."

"But, with victory and a new king, how could Equestria fall?" already a full page had been covered in ink.

"The Bloodline of the Alicorns was broken, and many did not see the new ruler as legitimate. A simple look at history will tell us what happens next. Without strong central power, local landlords carved out their own realms. Bloody wars were fought to preserve the Kingdom, but ultimately they failed. Splintered and drained, Equestria was reduced to warring princedoms. The great expanses of the Western March were abandoned. Knowledge of those lands west of the mountains was lost, and the Buffalo came to roam by the hundreds of thousands.

"The East held the greatest concentration of cities and ponies, as it does today. As time wore on, more died in wars, plagues, and famines. The frontier of civilization kept eroding, and the wilderness overtook empty farms and towns." Celestia gave Twilight a sly smile, "But I'm sure you want to hear the part where I come in."

Nodding with stars in her eyes, Twilight dipped her quill once more, "I can see it now; the epic tale of a courageous Princess uniting Equestria under her royal banner! Ponies will be flocking to bookstores to read it!"

The Princess chuckled, feeling quite flattered, "That would be a highly romanticized version of the story. The Reunification was a lengthy and arduous process."

"I remember from history class that only from Year One is anything conclusive. Everything that happened before that must be inferred from fragments, foreign sources, and legends."

"What has come to be called 'The War of the Heavens' was certainly devastating. Over a thousand years ago, Equestria was once again on the brink of destruction. But many, many millennia passed before that battle," Celestia glanced at the floor, and fought the weight of all her regret. Snapping back into the present, the solar diarch wore a dignified expression.

"Twilight, I've prefaced long enough. Though, I'm rather curious: where do you think I came from?"

"Um...well...," The lavender winged unicorn fumbled with her words, caught off guard. "I suppose you were born a very long time ago," Celestia gave her student a cold stare, "Not that long ago! You and Princess Luna grew up in the Castle, daughters of our last ruler. You've been groomed to rule and have for an unknown amount time."

"Interesting,” the Princess gave a brief pause, “But that is wrong."

Twilight looked embarrassed, as if she had failed a test of the most personal importance to a dear friend.

Celestia smiled at her student, "That's why we're here; to learn. You know I am an alicorn, yes?"

The purple pony wasn't quite sure how to respond. The answer seemed obvious, but the intellectual couldn't help but overthink the question, "Correct?"

"We aren't a numerous race. We aren't common. In fact, as you know, we are thought divine or mythical. This was true when I was young. I wasn't born in a castle or to anypony of fame or fortune. I was born without a glimmer of promise as many would see it. My destiny should have been anonymity and isolation, just like all other alicorns. In the days of my youth, alicorns were hunted by all sorts of creatures working for the Fallen One. Most were slaughtered during the end of the Kingdom, but some escaped to the wilds of the North.

"There I was born. A quiet winter day, snow upon the ground. Within a small hovel crafted out of logs and thatch. But I was not called Celestia. This name came to be mine much later."

"What is your birth name, Princess?"

"The language of Alícor was our precious reminder of our heritage. When spring came, my parents ritually bathed me in a flowing stream. They then bestowed upon me the name...Nikóleva."

Twilight could not help but be fascinated by this exotic name, "What does it mean?"

Celestia, or the mare now called Celestia, blushed and hesitated, "Um...it translates as 'snowy coat'."

A benign smile curled on Twilight's face, "That's cute."

Clearing her throat, the Princess continued, "Yes thank you. I had two parents, as all ponies do. Something I have kept very secret is the fact that I am not a full-blooded alicorn," Celestia just saw the face Twilight made, one of utter disbelief, "My mother was actually a half-alicorn, her mother an earth pony. Many alicorns resent 'half-breeds', claiming they dilute our race. It never troubled me as a filly, mostly because we saw very few others. No, I spent most of my time helping my parents on our farm. It was the only source of food, and the short summers had us exhausting ourselves to meet our needs.

"I assume they decided to have another foal, and when I was just four years old, Luna was born. She was healthy and lively, as if...her weakness was finally defeated," a few tears dripped from Celestia's eyes.

The ache of empathy stabbing her heart, Twilight paused her writing and did everything to appear comforting. The Princess was like a second mother to her, and seeing such pain was almost too much to bear, "What do you mean?"

"Luna's birth was...complicated. Mother was always sickly and infirm. My father knew this well, and tried his best to ease her condition. But a second foal was too much for her. Luna came into this world perfect, but my mother...she gazed upon her daughter. I remember she smiled and stroked Luna's mane. She uttered a prayer, and kissed me. And then...," Celestia clenched her teeth, still hurting from this powerful memory, "Mother fell asleep, and never woke up. Father kissed her and held us close for what seemed like an eternity, silently weeping."

Twilight wiped her own eyes, sniffling a bit, "I'm so sorry, Princess."

It took the lavender pony’s voice to remind Celestia exactly where and when she was, "Forgive me Twilight. It embarrasses me to confess something that happened so long ago still..."

The purple mare gave a look that conveyed total condolence.

Calming down a bit, Celestia regained her composure, "Right, onward to the rest of the story. My father had to raise us both from then on. He was a strong and courageous stallion named...Maiëlindir. Luna's memories of him are blurry and distant. Not mine. I recall him well, and though it represents a tiny fraction of my life, my father resonates perhaps most vividly with me..."

"Why does Princess Luna not remember?"

"She was very young then."

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

A dreary, overcast sky signaled the imminent arrival of the Spring rains. A small babbling brook and the chirping of birds provided ambiance for such a still day. Here, in this secluded glade of a vast forest, a pony could become lost in the serene beauty of nature. So delicately ordained, it was the true splendor of the begotten world.

The snow had since melted, but the water it left behind was yet to dry up entirely. The marshy ground would bog down cartwheels and plows, delaying the sowing of the land. In the North, growing seasons were never very hot, or enduring. But the soil was rich, and one thing meager planters could depend on was plentiful rainfall.

He could feel the moisture in the air. Seconds later a light drizzle started. His strides were long and deliberate, signifying a purpose to his movement. Hitting the stones on the ground were old rusty shoes, in desperate need of replacement. He had bought them from a skilled farrier quite some time ago, but even a finely crafted shoe could become worn out. The wet ground only exacerbated their poor condition.

Draped in a long cloak, strategically worn to conceal his back, the old stallion pressed on. Normally he wore his hood, but he delighted in the feel of raindrops landing upon his dark charcoal mane. The life he led offered few pleasures, so he found scant joys in little things. But the rain could not compare to his most beloved things in the world.

Looking on to a small hill situated in the heart of the clearing, he recognized the small shack built upon its summit. Constructed to withstand the elements, its humble design belied the soundness of its make. Near this house, smaller buildings dotted the surrounding land; a barn, a forge, and a storehouse. A low fence surrounded the hill, useful for containing the cattle. Though simple, it was all built by his own hooves. And he recognized the hard work as its own reward.

But more importantly, he spotted something else. Hopping through a newly plowed stretch of land, a small white filly was planting seeds. Her pristine alabaster coat simultaneously clashed and complimented his own midnight blue fur. Bearing a full head of pink hair, the little pony looked up and smiled in as pure a joy that a child could feel. Dropping her sack of wheat grain, she ran full force towards the tall stallion.

Smiling to match her, the stallion braced himself for impact. Seconds later, the filly jumped straight into his embrace, thrusting him to the ground.

"Papa!" She exclaimed, hugging her dear father tightly.

"Oh how I missed you!" He noticed her slightly larger frame. "My, are you growing! One day you might even be as big as me!" He kissed her gently, and gestured for the filly to jump off of him.

After standing back up, the stallion noticed another like aged pony pulling a plow. Approaching his friend, the blue pony called out happily, "I see she has you working hard for your keep!"

"This one is a little serf-driver!" The other stallion replied, his coat a muted orange color, "What have you brought this time? It has been nearly a month."

Lightly chuckling, the cloaked pony continued to the entrance of the hovel. "I've gone quite far. I found some very special items."

Unlatching the old, rickety door, the old stallion's daughter scurried under his feet. Hopping up onto a wicker chair, she looked at her father starry eyed in anticipation.

"What did you bring? Where did you go? What was it like? Did you meet any―"

"Nikóleva!" The stallion commanded, "Patience. Let me become settled."

The orange pony stood at the threshold. "The foal has been fed today. She should be sleeping now."

"Yes thank you, my friend." The farmer returned to his work, shutting the door.

Magically levitating his saddlebag, the blue stallion placed it on the table, careful not to spill its contents. Then he took off his cloak and hung it on a rack. Finally able to stretch, he unfurled his long feathery wings. Flapping them a few times, he folded them back up again and stood at his table.

Untying one of the pockets, the stallion pulled out a small pouch. Placing it on the table, he opened it just enough for his daughter to catch a peek.

Inside was a finely ground white powder that sparkled like stars. "What is it?"

"Something from the deep south called...sugar. It is something you cook with, and it is very sweet, like honey."

The filly was a great lover of honey, and took great pains to procure it. "May I have some?"

Laughing kindly, the stallion patted his daughter on the head. "Oh no. We will only use it for special occasions."

"May we use it in a special springtime cake?" The father raised an eyebrow. "I...I milked the cows and set aside some grain! Oh please may we bake a cake??"

"Well...I suppose." The raucous cheers of the filly were immediately reprimanded, "Shush! Your sister is asleep! If you finish all of your chores, we shall bake the cake tomorrow."

A jubilant smile overtook her face. The stallion reached into the bag again and produced a small necklace.

It was delicately crafted, evidenced by the meticulous complexity of the chain. The pendant it bore was of unsurpassed quality, inlaid with silver and a few precious stones. The symbol it had been made into was a simple "X", each end spreading perpendicularly in two directions, forming a sort of square shape. He carefully undid the clasps of the chain, and placed it around her neck. Fixing the two ends together with his magic, he looked down at his daughter.

"I hope you like it."

Always cherishing a gift from her dear father, the young pony admired the beauty of the object. "I do, Papa. What is this?" She turned her vision upwards at the imposing yet benign figure of the stallion, "Will it protect me?"

"No. No such object can protect you. But it will always remind you who does."

Having a newly found peace of mind, the white filly peered over the edge of the bag. Inside she spotted a paper wrapper. Taking it out, she opened the package to find strange spear tip-shaped leaves. "What are these?"

"Something Father can only get during his long trips. And something he would very much like to remain undisturbed." He closed the paper and put the wrapper back in the bag. He then started removing other miscellany from the saddlebag to be placed on shelves and in cabinets. He looked at his daughter and wore a stern face. "Return to sowing the fields, Nikóleva. I will be out there shortly, after I have checked on your sister."

"Yes, Papa." The filly obediently said, rushing off to complete her task.

While she exited the home, the stallion gently opened another door, this one leading to a small room. Inside was a filly-sized bed, a few tables and a wooden crib. Wrapped in soft linens, surrounded by whatever toys the pony could find, was a little foal. She was as blue as her father, but her mane was periwinkle. Sleeping soundly with a smile on her face, the foal squirmed as she dreamed.

To the stallion, this baby was the most precious thing in the world. He thought about caressing his younger daughter, but did not wish to disturb her. The foal's breaths were short and sweet, showing clear signs of a very young life just brought into this world.

A single tear ran down his cheek. "Oh Taberanyn, if only She could have seen you like this..."

Deciding it was time to get to work, the stallion quietly left the room, and made his way outside. He had much to do, and as long as he was present, no harm would befall his quaint little homestead.

By now the finals rays of sunshine had ceased to scatter above the horizon. The Moon in all its vibrant glory began crawling up the sky, moved by they say a group of characters far to the South. Peering out of her simple glass window, the tiny white filly spotted stars and other faint celestial bodies placed in the great dome of creation before it began turning.

Her father noticed the beautiful scene that caught his daughter's eye. He leaned in closer on her bed, sharing the window. So mesmerized by such natural gems the filly was. Maiëlindir unfurled a wing and draped it over her, coddling his dear child.

"They're so pretty, Papa," The young alicorn said, her gaze never leaving the pane.

"During my travels, I heard a story that they once made pictures. Ponies could look up and tell where they were by them."

"Will those pictures ever come back?" She looked to her father, a slight sadness in her eyes.

Smiling as only a father could, the blue stallion magically laid her on the bed and placed a simple sack cloth over the pony.

"If you make sure to pray and be a good filly, maybe your wish will be granted."

"You could do it! You can do anything!" Her unfounded admiration stuck a small pain in his heart.

"I'm afraid I can't." A humble stallion, modesty came to him all too easily.

"Well...maybe you'd learn how...on one of your journeys. I wish I could go...just once, Papa." The filly’s eyelids were becoming heavier, and she started yawning.

"You always ask me, and what do I tell you every time, Nikóleva?"

"That it's too dangerous and I'm too young..." She groaned, as if this statement was uttered an innumerable amount of times.

"The World is not a safe place. But if you keep working hard, and listening to me, you'll someday become big and strong. And then I shall take you and your sister on a trip. But only then."

"Yes, Father...," The little filly started to tear up, denied such a coveted privilege.

"Please understand; I don't want anything to happen to you." She did understand, but it didn't make it any less disappointing. "How about this: tomorrow, if we all finish our chores for the day, we'll go to the lake. How does that sound?"

Her face immediately lit up. "Alright!"

He gave a soft laugh. "Good. Now rest up. We have much work to do. Good night, Nikóleva. I love you very much." The stallion gave the filly a sweet kiss on her forehead. She returned the gesture.

"I love you too, Papa."

Laying her head down on the pillow, the filly nodded off to sleep, hoof upon her new necklace. Maiëlindir took a moment to check on his newborn foal, who was silently curled up in slumber. Satisfied that all was well, he blew out his lamp and exited the room, being very quiet the whole way.

The main room of the small hovel was illuminated by a roaring fire, providing ample warmth on this still rather chilly night. Tending the fire was that orange stallion, who calmly sat on a wicker couch.

The blue pony made his way to the other side of the seat, but not before taking some important items from his shelf. "You know, the nobles sit on cushioned chairs, and have brilliant feasts of only the finest oats and hay."

"Were you so fortunate as to be invited to such a banquet?" The other stallion said, a bit more aged than his companion.

"I was in fact. And the particularly charitable Baron gave me these as a parting gift." Maiëlindir produced that paper bundle from earlier, and levitated two briarwood pipes in order to pack them, "Finest leaves plucked last season, I'm told."

"At least there's something to enjoy out here," The orange one said, piped clenched in his teeth, "You know, all month I was thinking of the best way to chastise you for leaving so soon."

"As you should. Many nights I actually felt I should have brought them along," The blue stallion gave a weak chuckle, "I can't wait until they're old enough to come along."

"And who's to say they aren't?" The orange pony replied, lighting his pipe with a small wooden dowel.

Clearly annoyed, Maiëlindir puffed a cloud of smoke. "We've had this discussion before. Not until―"

The other stallion interrupted, though careful to keep his voice down. "That argument may have had merit a few years ago, but last winter Nikóleva celebrated her fifth year. It's time you taught her the ways of our kind."

"Out of the question." The blue alicorn authoritatively declared.

"How old were you when yourfather gave you a sword and brought you on a raid?"

"....Four. Four years."

"That's right. Before you became a stallion, you had claimed nigh twenty diamond dogs. I can stay behind here, but they need to learn how to defend themselves."

"That's not the life I want for them." Maiëlindir gazed deep into the fire, its light showing the face of a pony still in his prime, yet definitely weary of the world. "All the blood I've spilled...the lives I've taken. It would only darken their days."

The orange pony sighed, and looked at his friend with sincerity, "We all have regrets. But the longer you keep the truth from them, the harder it shall be when the inevitable happens. Our kind was not meant to live in peace. Our lives are to be as hard and as unforgiving as can be. It is our punishment. You do not seek to go against Lórian's Will, do you?"

Maiëlindir removed his pipe, wishing to speak unencumbered, "Lórian's Will is not to punish us. I will not pay for the sins of my forebearers. Besides, the Diamond Dogs are no longer a great threat. We shall remain safe here."

"We ousted the tribe nearly a hundred years ago. They've no doubt returned, and in greater numbers. Only our vigilance has prevented their scouts from reporting. It's but a matter of time, though."

The midnight blue pony's eyes became glossy, seen quite clearly in the fire, "You're probably right. I love my daughters, but...I'm scared they were born too soon. Perhaps I could have waited another hundred years. Maybe only fifty."

"The time's irrelevant. I miss Her just as much as you do, but I'm not sure how well She was, or how much longer you could have waited. Your bloodline needed to be secured, even if it cost somepony very precious."

"I hope―no, I know Nikóleva and Taberanyn will be worth it, regardless of what my 'bloodline' amounts to."

"The Heir of Solárindil may be reduced to a flickering cinder, but I swore to your father to keep it burning; delay the final dying of our race as long as I can. And make no mistake, Maiëlindir, I will give my life for your daughters."

The blue alicorn smiled at his friend and puff another cloud, "Thank you, Henarion."

"But I cannot stress enough how important it is for you to teach them."

"You're absolutely right. I told Nikóleva we'd go to the lake after work tomorrow. I shall begin there."

"Excellent! She will make you proud." The stallion known as Henarion yawned and got up off the couch. His pipe was lightly packed, in an effort to conserve as many leaves as possible, and was therefore finished. The old stallion then made a slight limp to another door in the hovel.

"Good night, Maiëlindir. Do not stay up too much later."

"I shall retire soon enough. Get some rest, my friend."

The orange alicorn nodded and opened the door, disappearing into the darkness.

Maiëlindir sat and stared at the fire a while, contemplating his decisions. Though he had right to a very lavish claim, the alicorn didn't want it. Even if he did, he was certain he could not have it. No; for him his whole world was this quaint homestead. For much of his life, he wandered Equestria. Known by many names to many different peoples, the unassuming "unicorn" scarcely ever uttered a word, but became legendary for his selfless effort to help ponies and other creatures in need.

But this life held many terrors, and bloodshed was commonplace. His two young daughters didn't need this. Safety was his only concern, and it pained him to have to travel far away for necessary supplies. But it was all for them. His early years were harsh and cruel. Theirs should not be.

Alicorns, however few remained, all argued if they are cursed by Lórian, or if God has merely forsaken them. Maiëlindir wasn't much worried about this. But Henarion was right: sooner or later misfortune would hit...yet again. And though he could not prevent suffering in his daughters, to his last breath he would help alleviate their burdens.

Because there are things foals should never have to experience, and Maiëlindir knew this all too well.

1. The Exilarch: Part 2. The Calm Waters

1. The Exilarch: Part 2. The Calm Waters

The tall blue stallion watched as today's seeds were sown. By autumn hopefully the grains would yield enough wheat to last throughout winter. Life in this wild country was harsh, and what little food that the ground could provide had to be rationed. It was not altogether uncommon for the grown father to go for a day or two without food, sacrificing his meals for the sake of his developing daughter. And those times would only become more frequent once the foal had been weaned from cow's milk.

Always optimistic though, Maiëlindir tried to never dwell on the ill-fate he was dealt. No, for today's work had been completed at an unprecedented pace: it was only a few hours past midday. Most days the sun would begin to set before everything was tilled and sown. But the promise of something very enticing prompted a small white filly to exert herself to the fullest. This pony looked at the field and smiled. Her father always told her pride was a dangerous thing, but there's nothing wrong with loving a job well done.

And it didn't hurt that Maiëlindir declared today's workload to be less than usual.

Already she could smell the sweet aroma of a baked good coming from the open door to the hovel. Left idle, her chores finished, young Nikóleva rushed inside the home, and towards the old stone oven where the cake was baking. On very few occasions was the luxury of cake allowed to be prepared, but from the first taste Nikóleva had fallen in love with the dessert.

It was simple; milk and flour and other ingredients for a baked food. But her father had put that strange sparkling powder into the mix, adding a flavor Nikóleva loved dearly. Indeed, combining sweetness with cake might have been the single greatest idea the filly had ever heard. Even now her mouth watered, wanting so desperately to sink her teeth into that decadent delight.

In the ages to come the young alicorn would experience all kinds of culinary innovations to the "cake", including cheese, creams and exotic flavors. But for now, a simple and humble dessert would be absolutely perfect.

Henarion, ever burdened by a stubborn leg wound that refused to heal, was appointed the baker. Using a wooden paddle to retrieve the cake, he placed it on the counter to cool down. Fed just enough kindling, the fire below the oven was starting to die. Starry-eyed and hungry, Nikóleva looked up at her "uncle" and silently begged for a bit―just a nibble of the treat.

His face was stern and his posture commanding, "I recall your father told you we shan't eat the cake until we've finished dinner. Now go see if he requires anything before we depart for the lake."

Her hopes dashed, she hung her head low and walked out the door to carry out her orders.

The midnight stallion was busy counting all the supplies in the storehouse. Sacks of grain, shelves of cheese and bread, as well as bottles of fruit preserves and wine. He laced them all in an extremely useful spell he learned from the South. Now maggots and other such critters could not harm his precious food. Also within the house were racks of tools and metal, indispensable for his labors in the workshop. Satisfied that his inventory was accounted for and safe, he used his magic to close the doors, and secured them with a metal lock purchased from a talented earth pony smith.

Turning around, he was surprised by his eldest daughter, looking up near vertically at her exceedingly tall father. Maiëlindir could tell exactly what she wanted.

"Everything is finished. Retrieve your cloak. Has Henarion completed packing the basket?"

Blushing a bit, Nikóleva replied, "I...did not see, Father. I was distracted."

Rolling his eyes, the stallion quietly chuckled, "I shall get your sister and then we leave for the lake. Hurry now."

The filly scurried back inside, where she had just been, and did as her father told her. Maiëlindir too went into the hovel and to the wooden crib of his tiny foal. Gently levitating her up from the bed, he then placed the baby alicorn into the cradle beside the crib. Tenderly laying a few blankets over her still-sleeping body, he smiled and set the cradle on Nikóleva's bed.

After getting his own cloak, Maiëlindir retrieved the foal and brought her outside. Closely following were Nikóleva and Henarion, the latter bearing a basket draped with a cloth.

Nodding in approval, Maiëlindir called out, "Alright everypony: let us go. We've but a few hours of sunlight left."

The weather today was clearer and warmer than yesterday, and a gentle breeze was rustling in the trees. Small songbirds were chirping and preparing their nests for this year's broods. Soon the flowers would start to blossom, and new life would be breathed into the world. In the woods, a keen traveler could spot a group of deer before they ran off in fright. For the very unlucky, a wolf or worse might be lurking instead.

The path the three walked was oft-traversed and clear of dense brush. Even so, the snowmelt still soaked much of the way, and large puddles were not uncommon. A few low-lying branches dripped from their leaves. Some trees had even died, as all things do, and fallen onto the road. These obstacles were minor though, and added some diversity to the rather monotonous sojourn.

But a scant half-hour or so from the little homestead, this lake was a favorite destination for the family. When free time was unusually abundant, a short picnic was expected. A more beautiful place had not been found; it's pristine blue waters fed by mountain streams, so pure and healthy. Waterfowl swam atop the surface, preying on the multitude of fish below. Gentle creatures came often to sip the clean water and cool off in the heat of summer days.

It expanded for miles on end, collecting the melting snow of Winter and carrying it along its own great river to the Sea. To the many ponies Maiëlindir had met, this lake was unknown in a lost and mythical northerly land. But in days of old, she bore the name Balideä: the Calm Waters.

Upon its green shore, the party placed down a crude cloth, loomed by the tall blue stallion himself. The basket was next, and its contents were emptied onto the cloth. Maiëlindir and Henarion sat down, and gestured for Nikóleva to do the same. She was forever enraptured by the cake, and its intoxicating aroma only caused her pining to increase. But the white filly was commanded to wait. Patience was a virtue her father did well to teach.

Maiëlindir levitated a small knife he kept girt about him. Gracefully he began slicing the bread loaves, some root vegetables and cheese block. He then distributed the victuals, generously sacrificing some food for his daughter. She still needed to grow. The pony also gave to her a small bottle of milk, prepared just this morning. He then produced an even smaller bottle for his infant daughter. The foal unfortunately could not suckle as all foals should, and instead was forced to be nursed on cow's milk. Every night did Maiëlindir pray she would grow up strong as well.

The party folded their hooves and uttered a phrase composed in ages past. Uir dhin catiléda elna vysht im-Oséo dharet. Immediately afterwards, they began eating their simple meal to cure aching stomachs.

It was not long before all the bread slices were eaten, the vegetables all but gone, and the cheese was no more. Nikóleva had finished her beverage, and the two stallions drained canteens of their own. Only the cake remained, and the white pony was quite keen on this fact.

"Papa, I've finished my dinner. May we have dessert?"

Smiling, her father nodded. Cutting a piece from the cake, he magically gave it to her. Licking her lips in anticipation, Nikóleva took the first bite from this delicious bread. The added sugar only enhanced her joyous experience, and before she knew it the whole piece was gone.

Devastated, she looked up, "M...my piece is gone now..." So smitten was she by the dessert, the white filly ate the whole thing almost without chewing. "Too soon!" She lamented. Such a rare treat deserved to be savored.

Crumbs around her mouth, Nikóleva silently pleaded with her father. Maiëlindir relented, and gave her another piece. "Just one more, else Henarion and I won't have any," he remarked.

Delighting in this display of charity, Nikóleva felt it right to pass it on. Tearing off the smallest of pieces, she approached her infant sister and prepared to feed her.

Her father however quickly stopped this, "She cannot eat any cake; Taberanyn has not yet grown any teeth."

"Oh...I'm sorry. I feel quite sad for Taby: it is very tasty. Thank you, Henarion!"

The orange stallion smiled before taking a bite of his piece, "Not bad, I'd say. I'm pleased you enjoy it."

After the cake had been eaten in its entirety, Nikóleva was allowed to frolic in the meadow just before the lakeside. Inciting her father to join her, the two ponies then played innocent games to while away the time left in the short day. During cool summer afternoons, Nikóleva liked to pick flowers and watch the insects fly about. Not yet had these come, but this did not spoil nor detract from the serene and quiet beauty of the lake.

An hour passed, and only one remained until dark. Therefore Maiëlindir commanded Nikóleva to stand before him. The true outing's work was to commence.

Leaning down to his daughter's height, he began, "Nikóleva, now it is time for me to teach you some very important things."

Eager to please and learn, she replied bright-eyed, "Like what, Papa?"

Summoning his magic, the stallion drew a sword he always had girt to his waist, "This world is full of dangerous things. When I was your age, your grandfather showed me many different skills. One skill in particular was that with a sword."

Nikóleva gazed into the shining blade. It was not often she laid eyes upon the naked steel of this weapon. In time, she would come to know many different swords, of varying degrees of quality. But this one would always stand out for its beauty and strength.

A stallion of Maiëlindir's poverty could never have afforded such a fine blade from any smith, but it belonged to him by right. The entire hilt was haft of a substance found on Earth no more. Inlaid within the pommel were gemstones of all colors, precious metals gilding its delicately crafted curves and edges. In the center of the cross guard on one side was a silver moon; a golden sun on the other. The blade itself was dark metal and engraved on either side with strange symbols that Nikóleva would not know the meaning of until much later.

He placed the unsheathed sword on the picnic cloth, "Now, pick up the sword."

A slight flicker sparked from Nikóleva's horn, but nothing came of it, "I cannot, Father. I do not have magic yet."

"Then use your forelegs." The filly obliged, or at least attempted to.

Of the pony races, Alicorns were strongest in all respects; a gift they should have lost long ago. But in her young age, Nikóleva did not yet display these traits. The sword was simply too heavy.

Maiëlindir picked up the sword with his hoof, "I shall ready you for this world, and you will grow stronger from it." Looking into his daughter's eyes with sympathy, he continued, "Ours is not an easy life. Fillies and colts to the South may remain children for many years; not you. Forgive me, My Love, for I have forced you to grow up too quickly. But I hope you will understand why in time, and you will learn to make things and fight."

The tall blue stallion expected his daughter to cry, as he felt he was cruelly slaying her fillyhood. This however was not the case. She did nothing but smile widely, wanting nothing more than to emulate the stallion who sired her, "Thank you, Papa! Does this mean I shall be able to help you more? May I travel with you?"

Proud of his daughter, he shed a small tear, "Of course. Soon I shall teach you how to craft with wood and metal, sword fighting, how to read the stars, and to tell time by the Sun."

But the filly's ears drooped, utterly daunted, "This seems like quite a bit. I am not sure I can learn all this, Papa."

Maiëlindir got a courageous look in his eye and stood straight, "I know you can, because you are my daughter. You come from a great family, full of great ponies. And you will be no exception. You and your sister."

Elated, Nikóleva ran up and hugged her father's slender foreleg, "I'll try my best!"

Maiëlindir embraced her back, and then lied down on the cloth. Then she hopped into his back, peeping her head out from behind his. The sunset was just beginning; twilight being her favorite time of day.

While upon his back, she noticed the cloak and remembered two peculiar appendages hidden under it, "Papa, why must we wear these cloaks? It is not cold today."

"In case something were to notice us. Wayward travelers journey here sometimes, and...we wish to conceal what we are."

"What do you mean?" she asked, curiosity burning within her.

"To the South, there are ponies like us, except some have only wings or horns or sometimes neither. Very few have both like us. And there are some creatures that are hostile to our kind. Therefore it is best to keep our wings hidden and to never fly," he replied, making sure his wings were fully beneath the cloak.

"What is our kind? Why are we different?"

"This is how Lórian made us; a gift that some are envious of. We are Alícëai ponies, and Tulicëai ponies once looked up to us for our wings and horns. But that was long before Henarion and I were born."

Nikóleva suddenly felt a twinge of sadness, "Will that day ever come again?"

"Only Lórian knows. But we are not searching for adulation."

Accepting this answer, the filly resumed her viewing of the sunset. Feeling safe and secure atop her father, she nuzzled her head against is neck, "Papa, tell me about the South."

Maiëlindir's gazed didn't shift from the sky, but he smiled and replied, "If you'd like. Well, there the stars are a bit different, and days last longer. It is warmer, but rain comes less often. In fact, ponies even control the weather! They move clouds about and water the fields of farmers. Some very special ponies even use their magic to raise and lower the Sun and Moon."

Nikóleva's eyes widened at this fantastic tale, "Is that where the Sun goes each night?"

"Not quite. I've never been to where the Sun rests. I'm not sure how far West it is, or if even the Sun rests at all. Perhaps you will find this land."

Trying to peer beyond the horizon for the Uttermost West, Nikóleva formed more questions in her mind, "How different are the Tulicëai from us?"

"They come in all sorts of kinds. But none of them speak the Language of Prayer as we do, and their gods are different and numerous."

"They worship others?" Nikóleva then took her necklace and examined it further before yawning

"Yes. Different peoples there have one or two they revere most, as we do," Maiëlindir said, having seen many temples and rituals, "They have many fascinating accounts about their gods doing mighty battles and deeds."

"Maybe...someday you can...tell...," but Nikóleva could not finish her sentence. Asleep on Maiëlindir's back, she curled up and smiled. The sunset was accelerating, and the stallion gestured to Henarion to pack all their supplies and return home. Taberanyn was also sleeping soundly, held in her cradle by the orange pony.

The two set out, carrying the children. Soon enough they would reach the homestead and lay the fillies down. When daylight broke, Maiëlindir would begin his teaching, and raise his daughter for the life she was fated to lead.

The Exilarch would one day return; perhaps not for another thousand years. But Nikóleva's eventual duty was to ensure the line's continuation until that day came.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Over a dozen pages now shined black with the ink inscribed upon them. A slight breath of air ensured the ink dried, and that the tome was ready for more leaves to be marked. Twilight reviewed what she had just written and nodded in approval. Perfectly captured were the descriptions and voices Princess Celestia had just conveyed to her. The winged unicorn did however have trouble recording the strange but pleasant-sounding names.

She tried to write them as phonetically accurate as possible, but inevitably some sounds in Celestia's old tongue did not exist in modern Equestrian. Twilight had not wished to interrupt the Princess, but the white mare's throat grew weary and required some water.

Using this intermission to her advantage, Twilight levitated the book into Celestia's view as she sipped from a small glass.

"Excuse me, Princess. But how do you spell your father's name?"

Celestia took a quick glance at the name in question. Twilight had rendered it into Equestrian spelling as best she could. Smirking a bit, the regal alicorn took the quill from its bottle and begun to scribble out a word onto the blank margin. Graceful as the sea, Princess Celestia's elegant writing was an artwork in and of itself. The symbols had a muted and abstract beauty to them, conveying the euphonic quality of the name it represented.

But when Twilight inspected the name, it was illegible. In her vast studies, she had come across many different systems of writing; Gryphonic, Minotaurian, Equestrian, among others. This script bore no resemblance to any. It had an otherworldly, almost ethereal feel to it.

"Princess...I don't understand what this says. Could you please transliterate it into Equestrian?" she requested, somewhat frustrated. Was this some sort of harmless joke by Celestia?

But the alabaster mare blushed, "I'm afraid this language is not ever written in our alphabet. So you'll have to invent the conventions for writing it."

Twilight sighed, dissatisfied with this answer. Nevertheless, she mentally began formulating a systematic alphabet, "I'd still like to know how to read this language. Could you teach it to me?"

"Perhaps someday, for it is not an easy language to learn, or to write. But ponies in my youth did enjoy listening to it," Celestia gazed off, thinking about days long past. Snapping back into the present, or rather back into the past from the present, she resumed speaking, "Anyway, I feel refreshed. Are you ready to continue?"

Twilight nodded and dipped the quill back into the bottle.

"Good...," Celestia's face became uneasy and slightly sorrowful, "Remain diligent, Twilight. Because what events followed are...difficult to recount."

1. The Exilarch: Part 3. Innocence Lost

1. The Exilarch: Part 3. Innocence Lost

In the months to follow, the promised lessons would come to fruition. As Spring turned to Summer, and the days became warmer and longer, less work was needed in the fields. From the time she could walk and toil on the farm, Nikóleva would labor in the Spring but rest and play during summertime before harvest in Autumn. But now she was not permitted to remain idle. Always was there work to do, from repairing the homestead to fashioning tools that perpetually seemed to break when most inconvenient.

Nikóleva was still too small to fell trees, but in time her father hoped she could cut down a tree in a few blows from an axe, as he could. Instead, the pink-maned filly diligently planed and sawed before daintily hammering nails into the lumber. The first object she managed to create was a tiny table, which she placed beside her bed. She'd never forget the heartfelt hug she was given by her dear father upon completion. That feeling of making Maiëlindir proud was worth more than any material possession ever could to her.

Thatching, boarding, feeding the cows; they all became part of Nikóleva's daily routine. She was even taught how to make charcoal for her father's smithery. That forge was to be her favorite place to go on the farm. Long hours she watched her father pound various metals with his mighty hammer, brandishing embers with each hit.

Fire caught her attention most of all. The brilliant reds and oranges and yellows of flame were a subdued yet vibrant beauty. Not for its destructive power; for the light and warmth it gave. The magnificence of the Sun shone upon the Earth, giving life and heat to her. Maiëlindir once told her Fire was a gift from on High, but was to be used responsibly. With such flame, metal could be purified and the frightful darkness of night banished away. If mistreated, however, it could consume all in its path.

The forge embodied this quality. Maiëlindir kept several barrels of water nearby, for quenching of course but also in case the fire became too unruly. Thankfully the latter was never the case.

Pulling on the bellow chains, the tall blue stallion turned the coals white-hot. Soon the shaft of iron turned in kind. He took the bar in his magic and levitated it upon the anvil. Here's where Nikóleva noticed a peculiarity: he then placed a rag on the bar and held it down with a hoof.

The filly understood that most ponies, whom she hadn't seen before, did not have magic. Though still too young to use it herself, Nikóleva thought it was a great advantage. The hammer though was reserved for his right hoof. Why did her father elect to use his crude legs in this craft?

Maiëlindir raised his hammer, and with immense force pound down the bar, flattening it somewhat. A second hit flattened even more. A third, then fourth. Each successive hit caused a loud "Clank" as flakes of iron shook off. After a few more pounds, the hot iron cooled down, and he returned it to the fire. The process was repeated until a discernible object came into existence: a sickle blade for reaping. Nikóleva had fashioned the hilt earlier that day.

The stallion turned to his daughter, who was holding the wooden hilt.

He carefully gave the blade to her, "Now, secure it to the hilt." The filly did just that. Holding down the blade by its dull convex side, she took a mallet and moved the hilt around the iron tang. Then, using two pins, she fastened the blade forever within its resting place. Smiling at a job well done, Nikóleva gave the sickle back to her father.

Maiëlindir took a moment to inspect the tool, "Excellent job. Why the hilt fits seamlessly! I'll make a carpenter out of you yet, Nikóleva." He then placed the sickle on a rack.

Taking a shorter bar of iron out now, he prepared to begin a new tool. Nikóleva looked eagerly at the furnace, awaiting more elegant crafting. But Maiëlindir got a sly grin and hooved his hammer to the filly.

"I've been watching you all this time. How would you enjoy making the next one?" Her smile reached from ear to ear, "I'll need a chisel, and I think this is a good place to start."

Nikóleva almost instinctively moved a small box to the front of the furnace. Hopping on top of it, she tried to lift the hammer. She managed to get it on the stone edge before the fire.

"Papa, the hammer is too heavy," she whined, thoroughly embarrassed.

"Here," he took the hammer and brought Nikóleva's own hooves to its handle. Now they were both carrying the tool, "As you do this more, you'll become better at it."

However Nikóleva objected, remarking on a thought she had earlier, "But Papa, why not just wait until my magic comes?"

Softly chuckling, the old stallion replied, "Magic is wonderful for many things, but its power cannot match that of your legs. It is for this reason ponies who've neither wings nor horns are the finest smiths in the land."

"Surely they cannot be more talented than you!"

"No matter how good you get at something, Nikóleva, remember: you can always improve. Now, are we ready to start?"

The white filly nodded. So began the forging. Her father's guiding hooves led the hammer down onto the bar, shaping it into a flattened wedge. By the time it was adequately crafted, Nikóleva was given the honor of quenching it, steam billowing from the barrel. This tiny, insignificant chisel would likely be broken soon, relative to the life of an alicorn. Many would be made to replace it, as this one was created to.

But this hour or so resonated for centuries with the mare this filly was to become. In the time she knew her father, his seemingly limitless set of skills and talents captivated her. Her whole life was to be an attempt to live up to his virtues and the prayers and lessons he taught her. And while nopony is without flaw, Nikóleva would indeed work to better herself, as Maiëlindir had. As he felt all should do.

Patting down his apron of all the dirt and grime, the midnight stallion put out the forge's fire. Yawning, he hung up the apron and tools.

"In Winter I think we'll spend much time here. It'll be quite warm by the fire."

"Papa, what shall we make tomorrow?" she asked, giddy with anticipation.

He furrowed his brow and thought for a second, "Actually, we'll forge a sword for you. Then, I'll show you how to use it. Yes?"

"Yes, Father!" she exclaimed, bouncing up and down all the way back to the hovel.

Laid to bed, the small pink-maned alicorn fell asleep to pleasant dreams. Tomorrow would be a good day, she thought.

Maiëlindir sat beside her bed until that time, and kissed her softly. Quietly tip-toeing to the crib, he gave the same gesture of love to his foal, nearly crying at the innocent smile the blue infant grew. Closing the door, he approached the fireplace and gazed into its glowing flickers.

"If Taberanyn shall grow as her sister, then I've naught to fear for my Line."

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

The next day smoke again erupted from the forge's chimney. While Henarion was busy tending to the foal and doing less intensive but important tasks, the Father and his beloved daughter were occupied with alloying iron bars. Yesterday simple black wrought iron was enough. Yet a sword required a better material.

Steel.

Steel was an uncommon substance in this day and age. Only the finest of tools and weapons were allowed the honor of being forged in that alloy. But it was said the Alicorns of Past Glory, so Maiëlindir had been told, smelted steel of luster and strength such as never could be again. His beautiful sword was bladed with metal so skillfully crafted that it would never dull nor rust.

Eventually, this blade of the Sun and Moon would be Nikóleva's. But for now a simple, earthly sword will do.

Steelmaking was a laborious and time consuming process, one that the stallion personally didn't care for. Long hours he spent heating, and reheating, and pounding off the slag from the ore. The small filly was perpetually fetching charcoal to feed the bloomery, wearing herself ragged. But after what seemed like an eternity, Maiëlindir pulled the steel from the fire with his tongs, and began the actual forging.

It must have been at least sixty years ago when the alicorn learned how to properly smith blades from a like-aged earth pony. And owing to the everlasting quality of his own sword, this skill was seldom used. Nevertheless, he recalled with impeccable accuracy all the steps and methods. Still guiding his daughter's hoof, they struck the metal fervently, elongating and flattening the steel.

Days passed by, and in the height of summer, the sword was finally finished. The metal shone brilliantly, and its edges were sharp enough to slice a dropped hair. Hilted superbly by Nikóleva, the blade was just the right size for the filly. In truth, it was but a dagger. It would satisfy her father's purposes for now, though.

Proud of their product, Maiëlindir swung the dagger a few times, rechecking the balance.

"Excellent. Right at the crossguard," he sheathed the "sword" in its scabbard, which Nikóleva had made whilst the steel was being smelted.

The sowing season was already over. Thus, the two had been laboring through the entire day. Though there was still quite a few hours of daylight left. Maiëlindir levitated the scabbard to his daughter, and she girt it around her waist. She then tightened the strap, lest it chafe.

As she drew the blade with her hoof, her giant of a father leaned down and visibly scolded the pony, "Remember: this is a weapon, not a toy. If you’re not careful, it will cut you or those around you. We made it to cleave through bone." Nikóleva, feeling rather frightened, resheathed the blade.

"Now, I promised you that I would teach you to use it. Midday has not yet come. Are you ready?"

Nikóleva nodded fiercely, smiling wider than ever.

So began another journey. Further northeast was a site Maiëlindir had traveled to in his youth. It was actually not far from his homestead, but the mere sight of this place was enough for heartache. As it was for all alicorns.

A trek of a couple hours was their lot. Following an old paved road, Nikóleva remarked the condition this highway of ancient days was in. Much of it was cracked and overgrown with foliage. Every few miles or so, ruined blocks of stone sat beside the road, indicating some relic of civilization that must've existed out here. Her father told her stories of bustling places of settlement far to the South, and she wondered if ever those were once here. She liked to imagine ponies running to and fro across this road, when it was still new and unspoiled.

A few hours past noon, the two arrived to a series of rolling green hills dotted with evergreens and dense brush. Just over the hill the highway cut through, Nikóleva laid eyes upon a strange spot. Her emotions were mixed, and the filly didn't quite know how to feel.

There, interrupted by splotches of green plants, were the foundations of an ancient city. From her vista atop this hill, she discerned a gigantic depression through the middle of its stony ground. Along either side of this gully were clear stone edges and even steps, indicating the city was raised, or the ground was already low.

She pointed to this massive, snaking ditch, "What is that, Papa?"

He sighed, dreading to recount the tale, "That was once a mighty river. This…this once glorious city took its life from that river. You remember the stream by our home, yes?"

Nikóleva nodded. "This river was many times wider and deeper than it. Now the river is but a memory I'm sure only the very oldest can recall."

"What happened here?" she asked, ears drooped and mood saddened.

"When our ancestors dwelt here―and they did, this city was more wonderful than any I have ever seen southwards. It was called Nairverulin, for great Kings reigned here in its mighty fortress. For many, many years their people...we...prospered. Within the marble walls and behind steel gates, no mortal thing could penetrate. But, by means nopony truly knows, the city fell."

"What ponies could have done this? Why would anypony ever destroy something so pretty and grand?" Nikóleva asked, a faint tear streaming down her cheek.

"Only Lórian knows their hearts; what black intentions they held. Ponies and other creatures all had a part in its demise. Over eight centuries ago, they laid siege, and defeated the last King. Everypony tried to flee, the unlucky slaughtered. Everything of value was looted and carried away. They tore down all the buildings and walls, and razed the royal fortress. All the rubble filled the river, and soon it stopped flowing. It has since changed paths, never to flow through this ruin." Nikóleva took note of the somber expression her father wore. Seldom did she ever see it.

"And so, those of our kind that escaped were hunted down, as we had been for so long before. Now nopony lives in this land, except for scattered bands of Alícëai, such as us," Maiëlindir scanned the ruins and spotted a single structure still erect.

Nikóleva's tears were alleviated by what he had to say next. "But...," he began, "For all the destruction and cruelty the Invaders committed...they still dared not touch that building." The stallion stuck out a hoof, gesturing towards a distant and hard-to-spot structure, "And so long as it stands, we must have hope."

For a few seconds, Nikóleva struggled to locate whatever her father was speaking of. But within this vast white stony ruin stood a marble-wrought building adorned with sky-reaching steeples. She noticed just as Maiëlindir was setting out for the edifice.

As she stepped inside borders of the city, the true desolation and bleakness of the Royal Fortress of the North made itself painfully apparent. Whatever grandeur once aboded here was long gone. Crumbled piles of stone no doubt left architects from ancient days heartbroken. The wisdom that constructed this citadel retreated to the anonymity of time, ensuring such a place could never rise again.

But a few piles of ruined rocks and a silted river were not the only reminders of a past calamity. Indeed, much to Nikóleva's discomfort, bones rested along the paved streets and leveled foundations. Bones of not only killed ponies, but other creatures as well. Most of the bones did not belong to a coherent skeleton, most of them disgracefully carried off by wild beasts.

However most of the scarce skeletons that remained wore armor and wielded weapons. While of course the best swords and axes and maces were plundered by raiders, some retained their spears and daggers. One body especially stood out. By the horn jutting from its skull and the hoofless limbs attached to its back, with almost all degrees of certainty this...pony had been an alicorn once. Whether this pony used to be a stallion or mare was unclear, and their name was now only known to whomever carried off their soul in death.

Clad in glimmering steel armor golden-gilded and embossed with strange symbols, Nikóleva would come to understand this skeleton belonged to a very great warrior. A long sword sat beside this pony, one of almost equal beauty to Maiëlindir's, if vastly in inferior quality. Leaning up against a pillar that might have supported an aqueduct before it was razed, the alicorn's eyeless gaze spread to a ring of other skeletons.

These bones did not all belong to ponies. Some had short snouts and strange, small bones coming from their forelegs. Of the rib cages that remained, most suffered some sort of impalement. Some skulls looked cleaved from their bodies.

Nikóleva was frightened, and scurried atop her father's back. Nuzzling against his neck, she cowered at the macabre tone of this place.

"Papa...I do not like this city...," She muttered, muffled in his fur.

"You mustn't worry. There's no life here anymore; nothing can hurt us. Their spirits are long gone," he said calmly, arriving at the great lone building, "Pray for them, Nikóleva, that they may find rest." He turned his head to make eye contact with the trembling filly, "Fear not, for to this temple harm cannot come."

Effectively a great mountain casting a dark shadow across the ruins, this temple stood taller than the giant trees of the forest. It had been built upon a large hill just before the now-defunct riverbank. For a thousand years or many more, pilgrims from all corners of the world flocked here to experience a mere glimpse of its splendor. The Alicorn Kings dedicated giant amounts of time and resources to ensure this temple would delight Whom it was construction to.

Either viewed as an earthly abode fit for a god or the physical embodiment of decadence and state cultism, none could have denied the sheer architectural marvel that it was. No larger building so dedicated had been built in all of history...well, besides the pulverized remains of another upon a drowned Isle beneath the Ocean.

Large though this building was, the vast expanse of the city's foundations dwarfed the temple. Additionally, the marble walls blended perfectly with the rest of the city, leaving it camouflaged. But now brought to her attention, Nikóleva gave a sigh of relief. At least there was something not entirely destitute in this place. A bit hesitantly, she hopped of her father's back. Standing in awe at what lay before her, she stared at the immense construct and marveled at the beauty of its design.

The gigantic entry point was center-pieced by two massive steel frames attached to the marble threshold. The wooden doors that these fittings held in place had rotted quickly in this wet climate. Yet the frame was not rusted, a consequence of its skillful manufacture. And even though the doors were no more, the fittings were still closed as if the wood remained.

Maiëlindir carefully crept over the frame, there being a gap adequate for passage of a stallion twice his own size. Nikóleva followed suit. Massive vaulted ceilings awaited the pair, and at the far end was a large altar. But the entire expanse from the entrance to the altar was bare; empty.

Holes had been bored into the walls, likely where candelabras and other fixtures once hung. The marble floor did not shine anymore, scuffed by countless hooves and paws throughout the centuries. Flanking the interior were a series of great stained-glass windows, each meticulously fired and placed. Outlined in iron and highlighted by colorful glass panes was a precious mural of historical events, brilliantly preserved.

Each side mirrored the other, so everypony could always "read" the story they told. Closest to the entrance was the image of a regal-looking white alicorn, his mane a fiery red. Behind him were other alicorns, all bowing before Tulicëai. In the next, the smaller ponies in turn bowed to the white alicorn, offering him a golden crown. His expression was one of refusal, his head facing the other direction. The third depicted that alicorn now crowned and seated upon a throne, bearing a sword and scepter. The fourth a white castle, almost certainly an image of this city in its age of glory. And the fifth was a group of all pony races, even a strange striped one. All of them were celebrating and looking up at the heavens, a great yellow light shining upon them.

Simply amazed, Nikóleva couldn't believe this temple was built so empty and devoid of anything but the windows and altar.

"Why does this building still stand? And why is it so barren? If nopony may harm this temple, why did they not hide everything in here?" she asked, tugging on her father's cloak.

Maiëlindir paused his trek, and turned to face the filly, "The Kings declared that in all times of war not a single stone be hewed from this shrine. I know not what riches rested here; what mountains of gold supposed ponies of God held in Its stead. But Lórian cares not for material things. That wealth was entirely plundered and carried away, but not a stone of the temple was touched. For Lórian will not have Its own house desecrated, and for this reason the Invaders would not raze it to the ground. Unlike the rest of the city."

He gestured for his daughter to approach the centerpiece of the edifice,"I'm to believe they pried off every bit of gold and jewelry from this altar, but it could not be torn down. They feared the Wrath Divine more than they craved destruction." Indeed, the altar was naked and plain. It was a simple marble block topped with just a metal pole bearing a familiar symbol. Across the sides of the altar a carved relief depicted events important to Ancient Equestria.

Behind the altar was a large multi-tiered altarpiece, so too carved with images of heroes and ponies of reverence. It was beautiful and glorious to behold, its depictions too varied and wonderful to describe justly. So great was its splendor that Nikóleva couldn't help but become saddened. What other priceless pieces of art were lost when this city fell?

But what caught her attention most was the metal symbol suspended by that pole. Likely gilded before, it was now a muted silvery color in great need of a polish. The symbol itself was identical to the pendant Nikóleva wore around her neck. She brought the pendant to view, and compared the two. The young alicorn smiled and kissed the piece, a gift from her dear father she would treasure until the end of her days.

After some moments of silence spent honoring the mighty temple, Maiëlindir turned around and started back to the "doors".

"We've stayed here long enough. The daylight hours are passing now. Come."

But Nikóleva was hesitant, "But Papa...may you train me in here?" she requested, feeling safest in the building.

"No weapons must be drawn within these walls, for this is a place of peace. We cannot disrespect those wishes."

Nikóleva immediately relented, trusting in her father. Following him outside, she recoiled a bit at the brightness of the Sun. Maiëlindir found a nice spot, an open space relatively clear of debris. Now the two stood opposite about ten paces away from each other. The blue alicorn drew his blade, and nodded for Nikóleva to do the same.

"I brought you here so you might appreciate the great ruin that inhabitants of this world can wreak. When I was your age, I too had to learn to fight. Blessed Nikóleva, I pray that you will never have need of violence, but as an alicorn, you must be ready for when it comes. I would never ask anything of you that I felt was not within your capacity. Therefore, I ask: Nikóleva of my own House, will you invest in this art?" Maiëlindir asked his daughter in a strangely rehearsed manner, as if this speech were pre-composed.

The white filly nodded, "Yes, Father. I hope to make you proud."

"You cannot do otherwise." he then held up the blade to his face in a beginning stance, "When you have magic, it can be useful whilst wielding a sword. But still the best means is with a hoof. Same as the hammer. The sword...or in your case dagger is an extension of you, and therefore must be as graceful and surehooved. Never cease moving, and always move to kill."

Maiëlindir then proceeded to give Nikóleva a demonstration of proper swordsponyship, elegantly swerving and thrusting his blade about while consciously moving around the "arena". His actions were quick and deliberate, signifying his many years of experience. True, the use of a sword wasn't so much a skill as an art.

When he had finished, Nikóleva frowned and tried to imitate his "dance", tripping over herself very early on. Her dagger clanged onto the ground, and she started to sob. Maiëlindir however levitated her up and dusted off that snowy coat.

"I'll never be as talented as you, Papa...," she pouted, suspended in his magical embrace. He merely chuckled and gave her dagger back.

"Well I've been practicing for over a hundred years," he laughed and placed her back on the ground, "And there are still ponies better than me. But we shall begin with....simpler exercises. First, let's practice on proper swinging..."

The remainder of the day was spent on these preliminary sets. The two departed the ruins with just enough time to make it home when the sun was setting, and during that time Nikóleva made substantial progress. She came from a long line of warriors, and no doubt that propensity had been inherited by the filly. Even so, she still had quite a ways to go before she could be considered "battle-ready".

Unfortunately, Maiëlindir would soon discover these efforts were made too late.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

As the Sun's light broke through the evergreen trees and dew glistened across grass blades in the cool morning, a blue stallion shuffled uneasily in his sleep. For that night a dream had come to him, soon mutating into a feverish nightmare. All around him was blackness and the sound of screams. Streaks of dark crimson flashed around, consuming vague shapes in terrifying orange glowing lights. But in the shadow, a brilliant silver star emerged, and banished the flashes and unsightly red lights. And the screams were heard no more.

Nonetheless, that show of force caused the star to dim until it faded away. Shaken from his slumber, the stallion awoke to find it was just a dream. A terrible dream. Heaving in a cold sweat, he looked out the window to see the first rays of the Sun emerge across the treetops. Crawling out of bed, he rubbed his eyes and proceeded to mentally list out today's chores.

A few crafts and metalworking before continuing Nikóleva's lessons. She performed admirably yesterday...well, best as her father expected for the first session. And of course milking the cows and feeding his infant daughter. Some dead trees also needed to be felled. Ever since Henarion suffered his injury some two decades ago, that stallion was confined to mainly interior duties. Maiëlindir therefore spent long hours doing the most toilsome work.

Though he always tried to encourage diligence in his eldest daughter, there were times the old alicorn felt tired. Weary of the world, in fact. And the earth's troubles would not leave him be this day.

For eyes were watching even in these waking hours.

Nestled within a bush a hundred or so feet from the hovel, a few creatures examine the homestead, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. What riches awaited out here? How well were they defended? And by whom?

In truth, these raiders knew that not much of value existed in these sparsely populated wild forests. But whatever they could plunder would serve them well. And secondarily for every successful attack, an alicorn or two died.

One of the raiders smiled deviously, seeing fields ripe to burn and a storehouse probably filled with food and supplies. He drew his sword, and turned to face his subordinates.

"Alright, we attack now. Kill all adults and take any children. Ready?" he commanded in a raspy and detestable voice.

The other dozen or so raiders nodded, drawing their own weapons. Prepared to pounce, the party rushed out from the bushes, yelling and screaming battle cries. Their leader was laughing maniacally, delighting in violence and bloodshed.

Maiëlindir's keen hearing picked up the noise, and he glance out of a nearby window. What was charging towards the home horrified him. Some were grey, some brown or tan. Their faces were ugly and short-snouted, with a strong under-bite. Sickly eyes narrowed in view of their target, and long teeth poked out from putrid lips. Hunched in poor posture, these creatures had small walking legs and club-like tails, while their forelegs were disproportionately massive, ending in meaty paws tipped with sharp nails. Each one wore a simple vest and a collar. The leader was clearly the creature with the most ornate collar, being studded with jewels.

The alicorn's expression turned to fear. "Diamond Dogs..."

Wielding any and all types of weapons, their intent was clear. Maiëlindir quickly grabbed his scabbard and girt the weapon across his waist. Running out into the field, he stood imposingly before these raiders. Defiant and confident, he spoke.

"I shall tell you once: leave now and you all may live." The leader just laughed, taking a fighting stance. "I know you raiders too well," the alicorn then drew his sword, and upon waving it towards the party, it glowed a vibrant silver; this was no ordinary blade.

The head diamond dog was taken aback while terror overtook his underlings. A few were muttering to themselves, rethinking their next actions.

"It can't be...Maelin!" said one diamond dog, "My father told me tales about him. He killed the High Chieftain, and not an army of one-hundred could stop him. He said the Maelinblade glowed whenever the stallion wielded it."

"We should turn back!" cried another.

But the leader lashed out at them, "Fools! Maelin is but mortal, and he bleeds like the rest of us! Have you forgotten who leads you?!" he boasted, "Behold, Warrior of the North! I am Wolfang, Chief of Diamond Dogs and Vanquisher of Countless Alicorns! I shall add your head to my collection!"

But Maiëlindir was steadfast. The leader ordered a rather brutish raider to challenge the stallion to a duel, as honor dictated. The oaf swung his mighty club, which Maiëlindir easily dodged. Then the alicorn stomped his head with a powerful forehoof, cracking the skull. Finally, the "Maelinblade" was thrust down at the base of the spine, killing the dog instantly. The stallion pulled the sword out, its cold steel now bathed in sanguine.

At this time, the clamor reached the ears of the other inhabitants of the house. Nikóleva rushed outside, having seen the first minutes of the fight. "Papa! Papa!" she cried.

"Stay inside!" Maiëlindir commanded with a booming voice. The tone was enough to terrify the filly and compel her to obey, "I'll be fine!" He reassured. As soon as he finished speaking, he thrust the sword backwards, impaling one of the dogs rushing to battle him.

Swinging through the rib cage, Maiëlindir then cleaved off the armed foreleg of another raider, and lightning quick he swung a second time, decapitating both in deadly gracefulness.

True to his battle philosophy, his movements never ceased. The attackers could never hit him, while his strokes and stabs cut down several more. One withdrew a couple yards away and armed a bow. Noticing this, the alicorn unfurled his giant blue wings and flew into the sky, one of the few occasions he did so. The archer let loose an arrow and Maiëlindir batted it away with his sword. Jetting down to the dog, he chopped through the mongrel's skull, and saw another one running away.

None were to be left alive. Swinging the blade from the head, he used his magic to throw the sword through the runner's heart, and he fell seconds later. Magically retrieving the sword, he readied for more carnage. A foolish dog rushed him, axe raised to bring down on the stallion. Maiëlindir smiled and knocked the hilt into the dog's snout. He then plunged the blade into the raider's abdomen and sliced upwards. The diamond dog's entrails flowed out, and he fell back dead.

Meanwhile, Nikóleva looked on in horror at the battle. Never before had she seen so much blood. She wasn't quite repulsed or made sick at the sight, but still a feeling of uneasiness struck her. Maiëlindir was a kind, courageous, and virtuous soul. None knew that better than his own daughter. But the stallion made no effort to shelter or censor the harsh realities of the world. She was well aware of mortality; her mother still a fresh memory. But this morning was different.

Her father's greatest fear was realized: Nikóleva's innocence had been lost.

Yet despite all the ongoing bloodshed and body mutilations, her greatest concern was for her father's safety. Now surrounded, the stallion was charged by a couple more diamond dogs. This should not have caused him much trouble. Yet for all his skill and speed, something went wrong. A split second delay in reaction, a slip on the ground, a twinge of pain in his leg; something caused his movements to become de-synchronized. And he would pay dearly for it.

Distracted by the incoming dogs, Maiëlindir did not notice Wolfang creep up with his own sword. At least at first. The realization came the moment the Chieftain cut across the stallion’s chest, making a small but concerning wound.

Henarion, now armed adequately, ran out whilst bearing his leg pain and engaged a couple outlying dogs, who were watching the struggle. He arrived just in time to witness Maiëlindir's injury. The orange alicorn killed those onlookers rather easily, and the blue stallion repeated the actions on his own combatants. But the wound had upset his flow; his rhythm was thrown off.

While the two alicorns were finishing off those dogs, a rear one strung a bow. By some cruel act of fate, the diamond dog's aim was true. An iron-tipped arrow bored itself within Maiëlindir's knee, compelling the stallion to kneel. Cringing ferociously, he summoned his magic to pry the arrow out. Henarion managed to violently kill the archer, slicing his torso in half from the right shoulder to his left abdomen. But the orange pony couldn't react quickly enough for what came next.

As Maiëlindir was writhing in pain, Wolfang ran up behind the alicorn and readied his sword. Seeing the target in his grotesque yellow eyes, the mongrel thrust his blade between Maiëlindir's wings. The cold steel sliced through the veins of his lung, and the stabbed stallion coughed up blood. Wolfang retracted the sword, and let the bleeding pony fall onto his back.

A source of regret for many years to come, Henarion could not believe he let his best friend be mortally injured. And worse yet, he allowed himself to stand idly by in shock, rather than retaliate. The Chief was the only diamond dog left alive, and Henarion just stood there, motionless. Of all the ponies to avenge the Exilarch, it was his own daughter.

White Nikóleva ran out with her dagger, wearing a frenzied visage, "Get away from my Father!"

She darted to the dog and lunged forward, driving the dagger into the creature's foot. Letting out an ear-piercing scream, the mongrel then struck Nikóleva across the face with his massive paw. Now crying tears, the filly was helpless as Wolfang picked her up by the nape.

"Such an adorable filly. I'm sure she'll fetch a nice price from slavers," he smiled a disgusting yellow grin, licking his lips, "Though, I might just keep her for myself."

But this taunting would be the death knell of the diamond dog. Enraged with righteous paternal wrath, Maiëlindir summoned all the fading strength he could and reached for his sword. Again glowing bright, the blade was thrust deep into the dog's heart.

"You will not touch her," He then swung the sword up to the neck, spraying a trail of blood across the grass. The dog soon fell over, a lifeless corpse. Nikóleva was dropped to the ground, and rushed to her father in gratitude.

But sorrowfully, the stallion's energy was draining fast. Henarion sheathed his sword and ran to his friend, tears beginning to stream from his eyes, "Maiëlindir! Hold on! I'll preform a spell―"

"No magic can me save now, Henarion...," the stallion turned his head and coughed up more blood. He then smiled and caressed a hoof down Nikóleva's face.

"I'm...sorry...I have failed you. I have let your bloodline come to ruin!" Henarion was now beginning to sob.

"No you have not. Nikóleva and Taberanyn remain safe. I have done my duty: I am survived by my beloved daughters," he was now stroking his eldest filly's beautiful pink mane.

But Nikóleva grabbed his hoof and cried, "What do you mean, Papa?" she shook her head in denial. "No! Henarion! Please help me carry Papa to bed! I cannot lift him myself!" she was now vainly nudging her father from the ground.

"I'm afraid I shall leave soon, Nikóleva. I'll see your Mother," tears now came from his eyes, heartbroken for his daughter.

"Mama? May I come too! I wish to see Mama!" she yelled, her father's blood now staining her pristine coat.

"Your place is still here. You've your sister to take care of."

Nikóleva's sobbing only intensified, "But Papa...who will teach me how to use a sword? Who will teach little Taby?" the filly threw herself at him and slung her forelegs around his neck, "Oh Papa!"

"Shhhh...shhhh...it will be alright. You must promise me something, though. Can you do this?" she weakly nodded, "Promise me...you will never let...any...thing happen to your sister..."

"Yes, Papa." she agreed, realizing her father's breaths were becoming quicker.

Already his vision was fading, but he used whatever strength was left to grab his sword and resheath it. Ungirting the blade, he passed it on to his daughter, "This is Eónadin. Your grandfather gave it to me before he died. And now it belongs to you. It has great power, and all your enemies will recoil at its brilliance."

Henarion took the sword in his magic and set it upon the wet ground to allow Nikóleva freedom of movement. She hugged her father even tighter and kissed him on the cheek, an action he could not reciprocate, "I love you Papa! Greet Mama for me."

Maiëlindir could hardly contain his tears, "Of course. I love you very much, Nikóleva. And you, Henarion, have been my Brother for many years. Do not lament my death; I've lived a long and fruitful life...," he glanced at the hovel however, "Yet I wish to have seen Taberanyn grow as you, Nikóleva. When she is older, please tell her I love her just the same. And her father's...on...ly...regret..."

The stallion could not finish, and his eyes closed for the last time. Blood was no longer flowing out, and his breathing ceased. His lifeless forelegs still clutched Nikóleva, and she still held onto him with all her might. Henarion uttered a prayer and leaned in to kiss his friend's forehead.

"So passes Maiëlindir Aracílnedalí nor-Solárindilbainuir, aged twenty-three and one-hundred years... May you and Her find Everlasting Union...," the orange alicorn then broke down into sobs. He held Nikóleva close, stroking her mane as the filly cried into his chest. They sat there in mourning for hours, rendered completely inconsolable.

Meanwhile, inside the hovel, a newborn foal cried loudly, unknowingly deprived of her father.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Every word was captured flawlessly, but this did not detract from the gravity they held. Twilight began to tear up herself, and had to make a conscious effort not to drip on the pages. But the task was done, the first part of this story completed. Drying the ink, Twilight set the tome aside, and looked at Celestia.

The alabaster mare was silently staring out the window, painfully recalling this traumatic event. As more and more of the images came to her, the more difficult it was to remain strong. A light trickle of tears streamed down her cheeks. Every now and then she thought about her father's death, but she restrained herself dwelling on the memory for very long. But this time she needed to.

And her twinge of sorrow grew into a heart-stabbing dagger, twisting itself within her chest. Turning back from the window, she tried to make her way to a pillow to rest on. But when she approached it, her tears turned into a cascade, and she collapsed on the pillow, sobbing uncontrollably.

Twilight could not stand this sight, and sat beside the Princess. Spreading a wing across the mare's back, Twilight gave an empathetic smile. Wiping her eyes, Celestia appreciated the gesture more than anything, and smiled back.

"Twilight, may we postpone the rest of the story for a later date? I think I'm a bit spent now." The lavender pony just nodded.

"Thank you," Celestia said, placing her foreleg around her student.

Outside the Royal Chamber, the two guards standing beside the door sniffled and tried their best to remain motionless. They had heard the whole tale, and were joined in on the tragedy. But Celestia's break down was what really hurt them.

Unfortunately for them, and Twilight, more tragedy and tears remained to be recollected.

End of "The Exilarch"

2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 1. Irredeemable

2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 1. Irredeemable

The Sun had now set below the horizon, unto its place of resting until dawn came. With grace and power, the midnight blue alicorn now named "Luna" raised her beautiful silver Moon. Its less intense but still pleasing light allowed the everpresent stars to twinkle uncounted miles above the Earth. Thousands of these heavenly bodies illuminated the vast sky, and Princess Luna had delicately arranged them into patterns long ago, mirroring ancient star maps she had found in those days.

In the present time, the lights from Canterlot often drowned out the dimmest stars. Even so, mariners relied heavily on their guiding light; thousands of voyages could not have been made without the Constellations. Festivals around the world were dedicated to the stars, and some cultures even worshiped them. Every so often, a star would fall from the sky. Some said it was the wrath of the Night-Goddess.

It was unknown, even to Luna herself, why stars fell. Different traditions said different things. Ordinarily they were fixed within the Firmament of the World. But Luna was not allowed to remove them, whether or not she actually could. It was Natural Law that the heavens be regulated as strictly as they are. Celestia and Luna were forbidden from tampering with the ordained cycle. Were they to break this law, and perhaps use them as weapons for their own selfish aims, the Royal Sisters would summon a Wrath more unfettered and sincere than any Earthly thing could muster.

Luna at her darkest and cruelest once had the gall to do just that.

But a millennium had passed since then, and her punishment was to miss all those years. Everything she knew had changed; ponies, cities, technology, beliefs, social norms, language. Only one thing remained largely the same: her sister. In truth, Luna was surprised her dear sister endured to greet her after Nightmare Moon was cast down in totality; Celestia should not have lived so long.

Shortly after Luna's return, the alabaster alicorn revealed the secret of her longevity. And though Celestia remained just as youthful, strong, and wise as Luna remembered, the rightful Queen of Equestria suffered from protracted melancholia.

The Princess of the Night kept this in mind, and passed down the halls of the castle in earnest. Standing beside some important doors were the night guards, who saluted their princess as she walked by. She gave them each a nod of approval. At the end of the hall, Luna came to a vast dining room.

The night sky shone serenely through the windows of this vaulted chamber. Built to receive vast hordes of guests, at this time the room was empty save for a large white pony who was wearing a rather dour expression. She noticed her sister enter the hall, her face lighting up either in genuine joy or a mere façade. But Luna was not so cheerful.

Concern for her older sister gnawed at her, and Celestia’s pain became Luna's as well.

"I met Twilight Sparkle not an hour ago. I take it you're to finish the story you've told her thus far?" Luna asked, her speech still bearing a hint of archaism.

Celestia started for the general direction of her Royal Chambers, "Of course. Should I not finish what I have begun? I trust you have everything under control, so I'll―"

"The guards came to me last night. I stopped by your door and heard you crying in slumber. There is much pain in your history; are you certain you wish to recount it?"

Celestia sighed, dreading her own emotions, "I must. I promised Twilight, and I cannot break a promise...not again..."

"I'm deeply worried about you, Dear Sister. I can scarcely bear to stand by whilst torment beats at you."

"Ease your concerns, Luna. I'm a Queen, though I seldom declare so, and I can never show weakness. Emotional or otherwise. I'm to be a beacon of stability for our country. All my personal feelings, hopes, desires; they must come second to the interests of Equestria."

"But―"

"I made that choice many years ago," Celestia plainly said, her voice rather monotonous.

Princess Luna thought for a second before retorting, "Sénoril fonëai dhenëai, Nikóleva, mevilím víwë tuliën.(Despite your duties, Nikóleva, you are still just a pony.)"

Celestia's eyes widened. She had not heard the Language of Alícor spoken in many centuries, "héim-Yena nor-bhor, tan-ronilion sima roneä.(Please, do not call me by that name.)"

"Shaidaë? Lís céba durno bhoney tan-rondulno der?(Why? Is this not what our parents named you?)"

The white alicorn continued towards her room. After a few seconds she despondently replied, just loud enough for Luna to hear, "Nikóleva aiäduln nadin nir surda.(Nikóleva died a long time ago.)" Before the blue mare could object, Celestia disappeared from the room. The Nightly Princess had matters to attend to, but through the whole night her sister would not leave her thoughts.

It would have broken the collective hearts of Equestria to know what sorrow always burdened their Mighty Princess. Celestia’s choices throughout her life weren't always the wisest, and regret was a feeling she had all too often. It was unfortunate how perfect Equestrians typically thought Celestia was. Perhaps due to her effective permanence or mythical appearance, and of course her power to raise the Sun, most assumed their Princess was a great goddess. Maybe only among the lesser ranks of the Cosmic Pantheon, but a goddess nonetheless.

No force in this world or any could compel Celestia to press this claim. To her people...the Alicorns, such a claim was the ultimate blasphemy. Those remnants of a bygone era held strange beliefs, contrary to what the Tulicëai knew to be true or might deduce via logic. Even if Celestia could recognize herself as a deity, she would not accept any divinity as imperfect and flawed as herself.

But she loved her Country more than anything else, save of course for Luna. And in this love the Alicorn found the strength to endure and reign; to remain vigil and collected. The citizens of Equestria had enough to worry about in their own lives. These good ponies didn't need to add their Princess to that list.

This thought often came to the mind of Celestia to recharge her confidence and resolve. Her bloodline gave her right to the Throne on the promise that the House's virtue remained. And it was Celestia's sworn duty to protect and serve Equestria, unto her dying breath. Nikóleva had been many things; a ruler was not one of them. She had long forsaken that identity and taken up the royal scepter; Queen Celestia could be nothing but a ruler.

And though nopony alive now save perhaps what pitiful number of Alicorns still inhabited Equestria would see their great Princess finally pass that scepter on to a successor, her Most Faithful Student Twilight Sparkle might produce an apologetic work in the meantime. This story, yet to be finished by the lavender pony, held hope for Celestia.

The hope that for all her shortcomings and failures as Princess, ponies could still read and recognize that she was only a pony herself. And maybe even learn from her mistakes.

Perhaps driven by this selfish desire, the white alicorn could stand to recall what dark and repressed things plagued her memories.

All these thoughts echoed within her mind, and by the time she went up the spiral staircase into the top of her tower, Celestia began to wear a somewhat happy façade. It was a sad fact when she was alone a smile seldom ever appeared. At court the Princess' mood however was required to be at least cheery. And Twilight deserved nothing less.

Approaching the top of the tower for quite possibly the millionth-time, Celestia was saluted by two handsomely armored stallions. Their glittering gold plate armor and tall blue-crested helms were comically obsolete by now, but tradition would not see them modernized. In fact, the Royal Guard's role was largely ceremonial; Celestia herself did not need any protection. Most foes―granted most could never hope to successfully overpower the tall alicorn.

Even so, the Guards minded the Princess' well-being. And her two personal bedchamber guards were perhaps best acquainted with the Princess. In truth, nopony really knew much about Celestia other than her daily rulings. But over the centuries, her two guards sometimes heard the mare talk in her sleep. Occasionally they even heard her crying.

The present pair experienced this during the night previous. Their Princess' pain became their own. One guard took an extra effort to ease the alicorn's mind, at least somewhat.

Celestia gestured for her guards to cease their salutations. A few seconds afterwards, the right guard raised his voice.

"Princess: permission to speak freely," he said mechanically, his gaze not shifting from some indeterminable point in space.

The alabaster mare smiled and nodded, "Permission granted."

The guard’s disposition relaxed and his speech became less confident and formal, "Thank you, Princess. Well um I don't really have anything much to say...but I did get you this," he levitated out a small chocolate cupcake from a pouch he kept around his waist, "My daughter's having a bake sale, so my wife made a batch. I figured...well you'd appreciate one, Your Majesty."

"...What?" the other guard interjected, breaking for, "You didn't get me one!"

The Princess took the cupcake in her magic and inspected the scrumptious treat. Sweets often put her in a trance, and she licked her lips in anticipation for the tasty snack. The guard gave his Princess a sincere smile of empathy and returned to his rigid stance.

Celestia opened the doors to her room and found Twilight Sparkle within, just as anticipated. After closing the doors, the Princess took a bite out of the cupcake, and was lost to delectable sugary bliss. She then levitated it towards Twilight, offering a bite to the lavender pony. Twilight happily took it, but Celestia was allowed the pleasure of finishing the cake.

Wiping her mouth with a small handkerchief, the Princess then removed and stored her regalia before lying down on the large purple lounge pillow in front of the fireplace. Celestia noticed the open book beside Twilight, one page covered in writing while the other was blank.

"Normally I'd feel this was being too up front, but I know you too well. Are you ready to resume?"

But Twilight's face was one of hesitation, and she demurely looked around, "Actually, Princess...I was wondering if there other documents I could read. Like a journal or memoirs. Something you've already taken effort to compile."

Celestia sighed, her eyes becoming beacons of gloom, "It's because if my behavior last night, isn't it?"

Twilight didn't say anything, but her response was clear. The Princess then gave a weak laugh and magically took a book from her shelf. Placing it before Twilight, the lavender winged unicorn admired the quality of the codex. It looked very aged, but still strong and intact. Its brown cover was outlined in golden strips, and a brass clasp held both covers together. The inquisitive pony unhooked the clasp and smiled widely, anticipating a plethora of knowledge and insight to the Princess.

But within this book Twilight found no such thing, at least within her comprehension. Flipping through its pages, the pony became quite annoyed. Everything inside was beautifully written in that odd script, probably in that odd language of Celestia's.

The Princess giggled as Twilight just frowned. "That's not funny," she said dryly.

"Oh, you don't like that book? Here, let me see what else I have...," she pulled a few more books from the shelf. Placing them all in a large stack, Celestia let Twilight frantically leaf through them. Much to her displeasure, they were all written in "Alicorn"

The purple mare was about fed up, "How am I supposed to read these??"

Celestia's laughing had begun to subside, "Alright I've had my fun. When I teach you my language, you'll read these cover to cover."

Twilight's mood immediately lightened, "Oh...," her eyes then sparkled brightly, "I can't wait!" But then she caught sight of a book that was not taken from the shelf. She stood up and approached the tome, carefully pulling it out. Twilight then gave it to Celestia.

The white alicorn studied the book, its simple title shining on the black cover. She flipped to her favorite page, and read it silently to herself. "This...is a very special book. Why I've memorized every word within. All alicorns used to. I hope some still do... Vancir nor Uir it's called.

"What does that mean?" Twilight asked, the mood of the room suddenly much more serious.

"We'll get to that. I've been stalling enough; let's continue the story."

"But Princess...," Twilight protested. "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to―"

"It's fine!...It's fine. It's best for me to recount everything myself."

Twilight reluctantly got her quill, "Alright...I suppose we should start with the rest of your fillyhood?"

"Fillyhood?" Celestia began, "My fillyhood ended with His death..." The Princess choked down her sorrow, "After that, Henarion became our guardian. He loved us like his own, and he was the only parent Luna ever knew. And until marehood, not much of note happened in my life. Luna and I just...farmed; trying to carve out a living during the mild summers and not freeze in the harsh winters. What we couldn't make or procure ourselves Henarion would bring back from the South, as our Father had before."

Twilight scrawled out some words, and paused, "Well what happened after that? Where's the part you were wanting to tell me?"

Celestia sighed again, and did not make eye contact with her student out of shame, "The day I left them both behind."

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

A few scattered snowflakes slowly fell down to the ground, resting softly upon the pure white snow that blanketed the glade. It was a semi-cloudy day, and precipitation minimal. Most animals had either migrated or begun their hibernation inside warm caves. Ponies were a peculiarity, opting to do neither. The cold temperatures and snowfall were certainly nothing to scoff at down in Equestria proper, but here in the untamed northern forests they were both multiplied several times over. It was wholly common for drifts to reach the high knees of a pony.

During this season, the Calm Waters of the Lake were frozen over and the snow covered the ice. Traversing the lake could be dangerous, even deadly. Tall evergreens were pelted with snow every day, deciduous trees being rather rare in this region. All the spring and summer flowers had died back; only the hardiest of plants could endure.

And trudging along in this white and wintry setting was a long alicorn clad in a grey cloak, appearing entirely unfazed by the frigid conditions. She was a mare, not quite full grown yet. Her midnight blue coat contrasted starkly with her surroundings; a mirror image of her late father. Upon her head and about her tail periwinkle fur grew, kept somewhat short so as not to interfere with her work. Her big teal eyes held a look of annoyance.

She pulled a large sleigh, upon which several timbers were placed. Not far from a small house, the alicorn stopped and removed the saddle from her back. The mare then levitated up a metal axe head. The haft was still attached, but was broken in two. She took it with her towards another building where the unmistakable sound of pounding metal emanated. The alicorn mare crept inside, the air immediately rising in temperature.

Within was another alicorn mare looking both similar and different from the former. This pony was instead snow-white, as her namesake would suggest. Her mane was a soft shade of pink, securely tied up for her craft. The alicorn's outward appearance was strikingly similar to her deceased mother's, just trading a red mane for pink. The mare's eyes, however, were her father's exactly: magenta.

The white pony saw her sister enter the forge, yet she continued pounding a red-hot iron bar against an anvil. Despite the dirt and grime covering her face, the mare possessed an uncommon attractiveness. Not quite raw beauty, but rather a combination of aesthetically pleasing characteristics. Her body was naturally well-toned yet still slender, giving her a graceful and "light" quality. And in time all ponies would come to recognize her most obvious characteristic: her height.

Alicorns, as a rule, were of respectable height. Alicorn mares stood appreciably taller than stallions of other races, and nearly a full head higher than their female Tulicëai counterparts. Taller still were their males, who all but dwarfed stallions and mares alike; Henarion was of this stature. And then there was Nikóleva. Highly self-conscious about it, the white pony grew even taller than a typical alicorn stallion, another trait she inherited from her father.

Her slim physique and immense height gave Nikóleva a commanding and sometimes intimidating elegance.

But her sister was immune to any fear that mare could instill within a pony. The blue alicorn merely plopped the broken axe onto the bench beside the furnace.

"It broke," Taberanyn said flatly.

Nikóleva rolled her eyes and set down her hammer. "I just made you a new axe. What were you even doing that split it?" she angrily asked while inspecting the splintered haft.

"What do you think? Felling trees! I cannot help it that I'm so strong," The blue pony answered, a faint air of arrogance around her, "so hurry up and fix it."

Nikóleva placed the axe back down, "I have other things to make right now. Besides, why are you even out there? It's freezing!" she commented, grateful her work included a toasty fire.

"Have thicker skin, Nikól. It's not that cold," the white alicorn just narrowed her eyes at her sisterm "repair the axe or I cannot fetch wood to feed your precious forge."

"Why not grab the one from the storehouse?"

"Are you insane? That's Henarion's. I've no intention of invoking his wrath."

Nikóleva waved a hoof, "He's miles away. He'd never know."

"I shall not chance it," Taberanyn declared. If there was a correlation between age difference and respect/fear a pony had for one another, it was quite present here. Nikóleva was only nineteen, almost twenty; Taberanyn her junior by four years. Henarion however was well over a century old, and his patience had worn quite thin since his younger days.

And just then, from seemingly out of nowhere, a low and frightening voice sounded forth, "I am pleased to hear wisdom is not lost on you."

Taberanyn, utterly surprised, turned around and jumped backwards. Looking down at her was dull orange-coated alicorn stallion. A few flakes of snow had landed on his dark brown mane, and his snout was visibly reddened in the chilled air.

"Henarion!" the blue pony called out, "I...you're back soon."

"Indeed. I don't like to leave you both alone for very long," he glared at the elder sister, "I'm never quite sure what mischief might occur." Nikóleva recoiled, an embarrassed look on her face. The stallion however smiled, "Of course you may use my axe. Just be careful not to break it."

Ever grateful, Taberanyn rushed over to the storehouse where the tool was stowed. Henarion's mood had improved in the years following his friend's―their father's death. In part to be a good and respectable "parent", but also due to his old wound healing. He couldn't remember exactly how he received the injury, but one night the pain simply...stopped. But even so, the old stallion was still a strict and if need be harsh caretaker.

Henarion became very protective of them, and vehemently ordered the pair to never leave the homestead without his escort. He had a paralyzing fear that Maiëlindir's fate would become theirs, and that he'd be responsible for it. But the alicorn did promise each that on their twentieth birthday they would be free of his charge. And Nikóleva was counting down the days. While Henarion's younger ward altogether obeyed his admonitions and commands, Nikóleva was problematic.

She'd do everything in her capacity to stretch the limits of what he deemed "acceptable". She'd wander into the woods or follow the length of streams. And when he departed for supplies every so often, the white pony would do the complete opposite of what he wished; a few run-ins with hostile creatures and dangerous cliffs.

And owing to this foolishly defiant attitude, Nikóleva sometimes dragged her sister along.

Henarion unfortunately knew well enough her disobedient behavior. But he could hardly blame her: Maiëlindir in his youth yearned for travel and adventure. Nikóleva was indeed her father's daughter.

Still, if she would listen but once, he prayed it was now. For on his return he happened upon something very disturbing. The pony knew, left to her own devices, Nikóleva should find out soon enough. There was no point in trying to hide it.

Therefore, as Taberanyn was returning to her trees, Henarion began to speak with clarity and authority, "Before you resume whatever activities occupied you heretofore, I bring tidings of danger in the forest," both mares paused and gave Henarion their undivided attention, "I found a Diamond Dog cave."

Immediately feelings of perturbation overtook Nikóleva, "I thought you said they were gone..."

"I said they shouldn't attack us, provided we stay away from their place of dwelling. I covered my trail in the snow to ensure they cannot find us."

Nikóleva grit her teeth, anger building up, "All the better to ambush them."

But Henarion's response was quite contrary to what the mare expected, "I forbid either of you from entering the forest and searching for their cave. Our consciences are clear in defense only; I will not have us be the villains in this ordeal."

"You cannot be serious, Henarion! Don't you remember―"

"Every night that morning plays in my dreams. But we've no reason to trouble them. As far as we're concerned, they are innocent."

The white alicorn still glared at her guardian, but found no rebuttal.

"Do you understand?" the stallion asked.

"...Yes sir," She finally said, her rage subsiding.

"Excellent. Thank you," Henarion sighed and placed his hoof on Nikóleva's shoulder, "I know better than anypony how you feel, but please...you have no idea what you'd get yourself into."

The alabaster mare however said nothing, and returned to her furnace. Her sister trotted up to a tree in the distant, careful not to lose sight of the house. Taberanyn had no intentions of running into some hostile creature. Unfortunately, her intentions were seldom respected.

As the day wore on, Nikóleva and her sister both finished whatever chores they elected to complete. Usually, every other day or so, the pair would travel to a small mound after work. A few hours of sunlight remained, and Nikóleva had been thinking quite a bit since Henarion returned.

She stood on this mound, alone in her thoughts. Shivering a bit in the cold, Nikóleva kept herself warm by a burning desire for justice. Beside her was Taberanyn in deep contemplation. Below them both on top of this snow-covered patch sat two grey stones.

Etched on each stone was the very same symbol Nikóleva wore around her neck. Nothing else marked the surfaces. Most Alicorns were illiterate, and no effort to differentiate the two stones had been made. But then again, it wasn't necessary.

It was under this mound where the two parents of the sisters were laid to rest. And for all eternity their Earthly bodies would sit next to each other, their union made complete. Taberanyn, much to her sorrow, had very faint memories of her father, and could only have one of her mother. Nikóleva however could recall them both with painful vividness.

Maiëlindir and Eserindil they were named. The two alicorns loved each other more than words could describe. And when Eserindil bore a healthy foal, their lives were made all the more delightful. And her mother gave her life so that Taberanûn might have one. And her father gave his to preserve the sisters' future.

It was only right to use these gifts and try as best they could to repay them. Nikóleva said a small prayer and then turned to her sister, "I hope you realize we're finding that nest."

The blue alicorn stepped back in shock, "What?? You heard Henarion; we're not to go near it."

"He's just scared we can't take them all by ourselves. Prove him wrong!"

"Your mind is clouded by your hatred for Diamond Dogs," Taberanyn calmly said, "You forget you're just one pony."

Nikóleva was starting to snap, "Do you forget what they did to Father?! For love of Him, we must destroy those curs!"

"Was not the dog who slew Father killed by his hoof? We cannot take vengeance on what he already has."

"Cowardice! I'd think my own Sister should burn for justice as I do."

"You blaze with wrath, and it has burned your sense away! I still have mine," The blue pony's quick tongue retorted.

"Then I shall go alone, under cover of night," Nikóleva then left, returning to the hovel.

And the mare was true to her word. Alone in her father's old room, which she inherited, Nikóleva waited patiently for nightfall. After the other two ponies had lie down, the waking alicorn glanced out the window and noticed the moonlight. It should be enough for her errand. Girting up a sword she forged and her old dagger, the pony then fastened her father's old blade across her waist. She could never bring herself to use it, but it still gave her a feeling of power and strength.

Nikóleva wasn't sure what made this sword so special, but it certainly had an uncommon quality.

The wrathful mare felt invincible. She planned everything out accordingly: she'd find the hole, slay all inside, and return before daybreak. Henarion would forgive her when she brought him all the spoils of war, right?

Utterly convinced she was doing a just and honorable thing, Nikóleva blew out her candles and silently snuck out of the house, wearing her thick cloak for the bitter winter night. Her hoofsteps muffled in the clam snow, she galloped off into the forest, hell-bent on ridding the wood of those greedy depraved beasts.

But a single eye opened mere minutes after her departure, awoken by something it couldn't quite place.

Nikóleva would search high and low for hours, soldiering hock-deep in snow. Aided by the silvery light of the Moon, she examined each and every pit for a sound, movement, light; anything that indicated diamond dogs lived there. Nothing.

Discouraged, the mare leaned against a tree to rest. She contemplated building a fire pit to warm her freezing hooves, and let out a sigh. But there, just past her hot breath, Nikóleva spotted a strange footprint in the snow.

It was clearly canine in shape. It could have easily been mistaken for wolf-prints. But closer examination dashed these suspicions: the trail obviously belonged to a creature that walked on two legs.

She followed the trail for a hundred or so meters, finally arriving at a good-sized cavern. The faint orange glow of candlelight illuminated the cave-mouth; a telltale sign of habitation. The only thing stopping the mare from rushing head on into that cave was the crunching of snow from behind her.

Thinking it was a dog sneaking up, the mare drew her plain sword and lunged back, gracefully thrusting the blade just far enough to touch the would-be assailant's throat. Nikóleva's fiery eyes immediately went cold at who stood before her.

"I...I came after you," Taberanyn said trembling. Deathly terrified she gently directed the blade away from any vital areas, "I followed your hoofprints."

"Oh Taby, you nearly got yourself killed."

A look of indignation grew on the blue alicorn's face, "You know how I feel about that name. Why do you insist on calling me that?"

Nikóleva gave a mocking laugh, "Because I know how you feel about it. I'm glad you decided to aid me."

"No, I've come to talk some sanity into you! I won't let you get yourself killed. It's not far past midnight; if we're careful we won't wake Henarion."

Nikóleva frowned in defiance, "My will cannot be swayed. Either brandish your weapon, Taberanyn, or go home."

The white mare turned back towards the cave opening, but her sister stuck out her hoof, "Please! Listen to reason!" but the blue pony's words fell on deaf ears. Nikóleva suspended her blade via magic and got into an offensive stance; she heard movement coming from the cave.

Emerging from inside were two brown dogs, dimly lit by the Moon. Whether on some sort of patrol, scouting mission or just to get some fresh air, the pair moved a few feet into the snow and noticed a couple of alicorns intruding on their land. They quickly spoke to one another in a strange tongue, characterized by a tonal structure and harsh sounds that brought displeasure to the ears of the sisters. They then yelled similar words into the cave, and drew weapons.

Taberanyn, genuinely terrified, produced her axe, specially created for combat, "Sister, it's not too late to retreat."

But Nikóleva didn't respond. The blue alicorn could see the blazing fires in her sister's eyes. The elder alicorn hated diamond dogs with every fiber of her being. She regarded them as vermin to be exterminated. They took her father from her, in cold blood, and for many nights since then the pony cried herself to sleep. Some days she could hardly bear the loss. And those miserable...things would pay for it.

The two diamond dogs charged forwards, ready to cleave the ponies into pieces. Consumed by rage and sorrow, Nikóleva rushed to meet them. Impaling one through the abdomen, she swung the blade out and slashed the chest of the other.

A line of blood ran down the steel, soon dripping onto the pure snow. The like-colored pony then witnessed the life escape from the dogs' eyes. Now barren corpses, the creatures fell limp before the alicorn's feet. Yet their deaths brought no sense of satisfaction or peace to her. Anger turned to stinging regret, manifesting itself as tears that flowed down Nikóleva's cheeks. She stood motionless, staring off into space.

Blinded by her emotions, the mare had extinguished two lives. For so long she yearned for this moment. But now that it was here, all the pony could think about was how she destroyed another life. What family did these dogs leave behind? Did they...perhaps have daughters of their own, daughters Nikóleva had just made fatherless?

"...What have I done?" she said in a barely audible whisper. She dropped her sword and brought a bloodied hoof up to her sight. It took all the strength she could muster not to break down into sobs.

Taberanyn, her soul still untainted by the dark deed of killing, raised up her axe as a few more dogs stomped out into the open. A brazen look in her eye, the blue pony called out to her sister, "Nikól! Here come more!" A swing later, and one mongrel's head was split open, the gory sight enough to almost make the younger mare vomit.

Foe after foe rushed forwards, prompting Nikóleva to swallow her emotions and retrieve her weapon. The sisters cleaved and sliced through several enemies, all finding their final resting place in the unforgiving snow. After the first wave was down, the pair swung their weapons to spray the blood and flesh off. Yet before they could escape, another group sallied forth, faster and more ferocious than the previous.

One pounced onto Taberanyn, who then thrust her axe's head into the cur's chest. Unfortunately their numbers grew too great. Still an adolescent, the alicorn couldn't withstand the onslaught. Nikóleva tried her best to throw them off, but she wasn't as formidable a warrior as the situation demanded. In the ensuing struggle, a sword hilt was bashed against the white pony's forehead, and she stumbled in a daze to the ground.

The Diamond Dogs were therefore permitted to deal with Taberanyn as they saw fit. She moved in any way to stave off their grotesque paws, but to no avail. Finally, growing impatient with the mare, one dog slammed his potent fist down on one of her wings, snapping the upper bone.

She yelped and cried in pain, boring her hooves into the snow to avoid being dragged away. Nikóleva managed to stand in time to see her sister's face as the poor pony was taken into the dark recesses of the Diamond Dog Lair. That face would forever be burned into the mind of the white alicorn: a blue mare, hooves extended in vain hope of rescue, her face covered in tears as she screamed. A face of complete and utter fear.

Nikóleva could do nothing but run away. Sheathing her sword, she returned to the direction of her home at full gallop, trying to evade a couple dogs who noticed the larger mare was still free. After a few hundred feet, the mongrels had given up chase.

The alicorn knew only one thing could be done; their caretaker needed to save Taberanyn. She paused for a second to catch her breath, as well as hope to the Almighty she would return in time.

"Lórian, preserve my Sister! Even if I must be slain instead," then as quickly as her long legs could take her she ran all the way through the forest.

Everything along the way was a blur, but still the journey was agonizingly long. However long the trip was she did not know; surely not more than half an hour. At last she came up to the house, and bucked open its door. Wasting no time, she intruded on a sleeping stallion, who probably was already awake.

She shook him forcibly, and looked at the stallion with true pleading, "Henarion!"

Used to waking up at a moment's notice, the old alicorn opened his eyes and produced a magic light from his horn, "What could possibly―" he noticed the blood on her forehead and hooves. He immediately pulled off his blanket and sat up. "What happened to you??" he asked with genuine concern.

But the mare's eyes told him enough. His look of worry turned to anger, "You didn't..."

"I need you now!" Nikóleva shouted, almost reduced to weeping.

Henarion vainly attempted to contain his rage. He assumed the worst, but kept a small flicker of hope. He waited a few seconds for a certain blue pony to appear in the threshold. Taberanyn was a light sleeper...she'd show up soon to ask what all the noise was about, right?

No such pony came through the door. Fully enraged, Henarion stood up and glared at Nikóleva,"Shaimadel tecoë dhenë meviln?(Where is your sister?)"

"...Diamond Dogs! She followed me into the woods and they...took her! We have to go after―" the mare's speech was violently interrupted as Henarion raised his hoof and struck her across the face with immense force.

In an urgent hurry, the stallion retrieved his cloak and sword, and put them on as he galloped out the hovel. Nikóleva however objected.

"Wait! Must we solve this with more violence? Please! Just allow me to give them Eónadin! Taberanyn's life is worth more than a mere sword!"

But Henarion was far too wrathful to accept a trade. He pinned the mare against the wall, unloading a plethora fiery emotions, "You seek to bribe them?!"

Her eyes filled with tears, Nikóleva begged with the stallion, "I...I slew too many already! I cannot bear anymore blood to stain my hooves!"

"I warned you! Your father wanted you to avoid battle, lest your innocence be spoiled. Now by your own will you've filthied your soul! You must finish what you started! There's no Law out here but that of Honor; all must be slain, for the dead cannot take vengeance upon the living!"

He released Nikóleva and turned back to the forest, "We've not much time!"

Driven by a cascade of adrenaline, the stallion covered a large distance in a relatively short amount of time. The other pony had to push herself to keep up, causing her throat to become dry and hoarse in the frigid night air. In record time the two arrived at the cave, the gnarled naked branches around it giving a feeling of foreboding.

Without speaking, the stallion descended into the hole, bearing his blade. If fear had gripped him, Nikóleva could find no sign of it in either his face or movements. Deeper into the cavern, Henarion spotted the foreguard of Diamond Dogs. The white pony timidly stood in the shadows, trying not to be noticed.

But the orange alicorn stood proud and imposing. No force on Earth could deter him from his mission.

An important-looking dog pointed a finger at the pony and cried out in their ugly language. A party then rushed Henarion, and immediately regretted the action when he cut them down with seemingly minimal effort. In a lethal dance of expert swordsponyship, every single movement was calculated to kill. The alicorn then nonchalantly walked past their mutilated bodies, realizing the cavern didn't run very deep.

Nikóleva shyly followed him, but the old stallion turned and gave her a stern look, "Víwë civa tarsilna. Lís mailím vana lainilímera tecoë dhenë ?(Only five remain. Do you have the courage to save your sister?)"

She somehow found the bravery to take a stance beside Henarion. The pair hurried at full gallop to the five guarding a small passageway. Armed with blunt and bladed weapons, the Diamond Dogs met the charge with one of their own. Yet fire burned within the alicorns, and their strong blows were too much for the mongrels; they were impaled, decapitated, eviscerated, or cleaved into pieces. Unfortunately during the struggle a dog's paw clawed at Henarion's face.

The sharp nail met his eye, and gouged out the beautiful blue orb.

Nevertheless, Henarion shook off the injury, having more important concerns on his mind.

As luck would have it, those five happened to be the last dogs left in the cave. Henarion crept into the passage they had been guarding. Inside were several palisades of sharpened stakes, likely makeshift cells for holding hostages. The pony didn't have the patience to look through each, instead swinging his sword to cut down the cell walls.

Several yielded a disgusting sight; piles of bones, picked clean. Whether they had belonged to simple wild beasts or ponies Henarion did not wish to know. But when he cut the final cell open, his heart lightened as he found smaller blue alicorn, thankfully alive.

Bruised and disheveled, but alive.

She heard the slice, and looked up at her savior. The pony's eyes glistened with tears, but true joy gripped her heart. Henarion sheathed his sword and knelt down to the mare, hoping his one-eyed appearance would not frighten her.

Slinging his forelegs around her, he kissed her forehead gently, "Oh Thank Lórian! Taberanyn, did they do anything to you?"

But she could not summon the words to answer the question. Nikóleva crept into view of her sister, bearing a look of total remorse. The blue pony began to cry, and buried her head into Henarion's chest. The white pony fought back tears of her own, and could only wonder what happened in the time between Nikóleva's flight and the rescue.

Indeed all during the trek back home, Taberanyn said nothing. Her caretaker reassured her with sweet words that everything would be alright. And she appeared to appreciate it, finally calming down. Yet still no words.

Nikóleva thought long and hard. In all the years of her life, the alabaster mare would never assemble the courage to ask what happened in that Diamond Dog cave. Left to its own devices, her mind naturally assumed the worst.

And it tugged at her heart, boring a steely blade until the pain became unbearable.

Taberanyn's wing was wrapped and splinted, Henarion using a spell to accelerate the mending process. The rest of the night, Henarion allowed the blue pony to sleep in his bed; she needed somepony strong beside her. Loving this mare more than anything, the orange alicorn draped a large feathery wing over her in a gesture of protection. He only cared to merely wipe up his bloody eye socket; Taberanyn was more important.

But sleep did not come to Nikóleva. That image of her own sister being dragged into the cave and imprisonment within a dark cell; it was all the elder alicorn's fault. And she'd never forgive herself; she couldn't. In her arrogance Nikóleva managed to hurt the very pony she swore to protect at all costs.

Fueled by rage, she neglected her own sister; the mare she was supposed to stand by no matter what. And because of her failure to do that, Nikóleva had betrayed her father's memory. The regret grew too heavy, and she broke down into tears.

There was only one way to alleviate her guilt: the Rhódin.

The Rhódin or Act of Compassion was an ancient Alicorn custom, reserved for when injuries were committed against others. The custom was that whatever damages dealt were to be repaid. This ranged from simple theft to outright murder. Nikóleva had wronged not only her sister but also Henarion. Therefore, she was required by her own honor to complete two Rhódo.

Taking a small stick from her bedside table, Nikóleva bit down and unfurled her wing. Placing the upper part on the table's edge, she placed her hoof over the table. Then in one strong move she pounded the hoof against her wing, snapping the bone in two. It took all her willpower to not belt out in agony, and she nearly bit the stick in half. Heaving for a few seconds, she wrapped and splinted the bone.

Next came the messier ordeal. Drawing her dagger, she positioned the blade a couple inches from her right eye. A few tears flowed down and dripped onto the blade, and her hoof shook indecisively. She prepared to have her magenta eye made no more. Yet she could not bring herself to do it.

Regardless of what happened next, there was blood. And her right eye would not see the light of day again.

Driven by shame and incapable of showing her face to her sister, Nikóleva gathered a few supplies and sneaked out of the hovel for the second time tonight. Turning back to view the home one last time, she thought of Henarion and Taberanyn, "I love you both, and I shall never harm you again." Ridding their lives of the blight that was Nikóleva, the white mare ran off into the forest. She knew not where to go, only to keep running.

Following the stars, she headed southwards. Hopefully there she could eke out some existence away from her loved ones. There many miles away they would be safe from her.

And though years from now she'd reunite with Taberanyn, in her mind the white alicorn named Nikóleva would always remain an exile...until death finally claimed her.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

In the waking morning rays, a recovering blue alicorn became restless soon after getting out of bed. Every morning she expected to see her sister at the table, eating breakfast. This did not greet her. Somewhat disturbed, she wondered where Nikóleva could be. She searched all around the house for any sign of her sister.

Her room was empty and the forge was deserted. All she did find was a stallion sitting beside the fireplace.

Smoking a pipe in an effort to calm down, he was utterly distraught over this missing mare. Gazing into the crackling fire, he could hear the blue pony trampling around the homestead.

Taberanyn became very upset, and approached the stallion. "Where is Nikóleva?" she asked with a pleading voice.

He gave no answer, lending the impression he hadn’t heard her.

"Where is my Sister!?" she asked again, this time more forcefully.

The orange pony sighed, "Gone. She’s run away."

The other pony shook her head in disbelief, "No! We have to go find her! Why are you just sitting―"

"I've spent the morning looking for her. She's covered her tracks too well," He stood up and gave the mare a sincere look with his good eye, a bloodied band of cloth covering the other, "She must be a hundred miles away by now."

"W...What do we do, Henarion?"

He embraced the mare and began stroking her periwinkle mane, "Pray for her. That is all we can do."

2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 2. Warmth in Winter's Chill

2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 2. Warmth in Winter's Chill

In the early morning light, just as the sun peaked out above the horizon, a faint glisten radiated off newly-fallen ice crystals. Fallen pine needles and twigs littered the snow resting around the bases of tall conifers, laden with white virgin powder. The drifts were now quite deep, having been replenished by a severe storm the night previous. But the forest and its steadfast population of foliage endured. The harsh and unforgiving weather during the moonlit hours starkly contrasted with the serene and quiet majesty of a calm winter morning.

The scene overhead was dotted here and there with white clouds, the blue brilliance of the sky allowing the rays of sunshine to spread about the land. There was no breeze; the air was perfectly still. Not many things were moving at this time, either still sleeping or having just laid down after a busy night. Even so, the snow was lined with animal tracks; wolves, deer, small burrowing animals―and a single line of hoofprints.

Driven to absolute desperation, a lone pony nigh-camouflaged in the snow foolishly exposed herself to the brutal northern winter. Travelers seldom ever journeyed northwards during this season; those that did knew exactly what they were doing and where they were going. This particular pony knew neither. Indeed, those ignorant travelers would soon find out how cruel the wilderness could be. Freezing to death was an all too common fate ponies and other peoples faced out here.

And so too would have been the destiny of Nikóleva. She had the misfortune of being caught in a terrible blizzard, her vision all but obscured by whiteout. Shivering and close to feeling numb in her extremities, the mare surrendered to the storm and sat down beside a tree. Nikóleva closed her eyes and waited for death to take her; to become another victim of the deadly winter.

By all reason, that mare should have perished. Yet the alicorn's journey was not complete.

For as she lay there beside the trunk, something...something she would never be able to explain compelled her to stand back up. A random thought or...a voice... Whether it was her sister, father, mother, or even Henarion...she wasn't sure. But Nikóleva obtained a feeling of resolve, as if she knew this was not the end; that her long life had only begun. A renewed fire in her belly, Nikóleva trudged on through the ice and snow, deciding to listen to this...encouragement.

Somehow, she survived that night. But this victory was short-lived. The mare had forgotten exactly how long she'd been roaming. No less than a week, for sure. And though she used her food rations very conservatively, eventually all the bread and cheese she manage to scrounge before she fled would run out; just as they did after breakfast.

Nikóleva realized in a few days' time she'd starve to death. And no motivations could prevent her very body from giving out.

Therefore she endeavored to keep moving, in whatever vain hope she could muster for some means of feeding herself. Forage was inconceivable during winter. Ponies had also long lost the ability to consume wild vegetation, a consequence of civilization: simple twigs and bark may sustain one for a time, but could not stave off the inevitable.

Sustenance had to be found elsewhere. Heretofore Nikóleva had found nothing resembling habitation; any sort of sign other ponies lived here. Hundreds of miles from that hovel, it dawned upon her just how isolated her old homestead was. It hadn't always been that way. This land once contained the nucleus of Alicorn settlement within Equestria. Unfortunately, whatever cities and villages and plowed fields resided here the forests had long reclaimed.

But just south the country was much less destitute. Within her sight, towering above the tips of giant pines was a snow-capped ridge. This low range of mountains provided the natural boundary between the now-defunct Northern March and the outlying Equestrian Princedoms, also now dissolved. Sparsely dotting the mountain summits were the silhouettes of stone guard posts. Though long abandoned, their imperious heights gave the impression that these edifices still remained ever-vigil over the untamed wilds.

Nikóleva however possessed no intentions of investigating these towers any further. That would entail ascending the mountains; no, she would opt to pass through a low valley interrupting the ridge. A mile or two from her former vantage point, Nikóleva arrived at the stony base of a dilapidated fort. Despite its crumbling appearance and being overgrown with trees and brush, the ice-cold rock of its make still held strong.

The mare crept inside, walking deliberately yet still slow enough to admire the ancient construct. Exactly how old this fort was would be a mystery lost to time. The whole chain of defensive structures stretched from the far eastern shore all the way to the foothills of the tallest mountains on the continent. At various times some sections were better maintained and stationed than others; seldom was the entire length garrisoned. At one time there was even a wall connecting the eastern-most forts together.

During the heyday of Equestria, the borders were extended past this ridge, and these defenses became unnecessary. As such, the forts and towers fell into disrepair. Consequently, when the Northern March finally collapsed nothing stood in the way when invaders swept into the Equestrian heartland. Now many forts had their stones carried away for more important projects.

A sad fate to a brilliant engineering marvel. These great forts were built long before the Alicorns immigrated to Equestria, making them no less than three or four millennia old when Nikóleva wandered through their ruins.

This particular fort had a basic square-shaped foundation laid between the bases of two adjacent mountains, the spaces from the walls and the cliffs blocked off by stone walls. Inside, a large open courtyard dominated the fort, with smaller stone buildings lining the surrounding area. In their time of use, barracks and weapons would've been held inside. Each corner of the wall was topped with a turret, undoubtedly where archers could lay waste to attacking armies.

However some of the walls and the southwest tower had been destroyed, while the ramparts were clearly smashed. Nikóleva of course had no idea who built this fort or why; she could only look on at the ruin and ponder what forces assailed its walls. But though useless for defense now, the line of fortifications still marked the boundaries between the wilderness of her homeland and the civilization of Equestria...though "civilization" was a term applied loosely.

The old iron gates had been carried off as salvage, and Nikóleva could comfortably pass through the other wall. On this side still more forest dominated the landscape. Undaunted, she bravely marched on. But those trees irked her. All along her journey, nothing but trees filled her view. Nikóleva could not look at those giant conifers without sorrow overtaking her heart.

Taberanyn loved trees.

Her sister loved the smell of freshly-cut pine as she hauled the timbers back home. The open air and outdoors delighted the blue pony. For every tree she felled, the mare would carefully plant a delicate sapling. The vast expanses of the Alicorns' homeland were absolutely covered in forests; there was no worry of a shortage. But Taberanyn knew nothing delighted Lórian more than for the Good Earth to be well cared for.

This innocent and indeed benevolent disposition was one of the younger alicorn's defining characteristics. She was often soft-spoken and at times demure, but always well-meaning. Unfortunately, Taberanyn's good nature would change and shift to something more...pragmatic. And Nikóleva above all blamed herself: she left her to those diamond dogs, where that germ perhaps was first planted.

And now, those trees only served to remind the white mare of her sister; how she failed her...how she failed her father and Henarion...how she failed herself. Nothing could deter the love Nikóleva had for her one and only sister, but the alicorn decided it was best to be estranged from her small family. Henarion would never allow harm to come to Taberanyn.

Nikóleva's rage built up. She knew her own rage led to her sister being captured, and that regret only intensified her seething. Seeing red, the pony could hardly contain the pure self-loathing. She had half a mind to fully blind herself or throw herself off a cliff. The anger grew and grew until Nikóleva seized a tree within her sight and bucked it with all the force her back legs could muster.

The alicorn’s immense strength cracked the trunk, killing the tree. Nikóleva's joints smashed together, sending her legs into short-lived but terrible agony. Her rage subsiding the mare turned around, immediately feeling remorse. She looked at the dead tree, and tears started to well from her eyes.

Taberanyn loved trees.

Nikóleva could not stay and lament, unfortunately; her environment did not allow it. Therefore she still sojourned along her unmarked path, tears falling silently onto the snow beside her steps before freezing. The only thing that could repair the great rend in her heart was a possible redemption. Taberanyn had paid for her sister's actions...for her sins; there was no justice in that.

The white pony silently vowed during that trek to abandon her selfish desires and wants. If she was to become an exile, forever doomed to wander aimlessly, Nikóleva would do all she could to aid whomever she came across. She'd require nothing more than a simple place to rest and some food, enough to sustain the alicorn.

And these two needs, whether by chance or design, would be satisfied not much farther down her road.

Emerging from the forest around midday, Nikóleva walked through a patch of tree stumps, not yet removed from the ground. Here on the other side of the mountains the snow wasn't as deep or the air as cold. Gazing out past the trunks, Nikóleva spotted a series of buildings, one producing a tower of smoke.

This homestead belonged to somepony else, and was a welcome sign of some other inhabitants to interact with. Here, Nikóleva would find food and shelter, and even a few individuals to help. And perhaps she would find a little something more.

Approaching the bordering fence, Nikóleva stopped and waited a second for anypony to address her. Sure enough, the door to the main house opened, and out came another pony. It was obviously a pony, though it lacked horns and wings, and was of significantly smaller stature than herself. He was clearly male, of a tall and strong build. His coat was a healthy green, while his mane and tail were a very dark shade of that color. But strangest of all, upon his flank was a mark Nikóleva could not quite make out.

He came out bearing a sword and a determined expression. He narrowed his vision at the white mare that stood before his gate. After a few moments of silence, he raised his blade and began to speak.

"Begone, Knight! I am a free stallion, and do not owe your Lord anything! I give just this one warning."

Nikóleva's face became puzzled. She thought for a second, knowing drawing her own sword might elicit violence. "'Knight' you call me; I do not know this word. I promise you, I seek not to thieve. And indeed I serve no Lord but that on High."

The stallion did not let down his guard, "Your word means little to me, stranger. But I find it odd that, if you were a knight, you would not outright declare so."

"I am but a simple traveler."

He examined the mare, and finally lowered his blade, "Very well. But I promise if you preform damages against my property or kin, I shall repay you generously."

The stallion trotted up towards the gate and allowed the mare through. It was then he realized how tall she was. Yet the “unicorn” didn't appear very threatening; her left eye was filled with uncertainty while her right was obscured by her pink mane. She looked a bit younger than himself, too young to be somepony hired to bully him, regardless of her size.

He led her inside his home, keeping his blade girt around his waist. Ducking in order to pass through the low threshold, Nikóleva came to a quaint little room. Inside several pieces of wooden furniture lined the walls, all surrounding the centerpiece of the room. This stone hearth crackled with a roaring fire, immediately warming the cold parts of Nikóleva's body.

Sitting upon a simple couch were two mares, both resembling the stallion who led the tall alicorn inside. One wore a sea-foam coat, the other a more emerald color. The ponies did not look very thrilled to see Nikóleva, no doubt distrusting her immensely.

But whatever intimidating appearance she heretofore possessed was lost the moment Nikóleva's long horn impaled itself within a low-hanging wooden beam. The struggle was quite serious for the "unicorn", but the others could not help but giggle at the comical display.

"How clumsy this large creature is," the green stallion thought. He directed the mare to a seat. Nikóleva took one glance and knew the chair could not support her massive frame. Therefore she opted to remain standing.

One of the other mares looked at the stallion, an innocuous sneer curling on her face, "Nice that you finally managed to bring home a lady."

The stallion very clearly blushed. He then recomposed himself, letting Nikóleva know he was armed.

But he could see the pony shivering, her muzzle glowing red, "Please, do not feel a bother. Go warm up by the fire."

Gratefully, Nikóleva lightly crept through the room, which seemed two sizes too small for her, and sat down on her haunches. Holding her forehooves up to the flame, she rubbed them together before placing them against her face.

"Who is this queer pony? A giant?" the sea-foam pony inquired, causing the white mare to feel embarrassed.

"I am not quite certain. But it seemed rude to leave a traveler out in the cold," the stallion then turned to face Nikóleva, "Am I to learn the name of my guest?"

She hesitated for a second, delighting in the fire's warmth, "My name?" she thought for a time. Alicorns typically had aliases whilst abroad: their native names meant little to Tulicëai. "I am Nikóleva Maiëlindirnasí nor-Solárindilbainuir."

The three other ponies in the room blinked a few times, "That's quite the mouthful. I'm not even sure I can pronounce your name. My apologies um..."

"Nikól will be adequate," the alicorn replied with a smile.

"Such an exotic name. What does it mean?" asked the emerald mare.

"I do not know the meaning of my family's name, but I am called Nikóleva on behalf of my white fur."

"I admit I had trouble spotting you outside, Miss Nikól. Could I offer you anything? A drink? Some food?" the stallion courteously asked.

"Simple bread and water would be appreciated," he nodded and retreated to an adjacent room, "and to whom do I owe this display of hospitality?" Nikóleva inquired quite audibly.

The stallion returned quickly, balancing a wicker tray upon his back. He placed the tray on the table and offered his tall guest exactly what she had requested, "My name is Evergreen. These are my sisters:" he pointed his hoof at the lighter-coated mare, "Spring Green," and then at the emerald mare, "and Wintergreen."

Nikóleva examined the three ponies and mentally remarked on how similar they looked to each other. Her suspicions were confirmed soon after. "We're triplets, though I'm older by a little bit."

This Evergreen then turned back to his guest, who had just taken another bite of bread, "So Nikól, what brings you to my homestead? You claim to be no agent of any authority here."

She swallowed then took a sip of water. Thinking for a bit, the white mare produced a response, "I feared the elements might have claimed me; I've run out of supplies. So I thought perhaps I could procure some here...in exchange for something, of course," she then recalled what Evergreen had said to her outside, "If I may inquire, what is a 'Knight'?"

The stallion's cheery disposition at once turned sour, "Hired ruffians, little more. So called 'Nobles' in service to their Barons. They're apt to come here and try to bully me into paying tribute. Yes, Lords don't much care for Freelanders like myself."

Nikóleva didn't quite understand what this pony was telling her. Evergreen could tell this from her confused expression, "Most ponies live on land that Barons own. I however own this land, and am not obliged to give any of my yield or gold to those pompous unicorns...no offence." The large mare seemed unaffected by his quip.

"I pay my taxes to the King and him alone! Those Knights have no right to demand anything from me!" the stallion calmed down a bit, taking a few deep breaths, "Excuse me, Nikól. I get so worked up about this."

"I can understand, some ponies trying to take what is yours. But...you mentioned a King, yes? There is a King in this Land?"

"The King of Poneva. He rules all the territory from the Sea, westwards to the great river that cuts through the mountains and between that range and the borders of Equestria, where the Princes rule."

"You seem rather well-traveled, Evergreen," Nikóleva remarked.

"Not really. But I have heard many tales from ponies I've met in the King's city. It's quite close to here: about twenty miles. If you need to go there, Nikól, just keep heading south."

"Thank you, but I'm not entirely sure to where I'm going."

"You're welcome to stay with us as long as you wish," Nikóleva gave a shy smile, "Though, I'm not very wealthy; you may be expected to contribute something around here."

The "unicorn" perked up, "Actually, I'm sure I could help as a craftsmare."

"Oh really?" The sea-foam triplet said, "My gardening tools always seem to break. Cheap things they are!"

"We could use you around, I'm certain," Evergreen continued, "I work as a logger. I cut down trees before bringing them to market in Poneva. How strong are you?"

Smirking, Nikóleva unstrapped her plain sword form her waist and placed it on the table. The stallion examined the sheathed weapon. It was certainly a long sword, being too long and cumbersome to be wielded comfortably without both hooves; a very impractical method. He picked it up in just that manner. It wasn't particularly difficult, but appreciable strength still needed to be expended.

The sword however was just the right size for a pony of Nikóleva's stature. She took the hilt and lifted the blade effortlessly. Effectively emasculated, the stallion puffed out his chest to reassert his dominance, "Yes um very good."

"Confound it all! Why must you insist on toiling in the snow?!" a cranky, old voice sounded from another room, "The last thing we need is for you to freeze!"

A small and quite aged mare emerged from a threshold. Her coat was very faded, though in youth it might have been some shade of green. Her mane was a silvery white, and wrinkles rested just below her eyes. Yet for her seemingly advanced age, the mare still possessed exceptional vigor and confidence in step.

"Mother!" Evergreen called out, "The trees are a hundred strides from the door!"

"Bah! If you ask me, nopony should be out in this weather!" The old pony noticed the "giant" sitting in front of the fireplace, "Oh pardon me. And who might you be, My Dear?"

"Nikól" The alicorn replied.

"Bristlepine. I see you've met my triplets, yeah?"

"Oh yes; they're quite lovely," Nikóleva noticed that this mare also had an odd marking upon her flank: a stylized pine tree it looked like.

"Please, Nikól, take off your cloak; be comfortable!"

The alicorn nearly choked on her water, "Um truthfully I'd prefer not to...I have a wound you see..."

"My apologies!" the mother hastily said, "Do you need any herbs or medicines?"

"No, thank you. Time will suffice."

The old mare had a hunch what that "wound" might be, but nevertheless turned to her son, "Evergreen! Have you made up a bed for our guest?"

The stallion sighed, "Not yet Mother."

"Oh I don't think that will be necessary!" Nikóleva interjected, "The floor will be fine for the time I'm here, which I guarantee won't be very long. Besides, and I don't mean to criticize your wonderful home...," The mare began to blush. "But I think I'm too big for any of your beds..."

"You'll be given a blanket or two, Dear." Nikóleva smiled warmly and ate the remainder of her bread.

The rest of the afternoon was rather quiet. Evergreen and Nikóleva went outside to harvest a few trees before towing them to a pile beside the house. The stallion admired his new acquaintance's work ethic...certainly more helpful than his own sisters. This wanderer seemed indeed a strong pony, able to fell a conifer with considerably less strain than himself. The pieces came together all too well; he had a feeling this mare wasn't exactly as she appeared.

Unicorns typically could not compete with earth ponies in laborious activities. And stranger still the pony used her axe in the same manner that he did: without her magic. But most curiously of all, she lacked a mark upon her flank. A pony of Nikól's age should have gotten it a time ago. It was common knowledge that mares matured faster than stallions, and Evergreen received his mark back when he was still a colt.

But he supposed it didn't matter much; whatever explanation existed for her lack of a "talent" was Nikól's business and hers alone. She still proved a capable aid around the homestead, offering to shovel the walkway free of snow and repair the fences. And with her help Evergreen managed to harvest a large number of timbers, perhaps enough to afford generous gifts for Hearth's Warming.

By the time the Sun was setting, the two sisters had finished preparing dinner and beckoned for their brother and guest to come back inside. Gathering at the table, the family admired the humble but carefully prepared meal laid before them. Boiled potatoes and vegetables served with hay and bread, completed by two pitchers each with a different beverage.

Before anypony could eat, however, graces needed to be given.

"Now, thanks must be shown to the Gods!" Bristlepine happily announced. She then closed her eyes and clopped her forehooves together. The other three earth ponies followed suit, "Amberstalk, Goddess of the Harvest, please continue to bless us with plentiful cereal. Harmonia, Goddess of Friendship, please keep our hearts open to weary travelers, just like Nikól who shares our table with us tonight. And Allfather, King of the Cosmos, Wise and Just for All Time, please keep my children and Nikól as well strong and healthy. I pray this to the Gods on High. Amen."

The three others said "Amen" in kind, and started to take food from the center trays. After uttering her own strange prayer just barely audible, Nikóleva paused in thought. After a few seconds she raised her voice.

"'Gods'?" she asked, a bit disturbed and uncomfortable.

"Yes!" Wintergreen, a potato muffling her speech, replied, "They're responsible for our every meal, it's only proper to thank them."

"But if you're feeling particularly pious, you can always visit their statues in Poneva," the other triplet sister added.

"Graven images?" she tried to mask her uneasiness with a quiet laugh, "Hehe sounds like an interesting spectacle."

"Oh indeed!" Bristlepine replied, chomping on a carrot, "According to those statues, the Gods look just like magnificently tall ponies, adorned with fine crowns and bearing both wings and a horn! Most temples are dedicated to only one or two Gods, but the one in Poneva contains all the main ones." Swallowing her food the old mare then narrowed her eyes at Nikóleva, "And they say, sometimes the Gods like to travel around the world, hoping ponies will welcome them into their homes."

Nikóleva smiled back at her, "If I ever meet one, you'll be first to know."

Dinner continue for about an hour as everypony talked and told fun stories and even jokes. Nikóleva herself knew quite a few humorous anecdotes. Evergreen laughed heaviest of all; this "Nikól" was proving to be an excellent house guest. And the actual food was very good, certainly better than the scraps the alicorn had been subsisting on ever since her flight.

Yet thirst came over her, and she levitated up her cup, "Excuse me, but what's inside those pitchers?"

"The wooden one contains some light beer, while the earthen pitcher has mead," Evergreen pointed out.

"Mead?"

"Yes. I felt it a special occasion seeing as you've come to dine with us."

"What is mead?"

"A drink fermented from honey. You should try some; I bought it from the best brewer in the Kingdom."

Honey. That word alone set off Nikóleva's senses, and she licked her lips in anticipation. She requested her tall cup be filled to the brim with this purportedly sweet drink. Evergreen obliged, but not without hesitation.

"Are you sure you want this much? This'll get you drunk for sure; the beer won't."

"Unless you're a lightweight!" the mother shouted.

But Nikóleva just nodded and took the cup in her magic. She took a sip and tasted the sweet, nectarine flavor of this wonderful drink. It wasn't quite like the taste of honey itself, but was satisfying nonetheless. Overcome by her love of sweetness, the mare then downed the whole cup in a matter of seconds, slamming the vessel on the table when she finished. A satisfied smile hung on her face.

"More?" Evergreen offered, suspecting his guest enjoyed her drink.

It took all the strength she could summon for Nikóleva to refuse any more of that splendid beverage, "No thank you; I do not wish to become inebriated."

Surely even a cup's worth should get anypony at least slightly drunk. Shrugging it off, the other ponies finished their meals and continued to talk. When the last of the food had been consumed, Nikóleva volunteered to use her magic to gather the dishes together and rinse them. Dinner finished and all the chores completed, the other ponies opted to go to bed. Heading into their respective rooms, the four earth ponies laid down for slumber on their humble but warm beds.

Nikóleva however rested in the main room upon a blanket, having another nearby for additional warmth. She stayed awake a little longer, gazing into the crackling fire. The pony reflected on the generosity of her hosts, who so easily welcomed her into their home. Out of the kindness and good will within their hearts this rather impoverished family gave what little they could to a complete stranger; an exile no less.

Once upon a time, that old stallion Maiëlindir taught his daughter a set of virtues that he felt all should live by. One in particular was Ynadenidaleä, known to most as charity or generosity. To him, Love moved all peoples to help and care for others, a quality that seemed often lost in the cold and harsh world. And it seemed only proper for Nikóleva to one day return the favor, in whatever manner she could.

But Nikóleva's reflection on this virtue reawakened a sorrow she held back for the better part of the day. Her mind was torn between two sides, each trying to evaluate the tragedy that befell perhaps a week or more ago. Her sisterly love that drove this pain was frequently discredited by the rationale of her brain.

If she truly was abandoning her old life, then why let the past affect her? If Nikóleva allowed her regret to take hold, then she should have just stayed: obviously the mare fled so she wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of her actions.

Logic, however, did not understand emotions. Logic and reasoning could not determine why the passions of the heart did as they did; why they acted in such illogical and incomprehensible manners. Nikóleva had performed an act of penitence, and repaid her debts in full. She owed nothing more, so the mind claimed.

Guilt was a funny thing though. Hers would remain for ages undimmed, her Love for Taberanyn spreading her spirit thin.

And not only because Nikóleva had left her sister to those dogs, but also for something far more cruel and dark yet to be.

As she sat in thought staring into the flickering orange flames, a single tear dripped down her cheek. Then Nikóleva began to silently weep, no longer having to keep form for her hosts. Unbeknownst to her, at that time a green stallion almost unheard crept out of his bedroom. Perhaps stirred from a bad dream or a desire to warm by the fire, Evergreen emerged from his threshold feeling oddly awake. His ears picked up the faint sound of...sniffling? Was somepony crying?

It took a few moments before he isolated the source of the sniffles. Heart heavy with empathy, he sneaked towards the fireplace, calmly and kindly making himself known to the white pony. He carefully appeared on her left side; he wasn't quite sure if the mare could see on the right.

Sure enough, Nikóleva's magenta eye spotted him. Thoroughly embarrassed, she hastily wiped her tears, trying to feign contentment. Evergreen of course could see right through her guise.

"Did...did I wake you?" she shyly asked, feeling very small.

Evergreen smiled warmly, "No, not at all. But you should not worry about me. Something ails you, Nikól."

The alicorn recognized quite clearly her façade did not work, "I think I shall confess."

"Your affairs are privately yours; you've no obligation to relive whatever has brought you pain."

"Even if it was myself?" Nikóleva solemnly replied. "I've harmed somepony very dear to me. Several times, I've come to realize. This latest instance has convinced me I've no place with them anymore, lest I repeat my offenses."

"And you've resolved to travel far away?"

"Indeed, I hope the promise of safety will overcome my absence."

Evergreen wanted to give some sort of advice or counsel, but he felt it best to just let the mare speak. She obviously had some things she wanted to say, and probably no desire to be persuaded, "And how long do you think you'll remain estranged?"

"They hate me, I'm sure. Perhaps I can see them again many years from now. I'm not certain how long...but...I think I'll know when the time comes."

"In that case, I can only hope you'll find something else along your journeys. And I shall pray to the Gods you'll be reunited with whomever you've wronged," Nikóleva had to admit, she did feel a bit better having spoken to somepony. His sentiments were reassuring, if quietly concerning for the mare.

Just then Evergreen noticed the elegant beauty of this mare, perfectly outlined in the fire's glow. She was slender yet still healthy, a far cry from the lumbering and awkward creature he first met. But what struck him the most was her face. A look of uncertainty perpetually filled her eyes; even during a smile she looked unsure of things. There was no confidence in those eyes, nor was there submission.

He'd known enough ponies to recognize that face: an honest mare wracked by remorse.

Before the crackling hearth Evergreen spotted a shimmer emanated from his guest's neck. There reflecting the fire's light was a metallic pendant. Its silvery white color matched perfectly with her coat; he must not have noticed it earlier. Inlaid with precious metals and stones, this piece of jewelry looked of incredible make.

The pendant itself was shaped into a sort of circle, crossed along both axes with tiny strips. Evergreen thought for a second before recalling where he had seen this symbol before.

An old tome he could not read but with plenty of illuminated images. One such illustration depicted a winged unicorn creature beside a crest bearing that symbol. It appeared his suspicions were correct.

He cleared his throat, and looked at the necklace, "Your pendant, I think it betrays your nature."

Nikóleva turned to him, seeming rather confused, "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you're not quite a unicorn."

She blinked several times, "Of course I am...I have a horn! What else would I be?" but in her surprise, Nikóleva moved back a couple inches, meeting the rack where fire tools were stored. She managed to hit the healing fracture in her wing on an iron hook. Cringing in pain and clenching her eyes shut, the alicorn restrained from screaming.

"Oh my goodness! Are you alright!" Evergreen shouted, readying his hooves for any sort of aid.

"...Yes...yes...," she wheezed before letting a faint but heart-breaking whimper slip out. Recomposing herself, Nikóleva finally yielded to Evergreen's accusations, "I suppose you should know; it'll be difficult to explain where these white feathers came from."

She then removed her cloak, revealing her folded left wing to the stallion. Unfurling it, she spread the massive appendage to stretch out her tired muscles. Impressed, but not entirely surprised, the green stallion crept around to her right to inspect Nikóleva's other side.

The right wing was however still pulled against her body, wrapped in cloth and obviously straightened by a stick. "What happened here?" he tenderly asked.

"I...broke it...please it's nothing to worry about."

"Hardly. Pegasi cannot bear to remain earthbound for long periods of time. I can only imagine you'd be the same. I'll fetch something right quick." He quietly trotted to a small cabinet and opened the door. Taking a bottle of blue liquid in his mouth, the earth pony returned to Nikóleva and placed the vessel on the table, "Take a few sips of this." The mare used her magic to do just that.

The potion was extremely bitter, and the alicorn couldn't drink it fast enough.

Evergreen started to giggle, "Yes it's not a gratifying drink by any means, but it works. This potion should heal your bone in a week or so. Just keep it bound."

"Thank you...could you do me another favor, though?" Nikóleva asked.

"I suppose I could do my best. What do you need?"

"Can you keep my wings secret? When I was very young, my father told me that I should try to conceal...well what I am."

"Rest assured, Nikól. This stays between us, though many ponies might figure it out," He smirked, "What exactly are you? I've heard many stories about winged unicorns, standing over us lesser creatures. They've always said these ponies are minor Gods, sent to make sure mortals stay true."

"I can safely say I am no god. Truth be told, I'm not entirely sure what I am. Alícëai is how my father referred to us. 'Triple-kin' would be an adequate translation. Have you met others of my kind by chance?"

"I'm afraid not. In fact I have never met anypony who has. According to legend most ascended to the Heavens," he paused, examining the physiology of this mare, "'Triple-kin', hm? Does this refer to your combined traits of all three types of ponies?"

"I don't know; seems as good an explanation as any," she then noticed that image on his flank again, "The mark on your flank...would it be rude to ask what it is? None of my family had one, yet all yours does."

"'Mark'? Oh you mean my cutie mark! No it's perfectly natural, even hoped for, that guests ask how it was received," The mark was apparently a small neatly-arranged pile of cut logs, "It signifies your one special talent; typically a pony gets one while they're young. Mine says I'm good at cutting down trees...a restrictive talent I suppose but one I enjoy."

"So, you're only capable in this one task? Is that what the 'cutie mark' means?"

"Not quite. It signifies your strongest abilities...what gift the Gods granted you. But what I choose to do with it is my choice, and even then ponies can still do things very well outside this talent."

"I hope I'll get one someday, if Alícëai even get these marks. How old were you when you received yours?"

"About ten I think."

"Ten? I cannot understand why my father wouldn't have received one...," Nikóleva trailed off, "He was so talented..."

Evergreen could see what her face meant, "Your father isn't with us anymore, is he?" Tearing up a bit, she shook her head. "I'm very sorry. If it's any consolation, my father is deceased as well; killed in battle."

"Mine too. My condolences, Evergreen. But at least I have this to remember him by:" she unstrapped that beautifully-adorned sword, though did not draw it, "This belonged to him, and I keep it beside me for luck. Yet I shall not wield it."

The stallion marveled at this blade. How could such a brilliant weapon become the property of a lone wanderer? "I've seen nobles with less-precious items than this."

"It has the strangest power: it glowed when my father used it. I think it might be enchanted," she guessed, having no way of knowing that Eónadin wasn't exactly magical. "But this is my own work," she produced her dagger, a sword to her when she was just a filly. Ironically it still was a sword for Evergreen.

"So you forge? Great! I should procure supplies to build you a smithy tomorrow."

"You would do that? For me?" on the inside she was overjoyed.

"Of course! How are you to craft without a station? We need tools, and I'm tired of paying high prices to those smiths. In fact, how would you like to travel with me to Poneva?"

"I'd love to!" Nikóleva said, smiling widely.

"Then we'd better get some sleep," he yawned and stood up, "Goodnight, Nikóleva. Pleasant dreams I bid you," he walked back to his room, and lay to sleep.

Nikóleva smiled, feeling at ease and safe within this house. She felt as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders, and gently she rested her head down on the blanket. Heretofore she was haunted by nightmares in the icy wilderness. But in front of the fire, that white Alícë was greeted by pleasant dreams indeed.

2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 3. Poneva

2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 3. Poneva

It was barely light out when they had left. With little food in their stomachs and a wagon full of freshly-cut timbers behind them a tall white alicorn and her new earth pony friend earnestly set out for the city of Poneva. Travel was not a preferred pastime in this uncertain age; brigands and under-maintained roads infested the ancient trade routes that once bound the old Kingdom of Equestria together. Especially in winter, when drifts covered the beaten and worn cobble on the ways.

Most ponies could traverse the projected twenty or so miles in a few hours―at full gallop. Couriers however were typically pegasi, who could cover vast distances in a matter of days. One legend spoke of a particularly determined messenger who crossed the entire breadth of the known world, from the heaven-piercing peaks of the west to the blue sea eastwards, in one day. The tale further states that as the pegasus flew by, onlookers saw her before they heard the sound she made in her wake.

This was fanciful nonsense to most, though.

But Nikóleva was hitched up to a heavy wagon full of even heavier goods. A brisk pace was the best she could do so encumbered. And as consequence, the pair would not arrive at the gates of the King's City until well into the afternoon.

In the meantime, the two might enjoy the surroundings. Here in the North, weather was seldom directed and nature was mostly left to its own devices; the population was far too small and sparse. This attitude was alien and downright terrifying to the ponies further south, where an untamed wood called the "Everfree" permeated their deepest nightmares.

The forests along the snow-dusted path fortunately were not so foreboding. Their brilliant emerald conifers commanded towering majesty over the road, providing a natural barricade from the outside world. Evergreen’s own land was located within an acreage of dense trees, apart from most other ponies; just as he preferred. But even so, a trail had been long cleared where a simple dirt lane snaked through into more populated areas.

A mile or two down the road, the trees became more spread out until they ended abruptly. At first, Nikóleva remarked the quaint hovels dotting the hills beside the road, no doubt reigning over the fields unable to be plowed during the Winter. However, as she and Evergreen continued on, larger domiciles came into view. One in particular was a fair distance from the road and all but dwarfed the other homes. It was difficult for the alicorn to accurately tell what it looked like exactly, but this Mansion certainly dominated the immediate countryside.

Still further, just a couple hundred yards from the mansion was a cluster of plain buildings, all placed beside a small frozen stream. Nikóleva was ill-traveled and even more ignorant of how others lived; why was that one house so much larger than the others?

“Evergreen, if I may ask, what is this place? Can we sell timbers here?” she asked, her vision still fixed on the village.

“I’ve sold what I can to the Lord of the Manor already. What more he needs his serfs can harvest. Everypony else has neither the money nor the freedom for wood. Freelanders find more luck in towns and cities; Poneva is the closest one.”

“You’ve said ‘freelander’ several times before. What taboo does your culture assign to this word?”

“I know little of where you come from, Nikól. But I think it is very different from this land. Most ponies do not own the land they work. Their lords grant it to them in exchange for a portion of their harvest and if need be service in their wars. We call them serfs, and they cannot leave without their lord’s permission. A few ponies who are not noble do in fact have their own land, such as myself.

“Yet many lords do not like them, believing they have right to rule ‘commoners’. Knights are sent to my home several times a month for gold or whatever they think they can take from me. This is the reason for my initial hostility towards you, friend.

“After what you’ve said, I can hardly place you at fault,” she replied, holding no feelings of resentment towards her very generous host, “It disturbs me somewhat that law binds ponies to their lords.”

“It is the order here. A few however might break free, as I did. I, my mother, father, and sisters were all born serfs. On a manor on the further side of Poneva. The story, as I heard it, was my father bravely defended his fellow ponies against a raid by a tribe west of the Kingdom’s borders. The King became so impressed when he heard the news that he granted my father his own land and declared him to be free.

“But he did not survive, so I received the grant as his oldest child. I was just old enough then to begin working; I did not know my father well,” Evergreen finished, his voice losing enthusiasm as he spoke those last words.

“Again, I grant you my condolences. I’m sure though he would be proud of what you’ve done with his gift,” she paused for a moment in desire to divert Evergreen’s attention from painful memories, “I must confess I’m rather excited to arrive at Poneva; I wonder what things I can learn there!”

“Hopefully you’ll have adequate time to listen to old tales in the taverns and inns; we shall spend a day or two in the city,” the stallion announced, his mood lightened by the spirit of this young mare.

For the duration of the journey, Nikóleva indeed proved pleasurable company. The entire length she demonstrated unquenchable curiosity, asking Evergreen about almost everything they came across. But he was disappointed that he could not answer all her questions. Maybe she would find her answers in Poneva.

Nikóleva, though tied to a heavy wagon, still enjoyed this morning. Evergreen allowed her a time to place the sorrow and regret into the back of her mind. She was not looking to forget nor forgive herself, but rather the alicorn wanted to find something―anything at all―to delight in her darkened and lonely world.

And Evergreen provided just that. Maybe it was his show of hospitality to this tall exile or his gentle yet independent disposition that appealed to her inner fire. Whichever the reason, Nikól and Evergreen both learned a little bit more about each other by the time Poneva’s stone gates came into view. The two each knew the trek had earned them a good friend, the sort found only a few precious times in a pony’s life.

A few hours past midday, the road came to the top of a hill overlooking the grey stronghold of Poneva. Nestled at the foot of a sheer cliff a giant fortress seemingly melted into the walls of the mountain. Descending from the castle were large buildings steadily growing smaller as the city moved outwards from the keep before Poneva’s borders were stopped dead by an imposing wall.

Evergreen continued on, desensitized to the view of the King’s city after so many journeys there. But Nikóleva couldn’t help but stand on the hill, enraptured by feelings of awe and oddly enough nostalgia. As she gazed upon the splendor of this realm, she recalled a rather distant memory: that ruined city where the old Maiëlindir brought the alicorn as a filly some fourteen years ago.

What was its name? Nikóleva could not remember. But she recollected well what her late father told her about that city. No such settlement he had ventured to before compared to that seat of another, far greater Kingdom. And Poneva was beautiful and majestic in its own right.

So another thought came to the mare: how grand was that ancient and forgotten city in the days it stood?

A few yards later, Evergreen realized the sound of wagon wheels and hooves had stopped. Turning back he shouted at his friend, shaking her from a dazed state.

“Nikól! Are you coming or not? There’s a lot more to see inside!” he joked, gesturing for her to follow.

“Huh―Oh! Forgive me; I was…distracted,” she replied, galloping down the hill towards the near gate. Evergreen said nothing; just smiled as if he understood exactly what conquered her attention.

A few minutes later, the two arrived at the menacing black-iron gates of Poneva. The gatehouse was proud stone, tipped with turrets. Several armored ponies walked along its upper platform while a few others stood on either side of the structure, bearing long spears and swords.

Against a backdrop of banners depicting images of a crowned unicorn wielding an axe, a pony clad in steel barding and a blue-combed helmet approached Nikóleva and her vehicle. Wearing a cold stare, she inspected the contents of the wagon.

“I recognize you; that lumberjack freelander. But her…she’s a queer one,” the pegasus said, a naturally cautious mare.

“This…unicorn is but a friendly traveler I’ve invited to help me conduct business,” Evergreen said, “she has come a long way to catch a glimpse of such a glorious city.”

“I see she wears not one but two swords about her.”

The verdant stallion smiled, “My friend here is my bodyguard. Rest assured, noble Lieutenant, so long as I can sell my wares peacefully, she won’t prove troublesome.”

The pegasus mare narrowed her eyes at the “unicorn” before turning back to the gate, “Very well. But I’ll be keeping a watch over you, Giant.” She raised a hoof up and shouted out to the other ponies. “Raise the gate!”

Moments later the iron bars separating Poneva from the rest of the world cranked up into the recesses of the gatehouse. Evergreen proceeded first, cocking his head to summon Nikóleva. Right as the wagon was behind the gate, the iron was let down again, waiting for the next prospective entrants.

“’Bodyguard’? I’m not confident how much aid I will be there…,” Nikóleva whispered to Evergreen.

“I’m sure not many will cross your path, though hopefully we won’t have to find out.”

Emerging from the gatehouse revealed a bustling street of various stalls and shops. Ponies with horns, wings, or neither trotted across the cobblestone wearing bags filled with great assortments of wares. As the two advanced down the street, Nikóleva observed all manners of strange and wondrous things. One pony passed by pulling a cart of exotic spices, their aroma reaching the virgin nose of the white mare. Birds of beautiful plumage sat atop wooden perches for vendors to sell as pets. A stall of mysteriously moody lighting sold bottles of liquid in every shade. There was even a charismatic stallion who breathed fire!

Evergreen stopped at a clear pool of water. Nikóleva did the same and at his request unhooked herself from the wagon. Peering into the water, she noticed the glittering sheen of gold coins at the bottom. Her stallion companion then reached into his saddlebag and produced two such coins, giving one to Nikóleva. The bit in his mouth, he flicked his head and let it splash into the pool.

“Go on! It’s for luck.” A bit hesitant at first, she finally levitated the coin above the water and let it drop. “Well done! Now if you excuse me…,” he then slipped into the wagon harness, “I’ve some wood to sell. We shall meet here around sunset, yes?”

“You’re leaving me here alone?” Nikóleva asked, a tad concerned.

“You can come too if you wish, but I thought you’d enjoy exploring Poneva while I do some much less interesting errands.”

“I am not sure…I don’t know this place…”

“You’re a fully-grown mare, Nikól. You’ll be fine. No doubt you can use a sword,” he smirked. She nodded shyly, and with that Evergreen continued on to a further street. Nikóleva now stood with slush-chilled feet in the middle of a cobblestone road. Unsure where to go or what to do, the mare looked around the circle of buildings surrounding the pool.

It was not long before several ponies drawing carts impatiently yelled at her to move out of the way. Demurely, she galloped towards a curb. Mistakenly, Nikóleva looked behind her as she ran down the sidewalk. Blind to what was ahead of her, the alicorn collided with a low-hanging sign decorated with a small picture of an apple.

With her speed, she flipped backwards and slammed the back of her head on the edge of a basket, spilling all the apples onto the wet pavement. A moment later she emerged from her daze, hastily levitated the apples off the ground, and put them back in the basket, hoping the owner hadn’t noticed.

She had.

“Are you daft?!” cried an elderly and quite angry earth pony mare, “Watch where you’re going!”

“I’m sorry! I could help you clean them u―“

“Be gone, nuisance!” Nikóleva happily obliged.

“Freak…,” the cranky old vendor muttered, rearranging the basket and its contents back to her liking.

From then onwards, Nikóleva opted to maintain a low profile in this strange and crowded city. This was not an easy task for somepony who stood twice the height of most others. Pedestrians clad in garments ranging from rags to gold-embroidered robes walked past this alicorn, their looks varying just as much as the ponies themselves. Some glared with distrust and fear, hating the odd and foreign creature. By the gaze of others, Nikóleva could tell these ones admired her beauty and the opulence of Eónadin.

But most simply took a quick glance at her, eyes filled with curiosity and benign wonder. Whatever the spectators thought about Nikóleva, she felt quite uncomfortable with their stares all pointed at her. Nevertheless the white mare summoned her courage and tried her best to ignore them.

Besides, there were so many other things to occupy her mind. About an hour into her exploration of Poneva, Nikóleva wandered into the long avenue of the artisan’s district. On either side of the way, stalls hung more signs with such lovely images as saws, hammers, furniture, cookware, cutlery…just about all types of manufactured items ponies used in their everyday lives.

At each shop, craftsponies stood at their stations engaging in their trade, whistling happy tunes or humming hearty songs. Carpenters shaped wooden items with their lathes, saws, and planers. Candlemakers dipped strings in molten vats of wax, giving the finished product to customers in exchange for a few bits. Potters spun wheels of clay, shaping the earthenware so necessary in carrying precious water.

Yet at the far end of the avenue, plumes of smoke rose from stone chimneys. As Nikóleva progressed further to this end, the sound became unmistakable: smiths. Burly, soot-covered earth ponies mercilessly beat red-hot masses of metal against anvils, their smaller and younger apprentices feeding charcoal to the furnaces.

Whitesmiths crafted cups and pitchers, cutlery and plates for the wealthy. Goldsmiths worked their precious metal into jewelry for the nobles and merchants who could pay heaps of bits for them. Blacksmiths forged iron tools and nails, no doubt to provide for their peers down the street. And weapons makers and armorers created equipment for the Royal Guard and the city’s levies.

This place’s air was saturated with the dim of hammer strikes and the hissing of quench-water; music to Nikóleva’s ears. Here at last she reached familiar territory, knowing at least her way about an anvil and furnace. For a good while the white alicorn stopped in front of the various smiths and observed the artisans in their natural habitat.

Her presence was not lost on the smiths, one of whom paused his hammering to deal with the loiterer. His true coat color was lost in the soot and grim covering his face. The stallion possessed one eye that perpetually squinted and what looked like burns on his cheek.

Growling, the gruff earth pony spoke to Nikóleva, “I don’t mean to be rude, Miss. But if you aren’t looking to buy, you’re blocking the way for ponies who do.”

“Forgive me. I was just captivated by your craft. Is that an axe head you’re making?” she asked with filly-like enthusiasm.

“..Erm yes actually. I’m a bladesmith, if you need a weapon or cutting tool.”

“Don’t you makeother things as well?” Nikóleva asked. Strangely, ponies in this city apparently did not perform a wide range of tasks, instead opting for only one.

“I can; most smiths know how to. But my specialty is blades,” he declared, returning to his pounding of a steel bar.

“I forged my own sword once, but I’m nowhere near as skilled as you,” Nikóleva then drew her plain sword. Some ponies including the smith took a step back, unsure what the mare was going to do with such a long weapon. Blatantly ignorant of the customs in Poneva, she did not realize it was generally unacceptable to draw a sword so spontaneously.

But everypony’s fears were calmed when the alicorn merely set the sword down on a cleared space on the smith’s bench. The scruffy craftspony inspected the weapon, remarking the impeccable shine in the steel. He took the blade and dropped a spare piece of cloth down on the edge; it tore in half as it fell.

“Don’t denigrate yourself; this is an adequate sword. Though…,” he placed the blade on his hoof and tried to balance the weapon. Luckily the stallion’s quick reflexes caught it before the sword managed to fall down, “The blade is not uniform and the balance is completely off.”

He gave the sword back to its owner, handling it with respect and care. “You’ve much potential as a bladesmith, um…,” the artisan paused, unsure how to address this mare.

“Nikóleva. If you please you may call me something else,” the mare replied, sheathing the sword.

“’Nikóleva’, eh? Hmm…,” the stallion took a good look at this large white pony, studying her intently, “Most ponies might not be too trusting with an odd name like that. Tell me, friend, what liberty affords you leisure to smith? You’re certainly no master craftsmare, yet you do not travel with a mentor.”

“From my stay in Poneva thus far I’ve taken notice that each pony engages in one craft alone, and evidently have become rather adept at it. Where I passed my fillyhood we were required to produce our own goods. My Father taught me everything he could about forging in his final days, but I see here there’s much more to learn,” the alicorn replied, seeing weapons of unparalleled quality lined upon the benches behind the stallion.

“By your account, it seems to me that you’re a freelander. Good! Then I need not anypony’s permission to hire you, apart from your own,” the old smith smiled, white teeth shining through his blackened coat.

“’Hire’? You mean I would help you in your shop? I’m afraid I cannot now, though I wish to say otherwise.”

He grew a frown, but his eyes held understanding, “If you ever change your mind, there will always be an apprenticeship available to you.” Nikóleva acknowledged his offer with a grin, and turned away from the stall as another patron addressed the smith.

Emerging from the long avenue, Nikóleva spotted the very top of a steeple rising from behind the houses of Poneva. In truth the snippet of this edifice reminded her of that grand place of worship in the ruined seat of the Alicorns. That alone aroused her interest, and she navigated as best she could around the homes and through the streets until she could see in full view the building.

Honestly, she was disappointed somewhat. The temple was far smaller than the one she remembered from her youth. But at the same time, this one was made all the better and more commanding due to the presence of living ponies who still paid homage to the Most High.

Or so it seemed.

Before the temple lay a large cobblestone courtyard and a beautifully-sculpted fountain pouring water from the mouth of what looked like…an Alicorn! Water flowing from a rock was fascinating in itself, but the statue of a creature similar to Nikóleva gave her feelings of gladness and even perhaps…belonging.

Was it truly an alicorn? It certainly looked like one; horns and wings complete with a slender and tall physique. Wasting no time, the white pony galloped through the throngs of pious ponies and ran up the steps in front of the temple’s doors.

Using her magic, Nikóleva opened the oak door and crept in, revealing an interior far different from her expectations. Dozens of mares and stallions congregated before large representations of living creatures, once again in the form of alicorns. Some bowed and groveled before their marble feet, uttering quiet prayers and pleas.

This temple was lively, no doubt. Yet something was missing; something felt “off”. Nowhere around the building or the far wall where the altar clearly was could Nikóleva find that symbol she wore about her neck. What did it mean, anyway?

Knowing she probably wouldn’t find out the answer here, she nonetheless started forward to the statues. Gazing in awe at their skillfully-chiseled features, Nikóleva felt these effigies took on a life of their own. Each one was an alicorn, yet distinctly carved with associated symbolism.

The one on the far left was a youthful and attractive mare, clearly dancing and singing merrily. She smiled, and her long flowing mane conveyed the same jovial attitude. Etched upon her flank was a tree, but a very special tree: it was crystalline, with six main branches each ending in what Nikóleva figured was a ripened fruit.

To her right was another statue, this time a stallion. His appearance stood in stark contrast to his neighbor, being rigid and stoic. His body was markedly muscular and large. The stallion’s eyes were focused and calculating, but justice and honor shone from his face. He wore a helmet and barding on his back. At his feet, a stone sword rested straight up, ready to be retrieved at any moment. The mark on his flank was obscured by his own armor, much to Nikóleva’s mild disappointment.

The far right side contained another female figure, but less filly-like and more parental than the first. She smiled warmly, her tender face lending the comfort of a mother’s love. Her body was much fuller and healthier than the younger statue, and her mane was also shorter. Upon her flanked three stalks of wheat were engraved. Not boring, but instead just simple.

Left of this mare was yet another, but far different than the previous three effigies. Everything about her appearance was cold and gloomy. Her eyes were half-closed, giving her an “unamused” look. A marble cloak and hood covered her body, including her mark. A bit disturbing to Nikóleva, the mare looked emaciated, the bones in her legs quite visible and sunken features on her face; almost…skeletal. A mighty scythe rested against her body. Something told Nikóleva the figure would not hesitate to use it.

This darker statue was the tallest of the four lesser figures, dwarfed only by the centerpiece of the temple. Looming imperiously over all ponies in the shrine, a giant stallion gazed out over the crowds. A bearded pony, his face gave the impression of a calm and wise temperament. The mere presence of this stallion demanded respect and reverence, none of it undeserved. This “Lord” wielded a tall scepter that was tipped by a six-point star. He was too far back behind the others and too high on the stone platforms for Nikóleva to see his flank.

Nikóleva’s wonderment was picked up by a friendly old stallion slowing walking through the temple and speaking with other ponies. He approached the mare, having never seen her before, “Simply beautiful, are they not? The Gods’ splendor cannot be captured in stone, though the ancient sculptors did their best.”

“Huh? Oh…oh yes! ‘Gods’,” she inspected the stallion, who wore a plain white robe, “I’ve heard there are stories about them. Exactly who are these statue supposed to be of?”

“My child, your curiosity delights me,” he stepped towards the center statue, “As this temple’s curator, their lore rests with me. The center God is Allfather the Accordant, King of All Creation. And beside him stand his four greatest children.” He turned back to Nikóleva, “This is their temple. If you wish to pay respect to other Gods, there are shrines elsewhere in the city.”

“I think I should like to know more about these particular ones. I am a stranger to this place and your ways.”

At that moment, the curator noticed the pendant the mare wore, “I see… In that case, this mural might suffice.” He brought Nikóleva to a long and intricate fresco painted along the wall of the temple. The first frame depicted each of the characters identical to how they were carved. The colors were vibrant and distinctly themed for each “God”.

The stallion pointed to the white-themed pony, “This is the Allfather, who was first to see the barren earth and lords over all things. Infinitely just and loving, He blesses Kings and rulers with wisdom and prudence. Each of the other four is one of his children, given dominion over part of the cosmos.” The purple pony was next, “Harmonia, his favorite daughter, represents friendship and peace. The legends say she canters merrily in the forests, singing to all creatures who have the good fortune to meet her.”

The next was green, and just as fierce as his statue, “Beside her stands her twin Lionheart the Brave, who defends the throne of the Allfather and commands the host of Heaven’s armies. Naturally, brave warriors pray to him on the eve of battle that they may uphold the traditions of honor and justice. The blade he possesses is said to have been forged of iron from the sky itself and black as night.” He directed his hoof to the old fresco of a yellow mare, “She is Amberstalk, prayed to by most for good harvests.”

He paused, sighing a bit, “But she is so much more. She guides and patrons mothers and wives, as well as being a good caretaker for the earth. Not a petal falls from a flower that she doesn’t know of. And this,” he announced, reaching the final dark blue pony, “Is Hellkeep, Lady of Tartarus. Amberstalk’s elder twin sister, she along with her pet Cerberus guards the gates of the Underworld. Her rule is harsh yet always fair, and she would never harm a just mortal. Ponies pray to her on the eve of their deaths, in hopes of being recognized for their virtue. She is the most righteous of the Allfather’s children, though many ponies understandably are afraid of Hellkeep.”

“My goodness, my father was right…,” Nikóleva muttered to herself. Going right along the mural, she noticed another figure. It was a queer thing, looking serpentine yet mammalian as well. The head was…a pony? Topped by rear-facing horns? With a long and slithery body, the creature was completed with mismatched limbs from several different animals. “What is this? Is it of these ‘Gods’ as well?”

“That, my Dear, is a fell beast. A lying, deceitful, and malicious entity who once overthrew the Gods. That is the God of Chaos, Discord the Draconequus,” The curator took a breath and continued down the mural, which gave visual aid to the story he was about to tell.

“Discord is the Allfather’s brother and embodies everything dark and evil with the world. He grew jealous of the Accordant’s power and strength, and therefore tricked the King into believing that the First Ones, Gods of the Void, were escaping from Tartarus. Descending into the Pit, Allfather found out the truth, but Discord had turned the gates into fire-belching iron beasts and cast Hellkeep into the underworld, the only other God who knew the way. Soon Discord threw the cosmos into chaos, and played cruel pranks on the Gods, causing them much torment.

“But Discord’s greatest fault rested with his pride. He thought he ruled Heaven undisputed, and gave no thought to the other Gods who conspired against him. Wavebreaker, God of the Seas, raised mountain-high waves and aggravated Discord. In retaliation the Draconequus turned the ocean to blood and salt. The Sea-King was gravely hurt, but Discord was distracted long enough for Lionheart to impale the serpent with his dark blade.

“Amberstalk commanded a single tree to grow, which Harmonia blessed with her tears. The tree bore six fruits of immense power, and the host of Gods took them and assailed the weakened Discord. Overwhelmed, he tried to use his silver tongue to turn the Gods against one another, but to no avail. Crippled by the harmonic fruits, Discord was tortured and coerced into revealing the location of Hell.

“Even in defeat though, Discord was convinced he could not be truly overthrown. He believed the Allfather had been consumed by hellfires. When they reached the vestibule of Tartarus, the Gods demanded Discord open the path. He refused thrice before in his rage Lionheart shattered the iron blockade with his sword. Then, laughing in arrogance Discord exclaimed, ‘My Brother hath been charred with black flames hither, undone by mine cunning! You’ve none to serve but I!’

“Yet at that moment, the Allfather and Hellkeep emerged from the pit, each burning unharmed with black fire. The rightful King took his scepter and stabbed Discord through his wound, throwing him into the deepest and worst parts of Tartarus. Then the Pit’s Lady flew after him, striking him a hundred times with her scythe.”

The two had reached the final frame of the mural, painted in gory yet beautiful detail. The image was a dark blue pony standing at the lip of a massive pit, a giant black three-headed dog beside her. The Draconequus screamed out from a lake of fire, prodded by winged demons for what Nikóleva could only assume was eternity. It terrified the mare to the bone.

“Thus Discord’s body was destroyed and his old power rent from his imprisoned shade. But as the legend goes, he managed to once again deceive. Hellkeep was tricked into letting her guard down, and Discord escaped from Tartarus; the only being, immortal or not, to do so. Now Hellkeep trusts nopony but herself and her Father.”

Digesting this very old story, Nikóleva stood silent for a minute, still admiring the mural, “And does Discord roam the world now?” she finally asked.

“Yes. The Gods hunt for him every day, but Discord has become even craftier, lying and deceiving mortal races to one day overthrow Allfather once again and plunge the world back into chaos.” The stallion recalled he had other duties to attend to, and began to walk off, “So the tales go. Have faith, White One. May the Gods bless you, and you are always welcome in Their house,” and as quickly as he emerged from the crowd, the temple’s curator disappeared back into the throng of pious ponies.

The sun dipped as low as the cliffs Poneva was built into when Nikóleva finally emerged from the temple. She spent that time in deep thought, contemplating the story of this “Discord”. She talked to others in the sanctuary, who elaborated on finer details of these gods. The deities of Tulicëai were colorful and varied, displaying a wide range of character and personality. It struck the alicorn that the simple god she had been taught was quite dull compared to the five that stood before her.

”Lórian” had no stories, no legends, no myths that she knew of. It had no form or image she could identify with; not even a name. Lórian was just a title, an old alicorn word meaning “Glory”. Her father did not elaborate who this thing was, only that it behooved ponies to pray to It.

Pondering this, Nikóleva took her first objective look at the subject. Perhaps Lórian, and all the other gods and goddesses were just superstitions, names and faces applied to forces that bore no such commonalities. This radical idea made her head spin.

Perhaps somepony in time might clear the matter up for her.

But now, sunset fast approaching, Nikóleva briskly trotted out of the temple and set course for the agreed rendezvous point. She was fairly certain she remembered the way. Half an hour later she did in fact reach that pool, yet Evergreen was nowhere to be found.

Nikóleva had hoped to remain at the pond, content with standing idle and waiting for her friend. And for a short while this wish was respected. The mare watched passersby and vendors finish their day’s activities before retiring to whatever domicile they called their own. Soon the crowds thinned and ponies became scarcer and scarcer, until the last sunlight began to fade.

By chance Nikóleva glanced in one particular direction. Down this single street she expected nothing noteworthy; certainly not what she found. There, against a tall wooden building Nikóleva spotted two ponies aggressively speaking. Curious, she quietly trotted over there; in retrospect as a voyeur, but fortunately so. For when she came to the street’s beginning, the white alicorn witnessed something quite disturbing.

In the new snowfall that sunset brought, a large unicorn stallion was ingloriously striking a hapless mare. He shouted expletives and curses, denigrating the mare and bruising her with every blow.

“You worthless bitch, I shall teach you to cross me!” he said, renewing his promise by a strong hoof to her cheek.

Weeping in pure agony, the mare tried to crawl away. Her bloodied face and almost-broken legs shattered the heart of an anonymous white pony standing in the shadow of the building. “Please!” she pleaded in the weakest of fashions, “You’ve already taken all that I have… Let me go…my foals are hungry.”

“Not everything.” he grinned, revealing vile yellow teeth. His smile reminded Nikóleva of something else, and her blood boiled even more. “I’ve ruined your pretty face; you won’t be much use to me,” he dragged her back to him and raised his hoof a final time, “Your life will serve as adequate payment.”

But as he prepared to land the final strike, an emboldened mare stepped forward. Nikóleva exerted every ounce of willpower she could to not break the stallion’s neck, “Cease your attacks, villain; I warn you only once.”

“No peasant orders me! Stay your tongue or your fate will be no different!” aiming for the mare’s swollen face, the stallion swung down his hoof and…stopped midair? His foreleg was cloaked in a magical yellow aura, coming from none other than that interloper. Nikóleva quickly approached the stallion, a look of raw anger in her eyes.

She released his hoof from her magical grip and used her own forelegs to twist and wrench the stallion’s leg. Breaking the bone, she then bucked him hard in the chest, sending the depraved creature slamming into a stone wall. Almost unable to move, the pony called out in anguish, “Guards! Guards! I’ve been attacked by a peasant!”

Nikóleva tried to help the abused mare up, but she was too injured and weak to accept the gesture. To her confusion, the alicorn noticed ponies emerging from their homes and two armor-clad ponies charge up to that wicked unicorn. He pointed a hoof at her and soon the guards threatened her with swords.

“Relinquish your weapons, Giant! You’re under arrest for assaulting a Court Noble.”

“I beg your pardon?!” Nikóleva responded, enraged, “He was assaulting this poor mare. She cannot stand now; I witnessed him do it!”

Matters now complicated a bit, the more senior-looking guard turned to her subordinate, “Alert the Captain; I think the King might want to settle this matter himself. And fetch a physician,” the other guard, a pegasus, nodded and flew off.

“You there, mare!” the Sergeant said to the crippled earth pony still writhing on the pavement, “We’ll have you treated as best we can. Would you tell us what happened?”

“H…he was my landlord…and he came to collect. But he demanded…I pay him triple what was agreed upon. I am too poor, ma’am, so he beat me instead. Then this…stranger came and saved me…” the pony’s gaze creaked upwards and she flashed a smile, “Thank you.” With her strength spent, the mare finally collapsed.

Nikóleva’s eyes became glossy at the sight of the dead mare. Leaning down, she spoke an old and uncomfortably familiar prayer before gently kissing her forehead. The guard’s face was stoic yet still compassionate. She then immediately seized the “Noble” and threw him onto the cobblestone.

“We’ll see what the King has to say about your violence, wretched thing!”

By now a large crowd had gathered around the four ponies, the ones in the very front hearing the dying words of the victim. The noble won no sympathy from them. As the crowd grew thicker and deeper, the Pegasus guard returned and saluted his superior.

“Sergeant! I’ve alerted the Royal Guard! His Majesty should be here posthaste!” His words were true, for a few minutes afterwards more guards galloped down the street, bearing banners identical to the one Nikóleva had seen hanging over the gatehouse.

“Make way for the King!” they ordered, and the ponies obliged by clearing a passageway. Rigidly the guards stood in formation, awaiting further commands.

A simple green earth pony tethered to an empty wagon emerged from the streets of Poneva by now and noticed the vast crowd gathered for some unknown purpose. Peeking through the gaps in the ponies, he recognized a tall white pony standing beside guards and a…dead mare??

“Oh no…” he muttered, fearing the worst. Unsure of what to do, he turned around to the sight of a very opulent unicorn walking towards the commotion with a dignified poise. Using the cleared path, this stallion came with yet more guards and merged with the others already “apprehending” the criminals. All ponies he passed bowed before him while the soldiers mechanically assumed an astute stance.

Nikóleva studied this stallion, who was a respectable amount taller than most others she had encountered in Poneva. Dressed in an elaborate gold-embroidered robe and tunic, he wore a golden jewel-encrusted crown atop his head. He adorned himself with an expensive pendant, anklets, and earrings. Raising a gold scepter he ordered the whole crowd to fall silent.

The stallion’s brilliant crimson coat reflected well the torchlight the guards produced. He gestured to one such soldier, who stepped forward and illuminated the corpse. The stallion clearly seemed surprised and horrified, but tried his best to conceal it.

“What terrible misfortune befell this poor creature? I demand an answer now,” his deep voice compelled all to obey.

“Your Majesty,” the Sergeant started. “One of your Court Nobles beat her to death, so the mare’s last testament revealed. This large stranger allegedly came to her aid and injured the cur in kind,” The guard then shoved the disabled noble to the stallion’s feet.

“Oh My Liege! Please forgive my transgressions…how must I atone?” the noble groveled.

Levitating his scepter, the pony whom Nikóleva realized was the King of Poneva poked the noble’s chest and stared into his eyes, “Produce the truth, lest justice be miscarried. Did you kill this mare unprovoked?”

“Yes My Lord, but she owed―“

“The usurer demanded rent not owed.” the Sergeant interrupted.

“How dare you fabricate lies―“

“Silence! The King speaks. You’ve slain a peasant on behalf of gold; I’ve made my judgment,” the monarch then turned to the white “unicorn”, who quickly learned to bow before this stallion, “Rise, honorable pony. You deserve this murderer’s crown more than he.”

Nikóleva stood up, still avoiding eye contact with the King. He however gently used his cane to lift her gaze, “It is admirable indeed to protect one’s own self, but there is no nobler action than to come to the defense of others. I hereby absolve you of guilt! Please tell me the name of so virtuous a mare.”

“Yes….Your Majesty! I am Nikóleva…of the North.” she answered, laughing with relief.

The King smiled and raised his scepter yet again, this time calling out to the crowd, “My People! Justice has been done this day! I bid you all return home and take rest!” the congregation of onlookers, contented, returned to their houses. The street was left empty and barren, the vendors and creatures of the night having yet to emerge.

His Majesty glanced at the guards, signaling them to return to the castle keep with the convicted noble in tow. The deceased pony was respectfully lifted for proper burial. Before he left, the King addressed the white mare once more, “I hope you continue to grace my realm with your good heart, Nikóleva nor-Ulin.” Her eyes widened in disbelief, further compounded by what he did next. Using his magic, the King pulled a feather from under her cloak, “Though, it is never certain who might understand that name. It behooves your kind to remain completely disguised, Wintermail.”

Without another word, before Nikóleva could stop him the Ruler of Poneva departed with his guards. Absolutely stunned, she remained motionless for a few moments. This Tulicë had spoken a tongue exclusive to her people, and seen right through her. What could he teach her about the Alicorns? And could a simple exile even win an audience with so important a pony?

Even if she would never meet this stallion again, the King had bestowed upon her a new moniker. “’Wintermail’? I rather like that,” the pony said to herself.

Unbeknownst to “Wintermail”, another pony had stayed behind when the crowd cleared. Pulling his cart into the middle of the way, he rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“I can see you’re going to be quite troublesome.”

“Evergreen!” Nikóleva exclaimed with happiness.

“What were you thinking? Assaulting a court noble?! You might have gotten yourself killed!”

The mare giggled with just a hint of pride, “I assure you few ponies can hope to overpower me.”

“The law can,” he retorted, a disapproving look on his face, “You’re very lucky to be standing here, free of irons clasped around your ankles.” Sighing he motioned the mare over to him, “Come; I’ve procured a room at an inn not far from her. Also,” he reached into his saddlebag, producing a small cloth pouch, “Your share.”

Nikóleva took the bag in her magic and inspected the contents. Several dozen small gold coins, “I…I cannot accept this. I’ve abused your generosity enough.”

“This is no show of charity, Nikól. I’m paying you for your work. Keep it.”

Clearly hesitant, she nevertheless put the purse into her bag, “You’ll have to show me how to use ‘money’.”

“We can start tomorrow,” Evergreen then led her down the road a few blocks until reaching a large wooden building. Hanging from chains was a sign with the painted picture of a bed. The green earth pony stowed his wagon in a garage beside the entrance and went inside. His companion followed shortly after.

Nodding to the clerk, Evergreen continued up a flight of stairs. Nikóleva tried her best to squeeze into the tight stairwell, almost bumping her head on the rafters at the top. Opening one of the many doors the two came into a fairly good-sized room with a simple table and bed.

“I rented the biggest room they had; I hope it will be enough for you,” taking off her bag, cloak, and weapons, Nikóleva crept onto the bed. It was certainly sturdy enough, but still too short; the ends of her hind legs hung off.

Blushing, she feigned complacency, “It’ll do. Thank you very much. Where will you be lodging?”

“I’m afraid I could only afford one room; I’ll be sleeping on the floor,” he said as he placed a blanket on the cold wooden planks. Nikóleva was about to object until the stallion spoke again, “Please I insist you take the bed; I made you sleep on the floor in my own house. It’s the least I can do, friend.”

Reluctantly accepting this gift, the mare laid her head down on the pillow, trying her best to adjust to this small bed. Alone in thought, she remembered that violent stallion. Recalling that very fresh memory she couldn’t help but writhe in anger. What fate will that vile cretin endured to atone for his sins?

“I assume you must be tired, given your…struggle against that noble,” Evergreen said, his eyes closed.

“It wasn’t much of a struggle,” she giggled before turning towards the stallion, “What will happen to that pony?”

“More likely than not he will be executed,” Evergreen said calmly. Nikóleva however was disturbed by his response.

“’Executed’? Have I condemned another pony to death?”

“You’ve condemned a murderer to death. Pray for him, Nikól, for the Gods will grant him final judgment.”

“I heard tales of the Gods today…of the Battle with Discord. These fantastic stories though are difficult for me to accept; I was taught different. And indeed how can your truth be my fiction? Does that poor mare endure, or has her soul been made void?” she trailed off, eyeing her pendant that suddenly became all the more puzzling. Realizing where she was, Nikóleva spoke again, “Forgive me for digressing. I’d been left with nothing but my thoughts for a long while.”

“It’s good to have such thoughts; most ponies I’ve met hardly think, let alone about the world.” he gave a soft laugh, “I’ll trust the Gods, for I believe they reign, but perhaps it’s not so important whether or not the stories are true…as much as we understand what they mean.” Yawning widely, he adjusted himself on the floor, “Maybe the answer will come to you in your dreams. Good night, Nikóleva.”

Smiling, the mare closed her eyes and nestled into sleep, “I think I’d like to be called…Wintermail.”

2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 4. The Wintermail

2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 4. The Wintermail

Quick, bold, and deliberate, Twilight’s pen strokes unleashed a veritable deluge of ink upon the unsuspecting pages of her book. As closely as she could, the winged unicorn sought to transcribe the words of the Princess until the end of this quite frankly long story. When finished, Twilight Sparkle could then edit the piece extensively; no doubt some sort of error occurring along the way.

The lavender pony stood over the tome, pen-poised and hanging onto Celestia’s every utterance. The account had already by this point taken up an appreciable portion of the codex, with much more still to come. Understandably at some point the contents of her bottle would run thin.

Celestia was still speaking, overcome by the power of the Muses, when Twilight audaciously interrupted her. “Excuse me, Princess. You wouldn’t happen to have another bottle of ink nearby, would you?” the unicorn asked, a hint of fear in her voice.

Immediately the white alicorn produced a fresh and unopened bottle from a shelf and levitated it in front of Twilight. “I should think My Most Faithful Student would have come more prepared,” the Princess replied, smirking. Upon seeing Twilight’s face turn a rosy red, Celestia started laughing, “Oh I’m just giving you a hard time.”

Again, Twilight was not amused.

Trying her best to shrug off this prank, she uncorked the bottle and dipped the quill, inking it anew. A less-than-enthused look on her face, the purple mare flipped to the next clean page. “I’m ‘prepared’ to continue writing,” she said, the hint of sardonicism not lost on Celestia.

“I was waiting on you,” The Princess retorted. Twilight’s response was a cold glower. “Alright, alright. Now where was I…?”

“I believe you had just finished your first day in Poneva.”

“Ooooh yes, now I remember,” Celestia thoughts once again turned to ancient and forgotten days, “Poneva was a different place then;very different. The nights were…longer―sweeter. How often did I travel there? Not much after that day…,” The alicorn soon came back to the present, “But I’m getting far ahead of myself.

“What did I do that morning…? Not much of note, I’m afraid. I perused the city, exploring what else Poneva had in store for me. Evergreen, such a talented stallion, replaced the timbers in his cart for other goods. It was a fair trip to Poneva and a one-day stay was not enough. As I recall, he bought supplies to build for me my very own forge! Can you imagine that, Twilight? In over a thousand years I still have not been able to figure out why he would so accommodate a stranger like me.

“I think I could talk about all the things we bought, but in truth it’d be quite boring. Evergreen did however teach me to use money, a skill I think everypony would agree is important. With this newfound ability, I believe I did things like replacing my shoes and purchasing useless trinkets that caught my fancy―Evergreen had yet to teach me fiscal responsibility…

“I journeyed to that temple several times before we left Poneva. I talked to the curator there and he told me more stories about the carved marble figures that dominated the building. These stories are common and if you wish to know more, Twilight, simply open a mythology book. However, I did ask him what this necklace meant…,” now rid of her golden collar, Celestia could let that pendant hang elegantly from her neck. The chain of alicorn steel was just as lustrous and strong as the day it was forged ages hence. The silver accents still shone brilliantly, a testament to the rare and perhaps extinct quality the jeweler employed.

Twilight had admired this curious accessory; what special significance did it hold? The Princess was never explicit, yet something told the purple mare it was a relic of a long-dead faith. “I never got a clear answer from that stallion,” she continued, “So I was forced to remain content with listening to his stories, which were honestly quite fascinating. But our stay in Poneva eventually came to an end.

“Evergreen met me again at that central pond, pulling his old wooden wagon behind him. Being as strong as I am,” Celestia boasted, smirking, “he gave the harness to me and I followed him out the city gates, past the guards who still did not trust me, and down the road. The path covered in a thin layer of cold snow, the two of us bravely trudged onward back to his homestead. Before Poneva disappeared underneath the horizon, I took a long view at the city, knowing that I would someday return.

“Again it was early when we left, and by the afternoon our trip was complete. Evergreen’s sisters and mother gave us a warm welcome, endlessly asking questions about our journey―they didn’t travel often. That diligent stallion though was not happy with merely standing around; almost as if he suffered some kind of…irritation from idleness.

“So with my help he built a small annex to his home. And he placed in that shack a brick furnace just for me. He gave me a hammer and anvil, and some iron bars and said this to me: ‘You’re always welcome on my land, Nikóleva, but from time to time I may need one of your crafts.’ And that was the only condition he ever gave me. From that day I pursued a career, off and on, of being a smith. When I lived with my sister and Henarion and even in decades thereafter, calling me a generic smith was adequate; I did many kinds of metalworking in my youth, but the one I became most found of was bladesmithing.

“This proved quite useful for the lumberjack. I’d repair his axes and he’d set aside wood for charcoal. It was similar to the relationship I had with Taber―Luna, and that’s probably why I grew so fond of working on Evergreen’s land. I did other things as well; there is always something in need of fixing or replacing around a homestead. I’m sure you know this from Applejack.”

“Perhaps a little too much…,” Twilight muttered. That honest mare certainly didn’t like to keep secrets. Celestia however could not hear the student’s quip.

“Evergreen was always so kind and thoughtful, making sure to thank me every time I gave him a finished tool or ornament. I guess that was common courtesy and I didn’t know it yet. But his greatest show of virtue was one winter day, about a month after my initial arrival,” Celestia paused and took a sip of water. Readjusting herself on her large pillow, the alicorn resumed her tale.

“That morning just so happened to be my birthday,” she placed a hoof under her chin, “Now which birthday was it…?”

Twilight giggled and spoke up, “I think that would be your twentieth.”

“Oh of course! How could I forget?! You know, Twilight, turning twenty is a big deal for us alicorns. When our race was still strong and plentiful, upon reaching that age an alicorn is considered an adult, albeit young and naïve. Until they turned fifty, respect was not commonly afforded to them; instead they were treated like grown children. Anyway, I was saying a simple birthday prayer that my father had taught me. Evergreen heard me speaking my strange tongue and asked me what I had said.

“As his ‘tenant’, I was obliged to answer: Bor catiléd elna im-Oséo dharet, taë gaduln daiäm semla im-mor. But when the stallion learned that it was my birthday, he became ecstatic. Twice I tried to convince him not to throw a celebration. My protests were promptly ignored. Evergreen was so excited, he postponed all his other chores and got out his finest foods and drinks on my behalf!

“He and his family set a grand table of dishes prepared for this occasion. Twilight, in those days most ponies had little more than rags and a sickle, so I hope you can appreciate the charity this poor home showed. Lórian knows I was very hesitant at first to even take a sip from my cup. But after a while I loosened up and began to enjoy the party thrown in my honor.

“There were humble foods like cheese and bread, steamed vegetables and potatoes―essentially what we always ate, if not all at once. But Evergreen’s sisters also took it upon themselves to prepared strawberries and cream; they even baked a cake,” Celestia started to water at the mouth, remembering that dessert remarkably well, “Not too crumbly yet still soft; fluffy but still containing substance… I’d have eaten the entire thing had I been a filly,” The Princess joked.

“And then there were the drinks. Evergreen tapped a keg of malt beer. And I, against my better judgment, confess that I drank many glasses’ worth. He brought out wine and his oh so sweet mead. Come morning there wouldn’t be any left! In retrospect, that probably wasn’t the smartest of ideas…,” Twilight gave this somewhat disappointed look. Celestia smiled, “Oh don’t give me that, Twilight. I know; it’s not becoming of a princess. But that mead was delicious.

“As the night wore on, us five ponies sang and danced, told stories and laughed; it was such a happy time. Of course it had to end, and the next day we returned to work. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy my labors; quite the contrary. I was given a renewed sense of purpose and belonging. And every month or so Evergreen and I would travel back to Poneva or the outlying manors.

“There, during the several days we lodged in the city, I met that old blacksmith once again and accepted his offer for apprenticeship. I became better and better at making a blade in that year of study. Mine became perfectly balanced and shaped… why I even managed to catch the fancy of a very wealthy merchant. He offered me a bag of gold for Eónadin, which naturally I refused. He settled on another, far lesser valuable sword.

“Towards the end of my apprenticeship, for my final test, my Master told me to remake the sword I had shown him during our first meeting. So I pried the hilt from the blade and reworked the steel. I labored for many days back at Evergreen’s home until finally I produced a weapon infused with all my passion and strength,” Celestia began to look longingly at nothing in particular.

“Bladesmiths often say weapons can have minds and lives of their own. That’s probably what happens when you sit by a fire with nothing but the pounding of metal in your ears all day! Though…perhaps it’s not entirely unfounded… I digress, Twilight.

“Truth be told, sometimes I wonder how I managed to focus on forging that blade, or any blade for that matter. I was often…distracted. Then I could not explain it, though I know now, but as I worked Evergreen would often walk past my forge hauling his timbers. Every time he came into my view, I couldn’t help stealing a glance or flashing a smile.

“And…at first I thought I was seeing things but he’d do the same. And when he noticed me he’d blush and try to hide his face. When the snow melted and spring came, our work hours increased―and these passes happened more and more. When I had finished my chores, instead of resting inside I’d go and watch him. And if he was done before me, he’d do the same.

“As the days became longer, we’d often go frolic in the forest and talk…often until sunset. We’d picnic in the cool spring breezes on the shore of this small lake. We learned much about each other then. He told me his hopes and dreams, and everything he felt comfortable speaking of. And I even revealed where I came from and why I left…I trusted him so.

“My trust was well-placed. His lips were forever sealed as I asked him. But it eventually became necessary to tell the rest of his family that I was an alicorn: his mother was hardly surprised, though his sisters were a tad shocked.”

“’Necessary’?” Twilight asked, “Wasn’t it highly important to conceal your nature, Princess?”

“That works best when one doesn’t stay in a place for too long. You see I started molting and those large white feathers became increasing hard for Evergreen to explain! It’s rather funny, Twilight, I eventually used them to stuff a pillow for the new large bed Evergreen allowed me to build for myself.

“My wing had healed by then and with my new feathers I thought I’d practice flying, something I rarely do, then and now. Evergreen sat on a hill and watched me attempt to flap my wings. I stumbled quite badly the first few times―thought I’d break my wing again! But on the…sixth try? I managed to stay in the air for longer than ten seconds. I practiced as often as I could get the chance, and one day the stallion shyly approached me with a humble request.

“He said to me ‘I’ve seen pegasi sore the skies many time before. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, Nikól, might I…’ Oh bless his heart he was so nervous. Understandably it was an unusual request, but one I was happy to oblige. I had little trouble bearing him, what with me having such a large frame.

“I told him to wrap his forelegs around me tightly: I wasn’t sure how well this would’ve gone. I did manage to ascend about two-hundred feet without much issue,” The Princess’ eyes suddenly became misty and she started to laugh, “I remember…that stallion got so exited he let go of me and flailed his limbs. He looked just like a colt, screaming and cheering. Well that ended as you’d probably expect; he slipped off and plummeted down to earth!

“I was terrified, so I bolted down as fast as my wings could take me. Don’t worry, I caught him. He was so grateful, without a second thought he squeezed my neck and kissed my cheek. There was an awkward pause, and we both looked away. I blushed, and I think he did the same. ‘What did I tell you?’ I said. He just kicked his hoof.

“We tried again with more successful results. Oh that was…very fun, almost as if I had been a filly again…back when things were…kinder. But what I can say was the most important moment between us occurred in the summer, under the shade of a tree. The air was warm and humid… He looked at me and recalled why my mane hung over my eye. Several times before he remarked how beautiful my eye was, and he insisted I’d look better with both. I refused him each time.

“But this day he made no such comment. Instead, he took a very pretty flower and set it in my mane. It’s cliché, I know…but still sweet. He said it gave me the appearance of two eyes, and immediately he recoiled in embarrassment! He muttered something about being a fool and he apologized. Luckily for him, I found it somewhat endearing, if of course rather silly.

“Then, in what I consider one of my boldest moves, I placed my hoof on his and simply stared out at the sparkling waters of the lake. He was content with allowing that, and we just sat there until dark. As the bright moon rose from the tree line, he turned to me and stumbled with his words. He admitted to holding feelings he never quite could articulate, but I still understood what he meant.

“I confessed the same to him, and relieved he hadn’t made himself an even bigger fool he laid his head upon my shoulder. And I unfurled my wing to drape over him. And then, bathed in quiet moonlight, I turned my gaze to his eyes, and his to mine…and we calmly smiled at one another. I summoned all my courage, and completely unsure what would happen next…I leaned in and kissed that sweetest and kindest of stallion on the lips. No words were spoken the rest of the night, but by his expression, I could tell I had done what he wished he had the daring for.

“Not much changed after that. We still toiled just the same since I had arrived, and still spent as much time together as work would allow. We’d talk and tell stories to one another, and very few times we’d shared another kiss. Summer turned to autumn, and then back to winter. I celebrated my twenty-first birthday. I never expressed much desire to leave until then.

“One night in bed, I thought about the wide world my Father had told me about. There were countless peoples and cities to meet and visit. I recalled how much I wished to travel and explore in my youth. I’d grown complacent with Evergreen, but then I realized...I’d never see all the world had to offer simply tied to his homestead.

“In April, back by the lake, I conferred to him my wish to depart. I told him…I was drawn elsewhere…like my place was as a lone wanderer. I promised him my heart would remain there, but I possessed a yearning for travel and adventure! I did not yet realized how many years I still had to do so: I could’ve stayed…something I regret quite a bit.

“But this was not my desire then. He yielded after a few attempts to talk me out of leaving. Evergreen understood the heart of an adventurer; something he had not. I asked him…nay begged him to come with me. He said his place was there, taking care of his family. I didn’t like it, but I respected his decision…as he had with mine.

“I told the other members of the house, and they wished me luck that I find whatever it was I would be searching for―I’m not entirely sure I ever found it. I assured them I’d return every now and then. They nodded and smiled, and threw me one final party; for in the morning I would depart for places unknown.

“When all others had gone to sleep, I sat before the fireplace with a very strange subject on my mind. Evergreen countless times told me I owed him nothing for allowing me into his home for over a year. Indeed the work I had done around his land was payment enough. But…I still felt a need…a yearning to return that selflessness and virtue. And I remember thinking he had begrudged me for leaving, even if he did not show it.

“I wished to convey to him how hesitant I was to ‘abandon’ him and his family. I sat for a while trying to produce the right words, but nothing came to me. Soon Evergreen emerged and sat beside me, as he had that first night. We didn’t speak much there; I still could not find the words. Yet…I could tell he was just content sitting next to me.

“He simply smiled and stared into the flames. My heart ached…as I knew leaving that place―leaving him would only make me long for his company. I…I admitted those feelings to myself that night. I shall be the first to confess, Twilight: I loved Evergreen. And I knew he loved me,” Celestia started to tear up, her face half-happy…and half-sad.

“I took him by the hoof one last time, and drew his gaze to mine. Of all the meaningless and frivolous details you may want me to recite, this is one I shall never forget: I paused for a few moments, and then spoke to him very clearly. Ironically, it took true courage to reveal something I was aware he already knew: ‘Evergreen…,’ I said, my voice very calm and quiet, ‘I depart by necessity; my spirit drives me away, yet my heart pines for you; I love you.’

“His response did not take but a second, and immediately he kissed me and repeated the phrase. I wrapped my wings around us both, and I whispered to him, asking if he’d…well keep me company in sleep. This was to be the last time I would see him for a long time…and I wanted to remain in his presence―or he in mine.

“I led him to my bed, and we both climbed in and laid our heads down for rest. But neither of us could sleep…he turned his face back to mine…and we kissed a second time. And then…,” Celestia closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. Before she could continue the story, the Princess again recalled where and when she was; this was becoming a very annoying habit.

Twilight stooped over her book, the quill awaiting the next word from Celestia’s mouth. The Princess had stopped however. “Excuse me,” the lavender pony interrupted, “Then what happened?”

The white alicorn thought a moment before replying, “I’m sorry, Twilight…but there are some things I wish to keep private.” The student got a very disappointed look right then. Celestia couldn’t help but giggle, “But we did sleep very soundly that night.”

“At first light, I gathered my things, girt my weapons, and trotted up to that gate where Evergreen had first let me in. He and his sisters and mother stood, tears in their eyes, waving goodbye. I nearly broke down in tears myself as I waved back. I promised that I would return, regardless of whatever obstacles delayed me. And when I had, the reunion would be sweet indeed…

“And…in another life, I would’ve stayed and wed Evergreen I think. I would have mothered his foals and I’d remain by him and my children to the dying days of their long lives. Often I think about that path…what might have been…but the world would be a different place. I would not be Princess, nor would there be an Equestria―or perhaps there’d be a perverted shadow of it.

“Or maybe I’m not as important as I once thought…,” Celestia cleared her throat. “Sorry, I digress again. Of course I had no knowledge then of what I eventually would become. When I left that quaint and familiar homestead…I was very unsure as to where to go.

“So for the first few weeks I stayed in Poneva and worked alongside my master smith. In between lessons and working hours, I vied for an audience with the King. He was often busy and on the…third attempt I managed to get a few minutes with him. Since that day I first met His Majesty, what he said to me was most perplexing.

“Not only had he seen through my guise, but he also spoke to me in my people’s ancient language. I needed to know more about who this stallion was. Our talk was brief, but all through it he smiled and kept a kind and regal air around him. I asked how he knew the things he revealed. Unfortunately his knowledge was small. He said that alicorn blood flowed through his veins, but it had long become diluted.

“Even so, the Ponevan Royal Family still hung on to the decrepit faith of our extinct race; the language being very important for…certain observances. The King told me all he knew about the alicorns, which amounted to little more than they had come to Equestria long ago from somewhere else. Ashamed he could not reveal more, the King wished me best of luck in discovering…who I was―am.” Celestia took a moment to pause.

“And did you ever discover this?” Twilight asked, questions about her own self and lineage starting to emerge.

The Princess gave a coy smile, “Of course. But we are not yet there in the story.” Twilight aggressively sighed and dipped her quill. “With this scant information, I finally bid farewell to all my friends in Poneva and left to go southwards. On the morning of the fourth day of my journey, I crossed the border between that northern realm and the borders of what in those days was Equestria.

“I know today Poneva is well within our borders, and even my old home rests comfortably in land since surveyed and settled. But when I was just a mare of twenty-one, Equestria consisted of seven independent and often hostile Princedoms. I shall discuss later exactly how this came to be, but I felt this added information was necessary to establish a bit of context.

“The old highways had since become infested with bandits and wild beasts. I had to do my part in ‘clearing the way’ more times than I care to count. Town after town I’d lay low all threats that impeded my progress. And soon tales of my endeavors reached the ears of many ponies. It started as just me defending myself. But one day I wandered into a very small village; I forget the name it. My reputation had preceded me, and they had heard of a ‘tall white mare who banishes all evil’. There words not mine!

“They offered me a sizable bag of gold to fight off slavers who kept raiding there settlement and carrying off their friends and family. I was not urged on by greed, but instead a desire to perform good deeds. I took a small band of the villagers with me and found the slaver’s hideout. Twilight, please remember throughout my stories that justice is not always kind. We slew every single low-life creature and saved the few ponies who had not yet been sold into slavery.

“The townponies were so grateful, and my heart was full of…purpose. I accepted the bag of gold―I still needed to eat and sleep. But before I could leave, the Mayor of town asked me my name. I thought for a second, recalling those words my father told me so long ago. The Mayor’s eyes begged for an answer, so I gave him the alias the Ponevan King gave me: Wintermail.

“Eternally grateful, that old mare wished me luck on my journey. I nodded and without a word walked off as the sun rose. I hadn’t expected anything more to come from this...I had been completely wrong. Every town I now came across pleaded for my help. I could not simply tell them ‘no’, and bound by my own virtue I agreed.

“Soon one town turned to ten, and a single bag of gold to dozens. I even became a mercenary of sorts for causes I felt were worth fighting for. At one point, ponies had been dispatched merely to find me! Every lord and mayor and count wanted me to help them and their people. Inevitably I had to turn some of them down; I was more complex than a ‘hired-hoof’.

“But most offers I readily took up. They tried to pay me for my services. I’d take a small amount of coins and give the rest as alms; I would’ve had literal mountains of gold otherwise.”

“I see you hadn’t yet discovered what a ‘bank’ was,” Twilight giggled.

“Um…no. But I didn’t need that much money anyway. Well the stories of the ‘Wintermail’ who would selflessly save any village or hamlet and then generously divvy out her own rewards mutated into legend and myth. I once heard a tradition where young fillies and colts were told to behave, and Wintermail would shower them with gifts. How silly is that?

“They had inflated my reputation into something far greater than I could ever be. But as I reflect on that, I realize now ponies needed something to hope for…something to ease the hardships of their lives. Everypony needed hope that a ‘Wintermail’ would arise and rescue them from tyranny, oppression, poverty. I inspired several guilds of so-called adventurers who traveled and helped those in need. One based in…Manehattan even had their crest a stylized white pony,” Celestia smiled slyly, pride still an emotion she could muster.

“I didn’t fully appreciate or even realize the impact I had. Even now it seems wholly fantastic to think a mere pony like myself could give hope to an entire country. Had I known the importance of my work, I might’ve continued doing it. However, Twilight, you know that’s not what happened. To me, it was simple exploring.

“I met many enlightened and friendly ponies during this phase of my life. I wandered the streets of dozens of great cities, which all wrapped me in awe. Manehattan was built on an island originally, and the pristine golden bridges that connected it to the mainland held stalls and battlements. What a place! And the beautiful libraries and academies of Trottingham! I didn’t know how to read when I first journeyed there, but I could admire the gilded illuminated texts and statues of ancient philosophers and historians.

“But what encapsulated me most was the nigh-impenetrable fortress of Canterlot. This city was built thousands of years ago into the very face of a mountain. When I first laid eyes upon its towering white spires, I thought I had gone to the very seat of the Gods! The waterfalls fell majestically down the mountain as they do today. I spent a lot of time in this city…though I did not know exactly how familiar I would eventually become with it.

“Ironically, as well known as the Wintermail became, I did my best to keep a low profile. This wasn’t the easiest of tasks for somepony who sticks out quite as much as I, but I managed. Some might recognize me here and there, but if there were no problems or issues, I was usually left alone. I suppose many also didn’t wish to bother me. But the respect was still there. I even acquired my own epithet! ‘The Wanderer of the North’ they started to call me; notwithstanding the fact I rarely traveled further north than Equestria proper.

“By the time I was ready to…slow my travels, I had ventured the full breadth of the known world: from the sandy shores of the East to the jagged foothills of the Great Mountains dividing this continent. I once was audacious enough to try and fly over them! This was a futile effort: to find out what lied behind them I had to wait quite a long while.

“I journeyed far to the south all the way to the land of the Minotaurs and even beyond. Languages in Equestria varied from city to city and realm to realm. But the strange and numerous tongues I picked up in these alien lands sounded completely different from what I was used to. One particular tribe of Zebras even communicated with clicks and whistles! How fun!

“But what struck me most in the distant south was a single set of ruins which the zebras had shown to me. It was revered by them as a place of the ‘winged unicorns’. Zebras have an oral tradition that speaks of tall horned pegasi who arrived in large mountains of wood and taught the zebras many things about medicine and art. Yet again, they had little else to the story.

“It intrigued me, and as a symbol of our friendship they showed me where the alicorns used to dwell: a large iron fortress. They called it ‘The Red City’ on account of how most everything had already rusted in the tropical climate of the Zebra homeland. I know now why the alicorns built the fort, though it pains me to admit it. There isn’t much to say about it: most if not all artifacts had either become buried or plundered away. But I was still pleased to find another vestige of my heritage, even if I wasn’t sure what it meant.

“I only traveled that far south once, as on foot it was several thousand miles. And ships of the day weren’t easily capable of sailing the open ocean. I did return to Equestria and seldom wandered far from it again. Which was good; I remained a bit closer to some old friends.

“It must’ve been two or three years since my first departure when I returned to see Evergreen and his family again. Not much had changed; Evergreen looked a bit older and stronger. His sisters had found prime stallions to wed. Their home soon grew to contain several houses, and Evergreen became the head of a large family.

“As the years wore on, his sisters raised several foals and one year I recall meeting their grandchildren. I became known as that kindly stranger who came bearing gifts. They were great fun to be around, those foals. But Evergreen made no effort to find a wife. He remained…’faithful’ to me and I to him. In the scant days I stayed, we caught up and talked quietly under the shade of a tall tree.

“We even rekindled our youthful flares once or twice,” Celestia eyes turned glossy and sad, “It was always fun to see how their family had grown and changed. But unfortunately it was at his homestead that I learned a very painful lesson.

“Bristlepine, his dear mother, was already old when I had first met her. My naïveté made me think she was well over two-hundred years old. Not so. She was merely in her fifties I believe. I returned one day to learn…she had passed. I paid my respects at her grave and offered my deepest condolences to Evergreen and his family.

“Death of course is a part of life. I was no stranger to such a reality…but that didn’t make it any easier. Time passed and my First Love and his sisters and their husbands and even children all became older. Tales of me were told less and less until the youngest generation hardly knew who I was. It seemed only Evergreen cared to recall that white stranger from so many years before.

“Do you remember the first time you saw the leaves change color, Twilight? I remember it well. I was in Manehattan, and ponies from other parts came to see the beauty of the Autumn season. It truly was marvelous; the bright oranges and reds and yellows―almost like…fire! The trees in one final show of defiance to the relentless cruelty of time flashed colors of life and passion before falling down to Earth. When snow fell, the naked trees stood calm and dormant, memory of their glory still fresh in my mind.

“Evergreen struck me the same. He was twenty-seven years old when I had first met him. By that age, his prime would soon start to diminish. At first, he did become stronger and livelier; as did I. But I continued to grow and prosper when all other trees died back. One day after my journey far to the South, I came to greet an Evergreen whose bones had betrayed him. The vitality in his step and demeanor had cooled to a slow and steady pace.

“I watched him…and his sisters become frail and grey. Their once lustrous coats inevitably faded to dull shades of green. I could not help but feel…guilty. There was no pallor in my coat, no wrinkles upon my face; not even my mane migrated from its bright pink color. Many times, no doubt laced with jealousy, it was remarked how young I stayed.

“’What is your secret?’ they asked. But I could give no answer. My Father and Henarion our Caretaker had lived far longer than any of these ponies, yet only the slightest bit of age touched them. I thought and thought, and...however scarce my knowledge of alicorns was, I realized it was our fate to dwell upon this Earth far longer than most creatures; for good or ill.

“This continued on for thirty-three years. I’m sure you can do the simple arithmetic to calculate my age then. A rather young number for an alicorn―an unimaginably small one for my…current age. I had traveled the entirety of Equestria; though I‘d find out someday there was so much more that I hadn’t seen.

“It wasn’t my intention that day to return to Evergreen…but I’m glad I did. However large the myth of the ‘Wintermail’ had become, she was still just a pony. And even she needed…a guiding hoof. I doubt sometimes that what transpired that day even actually occurred. But I shall dictate precisely as I remember.

“And here, Twilight, is where I ask you to place some trust in me.”

2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 5. An Old Friend

2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 5. An Old Friend

The air was particularly hot and humid today, the August sun beaming down on her back. It was warm; easily the hottest it’s been in years. She however remarked that the weather was nowhere near as unpleasant as the lush jungles far to the south, where it rained and rained for days on end. And even when the harsh sun was out, one might still feel as though they were “swimming” through the air.

But this did not detract from the discomfort many ponies felt on this day. The tall white alicorn known to most as the “Wintermail” had gone through a small town earlier. Pegasi flapped their wings in an effort to cool themselves and others. The ponds around the town were filled with ponies trying to cool off. She even recalled a few young rascals trying to break into the ice house.

As for herself, she decided to endure the heat; the Wintermail was made of sterner mettle. Still, the day’s weather enticed a myriad of flies to swarm around the traveler. She tried her best to swat them away with her tail, but it seemed an inexhaustible supply of insects had targeted the lone mare exclusively.

Most didn’t bite, only buzzed loudly in her ear. A few mosquitos were easily deterred, though with no less annoyance. Where could she go to avoid these swarms? The desert? The dry crags and valleys? Maybe back east where calm coastal breezes blew. All these locations seemed a bit far, especially solely to avoid a few troublesome flies.

How could such little creatures be this much of a bother?

But this minor inconvenience was quite the secondary concern on the alicorn’s mind. The flies did however cause a stir of contemplation in her. These small pests followed whatever came their way in hopes of finding something to eat. In a way she was like them: aimlessly wandering to the next town for an opportunity to earn a living. Wintermail was a romantic nomad; without a home…without a purpose.

And for several decades she explored and adventured. These flies would live only for a few weeks, maybe months. But Wintermail had a great many years still ahead. How much longer could she endure a causeless existence?

During her wanderings, she changed a little bit. More experienced with a sword, Wintermail became a formidable fighter indeed. She grew a bit more confident and courageous, a far cry from the uncertain mare who had run away from home…fleeing the shame and regret for her cruelty inflicted upon her sister. Even so estranged from her, every day the white mare still prayed for her beloved sister’s health and happiness.

She did not know if she’d ever see Taberanyn’s smiling face again, but every second of separation still pained her. Yet…Nikóleva could not return. Still young and unable to face her deepest fear, the alicorn was bound to remain detached from her dear sister, until such a day came when she could overcome her shame.

Maybe she could find peace of mind in a city or town, with an actual home. She’d entertained the idea of returning to Evergreen’s house…but certain events had transpired preventing this.

Wintermail was as much a stranger to his family as anypony else. The memory of Nikól had faded away, and every year her welcomes became less and less enthused. Then finally it seemed as though everypony, barring Evergreen, had forgotten about her.

In her mind, it was probably best to leave the family alone; they needed no strangers bothering them, let alone one as odd as an alicorn.

So where exactly could she go? Manehattan was nice and by the sea, plus the merchants paid well. Canterlot was stunningly beautiful and so culturally rich, but maybe too high-brow for a humble peasant. Wintermail could settle in Poneva, keeping an eye on the family who showed such generosity all those years ago.

But that constant buzzing in her ears kept interrupting her thoughts. These blasted flies!

Almost fed up with the pests, Wintermail made it to the top of a low hill along the road. There, the unthinkable happened.

The flies’ buzzing turned quiet, and the swarm left her person. The birds chirping far off in the trees ceased. Even the rustling of the wind stopped and the air and sun felt comfortably cooler.

All things at peace, a mysterious figure emerged from the opposite side of the hill. Wintermail could not believe her eyes when she saw the pony come into full view. It was tall, easily as tall as Henarion. Its light blue coat and bold green mane almost looked as if light shone from them. Its eyes were a steely grey, full of stern reverence yet soft kindness.

But what elicited the most powerful response from her was what the pony actually was. It was, at least superficially, an alicorn. And it did not wear a cloak or any sort of means to conceal its wings. Rather, it bore them quite proudly; proud to be among the ancient and blessed race of the Triple-Kin.

Yet the pony’s gender was not easily discerned. Wintermail had met some androgynous ponies before, yet the individual who stood before her left the mare truly befuddled. While she examined the stranger, the mysterious alicorn smiled and began to speak.

“Hail, traveler! Lovely day, isn’t it?” it spoke, though its voice was neither that of a mare nor stallion.

A bit taken aback, Wintermail nevertheless responded courteously, “It was quite warm a moment ago, but now I’d agree,” she took a deep breath, elated to finally meet another alicorn, “If I may confess, stranger, I’ve not met another of your kind in a long time.”

“Not many do; mine is a scant group.”

“Are you not afraid of what might assail you because of your…nature?”

“Not in the slightest. Are you?” the pony smirked.

Nervously looking around, Wintermail replied with a stutter, “I…I don’t understand…what do you mean…”

“Do not take me for a fool. What good is a cloak in Summer? Are you ashamed of what you are? Do you feel you were fashioned…incorrectly?”

“Of course not!...I just wish to…avoid any unnecessary encounters.”

The pony gave the mare a narrowed look, “If you insist…” it relented, “Though you might feel freer with outstretched wings,” At that moment the alicorn unfurled its large feathery limbs, making itself appear even larger. Each feather was long and lustrous, as if they were just preened.

“Undoubtedly,” Wintermail laughed, “Pardon my question, but how many others of our kind do you know of?”

“Alicorns? My friend, there are far more in the world than you might believe.”

“Really? I’ve traveled all Equestria and beyond, but not met a single―“

The stranger gave a warm smile, “Traveler, you need only to look in the right places…”

Wintermail’s patience was wearing thin. What sort of game was this pony playing? “Where exactly? Could you tell me where you come from?”

“You wish to know about my home? Well…it’s a fair distance from any place; not easy to get to. But…,” the pony stared off with a look of fondness, “It’s very, very nice. Always bright and warm, calm and quiet. I hope every creature gets a chance to see it…if only once.”

“Sounds wonderful. Could you give me directions?”

“’Directions’? No…I don’t think I could do that. Besides, I wouldn’t want to delay you from whatever errands you have. I myself am late.” The white mare started to interject, but the stranger kept speaking, “Yes…I’m a messenger of sorts you know. I do what I am asked by my liege. And I’ve a very important message to deliver to one pony in particular.

“You see, he’s very ill…and I should like to take care of a few things before…well. Ponies can be so impermanent; even alicorns. I regret not spending as much time with him as I could have,” it chuckled for a moment, “At least I shall get that chance soon, right?”

Taking a step forward, the alicorn resumed its journey, “Be well, Nikóleva.”

“H…how did you―“ the white mare struggled to say, utterly shocked. How many other ponies knew who she was?

“Not much happens in Equestria that I don’t know about. Until next time, friend.”

“Wait!” Wintermail yelled as the pony began walking off, “Will there be a ‘next time’?”

“I think so. Though, you might not recognize it’s me,” the mysterious alicorn replied cryptically.

“What does that mean?” Wintermail thought. She stood for about a minute or so, trying to piece together exactly what had just transpired. The mare managed to acquire very few answers to the numerous questions she had, both asked and unasked.

There’d be a lot of time to inquire if she could just get more time with this stranger. That was it! Perhaps she could convince the alicorn to let her travel by…’its’ side; at least for a while. With hopeful optimism, Wintermail turned back and ran down the hill.

“Excuse me! I never did catch your name!” she shouted out, hoping to get the pony’s attention.

Yet at the bottom, with the rest of the road for a good mile or two visible, she could find no sign of that alicorn…almost as if it vanished. Where did the pony go? Where could it have gone? Distraught and once again without direction, Wintermail sighed and hung her head low. And as if someone wished to torment her even further, the hot air and flies both returned.

That alicorn never found out what exactly happened to the stranger. And though many ponies and others she would meet in her long life would sometimes disappear without a trace, there was something different about this particular one. It was just…gone.

But that alicorn did provide her with a new sense of expedience. It was evidently on a mission to speak with an old acquaintance. Were there any ponies Wintermail could do the same to? Seemed like a wise idea to drop by for a short visit.

Then it hit her: of course! Evergreen would adore her company! Would she be a burden? No…she’d only be there for a day or two.

“Now which way is it to Poneva?” she thought out loud, “Next town isn’t far; somepony should know there,” and in earnest, Wintermail proceeded down the way, now invigorated with purpose and aim.

The next town was quaint, the townsponies very friendly and helpful. In the local tavern, Wintermail had a light meal of fruits and vegetables and a hearty drink of malt beer. The tavern keeper was kind enough to point her in the direction of Poneva.

But he still laughed, the trip to that northern city quite arduous, “Head north up the Trottingham road about three-hundred miles; that’ll take you to that city,” He said, “Keep going north and you should come to a wide river, so I hear. Cross it, and don’t stop going ‘til you get to Poneva.” He serviced a few other patrons before he continued, “I should warn you, Dear, there’s marshes and stiff brush all along the way. Better tack up before you leave.”

Marshes? Great; more flies to pester the Wintermail. Thanking the keeper and paying him handsomely, the alicorn left the tavern and procured some supplies for her journey. After purchasing some food and a visit to the farrier, Wintermail set out from the town.

From what the keeper had told her, the trip could take several days, maybe even a week…if she kept a brisk pace. And so excited was the mare about seeing an old friend that haste was the only pace she set. Wintermail walked all day until finally nightfall came. And just as the sun peaked out above the horizon, she was already outside in the cool morning, glistening dew wetting her feet.

And during the morning, Wintermail galloped down the roads and paths. Then in the heat of the day she slowed to a steady walk, turning back to a gallop in the evening. If she was fortunate enough to happen upon a town or roadside inn, she’d sleep and eat there; otherwise the wilderness would provide for her a bed.

Day by day she made more progress to the relatively isolated city of Poneva. As she came to find out during her wanderings, that city was the most northerly of all major settlements in Equestria, at least which was still populated. But even though it was smaller in size than other more famous cities, the trek was well worth it for Wintermail. Soon enough she would see its cliff-borne keep and brilliant fortifications again.

To occupy herself in the meantime, however, she let her mind wander into deciphering that alicorn she met not long ago. It still perplexed her, in more ways than one. Oh wait until Evergreen hears about it! Wait?...What would she say to him? It’s been a long time since they last met; there’d be so much to share. Could they have a picnic like they use to? Or would Evergreen be content with staying home, the distance to the lake too much for him?

The years had not been as kind to him as they were to the Wintermail. Age barely even touched her. Now in her mid-fifties, most ponies could hardly tell what her age might be. Youthful wasn’t quite as accurate as the onlooker would’ve preferred; “ageless” maybe fit better. Her healthy coat still flashed with the same beauty as when she was just a young adult, but it was littered with minor cuts and bruises from the countless battles she had fought.

Her eyes were filled with experience, yet still the life of a mare in her prime. At once naïveté and wisdom permeated her words and sentiments; Wintermail was a walking contradiction.

Several times she overheard Evergreen’s family speak in secret. The stallion himself would never hold such thoughts, but those others spouted accusation as to why the alicorn remained in her seemingly perpetual state of youth. Had she found a secret fountain of life-giving water? A special mineral? Maybe she was just an affront to nature. Or perhaps she leeched the life from others around her, staying young and pretty as they crumbled to dust.

Quite ridiculous yes, but that did not stop them from calling her “freak” or saying “She didn’t belong here.” All behind her back, of course. And now Evergreen’s family had forgotten about her, probably by no simple slip of the mind.

Maybe now she could repair that relationship, and spend some more time with that beloved stallion. Wintermail had to come to terms with this many nights, and now could no longer deny the truth: Evergreen had grown old, and soon he would finally find peace.

Time was growing short to say her goodbyes: perhaps a bit shorter than she expected.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

After long last, the day came when the Wintermail finally emerged from a dirt road to the old homestead of that logger she met so many years ago. The path was a bit wider, a few trees here and there having been felled. The actual land was also cleared more, a veritable village having arisen to house Evergreen’s blossoming family. His sisters and their husbands and children all had their own homes, and so did the grandchildren who decided to remain as woodcutters.

Freed serfs and traveling peasants even established a small community further down the road. Evergreen in his old age employed several tenants on his land, not to mention was the unofficial “mayor” for this town. This hamlet was occupied by more and more low-ranking ponies who, by one means or another, managed to acquire their own land.

And it was idle talk amongst this community that the Ponevan King was even going to issue a town charter to them.

As the largest peasant landowner in the region, Evergreen accumulated great wealth, even putting to shame some lords in the Kingdom. But he never moved to a bigger home or hired numerous servants. Through and through he was an honest and hard-working stallion, quite content to do most labor by himself.

Or so it was. The green pony was now older and less able to work hours on end. His nieces and nephews usually did most of that labor now; Uncle Evergreen paid generous wages. Yet there was one pony whose help was enormously appreciated, and the stallion didn’t have to pay a single bit to her.

That white alicorn instead insisted on paying him, readily dispensing gifts and alms to everypony in the area. Most towns had one encounter with her, and cheered loudly when she departed, grateful for her aid. But returning too many times might cause the townsponies to grow hostile. This new town held a similar sentiment; she came every now and then, usually with several years in between. “Who was she? What was she? Where’d she get all that gold? She always wears a cloak; what is she hiding?” This was common conversation between workers when she’d pass through.

“And what was her relationship with Evergreen?”

They’d ask these questions again soon enough, for the Wintermail had returned. Her trip was exhaustive, and by the time she came up to Evergreen’s home, her hoofs felt very sore. The marshes and thick brush she slogged through left her dirty and hot, and the ever-present flies only agitated her condition. Many places had roads that barely poked out of overgrowth, being neglected for almost a millennium. Wild animals did not help things, and several times she had to threaten off a hungry wolf or bear with the edge of her sword.

But the most surprising thing she saw along the journey was an increasing number of Diamond Dogs. Wintermail possessed no love for the race, but normally they were very reclusive and struck at night or early in the morning…something she knew quite well. But lately, for the past few years, she’d fought off raids on border towns and marches; in daylight hours; in groups of twenty or more.

It was if the mongrels had recently grown bolder. Along wild roads and fields she’d have to hide in tall grass and observe gangs traversing great distances to pillage. One time Wintermail narrowly avoided fighting a horde with as many as one-hundred individuals. Mayors, lords, margraves…they all complained about an increase in Diamond Dog attacks. And not just dogs, but the dragons in mountains and crags grew restless and territorial. What exactly was happening in Equestria?

During the trip to Poneva, Wintermail had been ambushed by a party of several dozen dogs. Knowing she’d probably suffer major, if not mortal, wounds in the conflict, she decided to do something she’d never thought she’d have to do: she drew Eónadin, and warded off the attackers with the enigmatic glow the sword seemed to emit. The Diamond Dogs recoiled at the weapon, remembering well the legends their fathers had told them about “Maelin” and the tall pony’s fantastical blade.

But with tremendous respect for her Father, Wintermail never used the sword in anger, and instead let the Diamond Dogs be.

That was several days ago. Now, she wished to speak to an old friend and memories of hostile encounters would not plague her visit. Taking a deep breath, Wintermail walked down the road to the front gate of a familiar fence. Now expanded and refurbished, the fence encompassed more territory and was built sturdier. A lone orange earth pony was sweeping the porch a dozen or so yards away from her. He looked up and spotted the tall traveler waiting before the gate.

“Mother!” The colt shouted across the field to another porch. “I think Uncle Evergreen has a visitor.” A mare by that other house shouted something inaudible back. “That white mare…yes the unicorn!” The older pony replied again. “Yes ma’am!”

The colt put the broom down and trotted up to the gate. Unlatching it, he let the visitor through. The colt however gave a prying look, distrusting the mare. He spotted the gilded hilt of her precious sword. Was she a noble? Perhaps a knight? Uncle Evergreen did not trust knights, especially in his frail and sickly state.

Wintermail noticed this, but still kept a courteous disposition. “Thank you,” she said, smiling at the colt, “May I ask you your name?”

“Oakwood. My sister likes to call me ‘Oakie’ but don’t you dare―“

“Oakwood! Ah yes, I remember you! I did not recognize you…my you’ve grown,” Wintermail loudly exclaimed.

The colt however looked very puzzled and a bit concerned, “I vaguely remember somepony like you…why do you know me?”

“Oh I met you when you were just a foal…I met your father when he was a foal.”

The colt did not appreciate somepony he did not know having such intimate knowledge of him at his most vulnerable, “What business do you have exactly with our family?”

“I’m an old friend of your Uncle, and I stop by every few years to pay a visit to him. Most of your family doesn’t much care for me, I understand.”

“No I don’t think so,” Oakwood replied. “Most folks around here don’t care for strangers. They especially don’t like it when they hang about for a while.”

“Many ponies don’t like strangers, and I’m one everywhere I go. But I shall not be long; I rarely am,” the colt opened the door for the guest, displaying some of the same courtesy Evergreen possessed.

“You say you knew my father when he was a foal, yes? You must be as old as my Uncle then.”

Wintermail grinned, “I know I don’t look it.”

“That explains why Aunt Spring Green has a grudge against you,” The colt giggled. His face then turned serious, “But my Uncle unfortunately has been feeling ill. My father was sent to fetch a physician.”

The alicorn’s eyes widened, “Oh no…”

“Yes,” Oakwood solemnly continued, “He’s been bedridden for days, unable to get up. I hope the pony my father fetches can help him, but…”

The colt didn’t finish, and instead led the alicorn into the main room of the home. The fireplace looked very much the same, but it was clear a few stones had been replaced. Some timbers of the walls and rafters looked newer and healthier than others. The furniture’s upholstery most certainly had been repaired or swapped with newer fabric. The maintenance employed within the domicile was impeccable; it looked almost like it did that first day.

But Wintermail wasn’t allowed to dwell on the décor, for a group of ponies, both young and old, had gathered around the dining table. Most of the stallions and mares the alicorn had already met, at least once.

“Grandmother! I’ve brought a friend for Uncle Evergreen,” the orange colt said, breaking the conversation amongst the other ponies.

The mare who responded was an elderly individual, wearing a faded celadon coat. She smiled warmly at her grandson before looking at the tall pony he had led inside. Immediately her face turned to a quiet scowl. “Thank you, Oakwood,” she said, gesturing him back to his chores, “Well well well, it has been a while, hasn’t it…’Nikól’? Are your hips giving you trouble yet?”

“Nikól” cocked an eyebrow, “Can’t say they are…”

“Mine are a bit stiff. Been that way for the past ten years I think,” she walked towards the couch, feigning difficulty of movement. Upon sitting down she exhaled audibly, as if the minute exercise was enough to fatigue the mare, “I’m sure my grandson told you about Evergreen: he’s in no condition to entertain.”

“I’m well aware, Wintergreen. I thought I’d make a short visit and greet some old friends.”

“Yes…I’m sure you did…,” The old mare’s eyes became full of distrust, “There’s a lot of talk…rumors more. The more pessimistic ones think my brother’s time is…running out. My children and I aren’t concerned with these matters, but many of our more…conniving relations want a share of Evergreen’s wealth. And some idle remarks have been made about him giving everything to a certain white unicorn.”

This rumor shocked Wintermail, and she took a moment to respond, “I doubt this very much. Even if he were to give me something, please believe me…I should return it to your family. I have enough wealth.”

“This is good to know; one less thief vying for money or land…,” Wintergreen took a deep breath, “You say your stay will be brief?”

“I intended as much.”

“Best stay by me; my sister and brother had a bit of a dispute. I won’t go into details but now she’s trying to acquire his land. She hates you, knowing you’d take his side. As long as you stay beside me, she won’t harass you.”

“And how do you feel about me? I maintain brevity in my visits because I know I’m not well-liked here…”

“Under more usual circumstances I’d admit to holding petty feelings of envy towards you. But most everypony here just isn’t too keen on foreigners acting like they’re ‘welcome’―no offense.”

“None taken,” Wintermail said, but inside she was somewhat hurt.

“Evergreen has been talking about you for the better part of thirty years. Understandably many of us would grow tired of hearing about ‘Nikól’.” The white mare blushed slightly, quietly giggling in delight. “Yet I realize now this is no fault of your own. Please forgive my family and myself for being so rude. May I get you anything?”

“No thank you. And please don’t trouble yourself on my behalf.”

“Considering the madness I’ve been subjected to these past few days, I’d welcome simply tending to a guest. But I’ve other duties at the moment. Evergreen’s in his bedroom, likely asleep. He’s remarkably ill and we’ve given him quiet. You may go in and sit along his bedside. If he wakes up, tell me; I need to sort out some very important matters,” Wintergreen rose from the couch slowly and returned to the group beside the table, who all during this were still conversing about things Wintermail never did pay attention to.

The alicorn too rose up and made her way to the room her friend was laying in. Carefully opening the door, she crept in to find a room centerpieced by a large bed. She looked for a moment and realized that bed was the one she made for herself during her stay with this family. It seemed as though Evergreen had kept it for himself.

Nestled in the bed, covered in blankets and head propped up by a pillow, was another elderly pony. His once healthy green coat was no longer so vibrant, and his aged face bore the weight of many years. He was sleeping, his breaths painfully irregular. Every few moments he’d make a groan. It only took seconds for Wintermail to almost break down in tears to find her dear friend in such a state. She however managed to retain her composure.

Fortunate, as the room was populated by several ponies: relatives, friends, tenants…they all came to pray for Evergreen and keep him company in his time of need. They remained solemn even through the sight of an awkward giant trying to find room for herself in the small chamber. Though initially hostile, the ponies allowed Wintermail a spot to sit right next to Evergreen.

She took her time to thank everypony who shifted their position, and then sat down contented. And there she would stay for the next few hours, silently reminiscing about happy times she’d shared with the stallion. Every now and then she’d chuckle to herself. At one point, a pony became curious and asked how she knew Evergreen. Soon the entire room would be talking amongst themselves about their relationship with the earth pony.

Wintermail met a few tenants and landowners who owed much to the stallion. They told her stories of their experiences with Evergreen, how kind and generous he was. About his strength and the ends he’d go to protect this family and community. And in recognition of his virtue, the ponies all decided to put aside their distrust for the alicorn, and instead focus on Evergreen.

They all had a few laughs and even some cries, but still took care to keep quiet. By the evening, however, Wintergreen had come in and told the lot to vacate the room. Complying, the group witnessed a trained physician enter, led in by a large stallion of a cerulean color. Evergreen’s more amiable sister followed suit, and the door was latched shut.

Some more time passed, how much Wintermail never did find out, before the physician emerged from the room. Her head was hung low, and a hint of sadness filled her eyes. An anxious relative took the initiative and approached the mare.

“Well…,” he started, “Will Uncle Evergreen recover?” his expression showed he almost didn’t want to know.

“I’ve done all that medicine can do,” the physician confessed, “The Gods alone will decide his fate henceforth. I’m sorry.”

“Bless you for your troubles,” Wintergreen said, giving the physician a small pouch of coins. “It is late; feel free to lodge here tonight.” The medicine mare nodded. The matriarch of the family then turned to the crowd gathered in the main room of the house, “I think…we’d best…,” she tried to summon the words, but sorrow wrenched her heart, “Say our goodbyes, before you all go home.”

The crowd concurred in silence. For the next hour ponies crept inside the bedroom and greeted a now awakened Evergreen, who assured them all he was perfectly content and happy. His responses were warm and filled with good blessings and wishes. Everypony in the region knew him somehow, and he told the ponies their families had sent to see him that he loved them all and appreciated their wonderful friendship.

As the moon rose over the horizon, more ponies started to leave, having said their final farewells. When the crowd thinned, Wintermail felt it right for her to take her turn. She came into the room to find the only remaining ponies: Evergreen’s two sisters and that blue stallion, his favorite nephew. Wintergreen and her son could not bring themselves to leave just quite yet, and the other sister had…ulterior motives.

Wintermail sat down as she had before and looked upon Evergreen’s face. He hadn’t noticed the alicorn come in, perhaps too distracted by his fever. When he did, though, his sickly mood immediately brightened.

“By the Allfather I think Heaven has snuck up on me, for I gaze upon a face so fair only a goddess could have it,” he spoke, smiling widely at his old friend.

“Nice to see you too, Evergreen,” the mare giggled. The two other respectable ponies couldn’t help but do the same. Spring Green however glowered at the alicorn.

“I’m relieved you’ve come; I dreaded I’d never see you again. You look…wonder…ful…,” his speech was interrupted by a violent cough., “Forgive me, I’ve been feeling a little…unwell. I have missed you, Nikóleva.”

It was bittersweet hearing her birth name. Wiping a tear from her eye, Nikóleva boldly placed her hoof on his, trying to recreate a more favorable time, “At the risk of sounding foolish, not many days go by without me think of you. I’m deeply sorry for not visiting sooner; I―“

“Don’t worry. Just seeing you now is enough for my poor old heart. Your life is a gift, Nikóleva. I’m sure you have many tales to share. Get on with it!” the stallion said, his hearty laugh restrained by ailing lungs.

“I doubt you want me to bore you…,” Nikóleva feigned.

“I demand nothing more!”

“Excuse me!” Spring Green interjected, “As much as I would love to listen to the stories of this…pony, we have certain things to discuss yet, Evergreen. Like matters of your ‘posterity’.”

“’Posterity’? Oh Gods above even when I’ve not the strength to get up…,” Evergreen coughed several times, a bit of blood in them, “She…still…wants my land.”

“It’s very important, Brother. You have no children; what will happen to your homestead? To whom does it go?”

“To whomever I damn well please!” he shouted in a raspy, restricted voice, “But yes, I think it is time I designate the recipient of my possessions. That is why, after much thought…,” he paused to cough, “Wintergreen takes the rights to my land and everything on it, on the good faith that she must never give it to you.”

Boiling with rage, Spring Green lashed out as fiercely as an old mare could, only to be stopped by the quick reflexes of Nikóleva. Struggling and wanting only to wring her brother’s neck, the vindictive pony could not escape the strong forelimbs of the alicorn. “You bastard! Half of that should be mine!” the earth pony spat.

The heiress and her son kept the violent hooves of the furious mare away from Evergreen, “That you would so easily turn against me is precisely why I’ve disinherited you. That is all you and your spawns care for! Now that you’ve gotten your answer, you have my permission to leave me in peace!”

Calming down, the mare glared at her brother and hastily took off. She slammed the door shut and left the home without a second thought. And that was the last time Nikóleva ever saw that mare.

Nikóleva knew this was not how siblings were supposed to act, and she leaned towards Evergreen with a disturbed look on her face, “You cannot just abandon your sister like that! I don’t know where you too grew so hostile to each other, but you must make amends!”

Evergreen sighed, a sickly wheeze coming from his throat, “Oh Nikóleva, you really are still young. I have tried to talk reason into my Spring Green, but she’s made it clear she is not my sister anymore. Greed has taken hold of her, and she’s turned all her children against me. I still love her with all my heart, but she does not share that sentiment.”

He blinked and stared at Nikóleva’s distraught face, “There are difficult choices in life, and sometimes the right answer isn’t the one we’d like. I promise it was not with a light heart that I’ve let my sister come to hate me.” Nikóleva could not make eye contact with him, but she weakly nodded.

“Let us not dwell on Spring Green, yes? Go on Nikól, tell us about your travels,” Wintergreen said, warmly encouraging the alicorn.

“If…you all insist. Well on my way here, I was ambushed by a pack of wild Diamond Dogs! There I was, outnumbered…a hundred to one! I was not about to let them get the better of me, so I…”

And as the night wore, Nikóleva told Evergreen and the other two ponies present about her exploits and adventures, admittedly taking a few liberties with the details. This oral tradition was specifically invented so the stallion would have something interesting to cling to in his weakened state. Epics of bandits, brigands, dogs, wild animals, dragons…he was entertained for what felt like hours to Nikóleva.

Her presence alone was enough to ease his suffering, but the fact that she cared enough to brave the wilderness and hostile obstacles just to see him lifted a great burden from his heart. Perhaps Nikóleva did the very opposite that night than what had she intended; Evergreen now felt…complete and the happiest he’d been in years…a stallion who could die at peace.

And though rejuvenated for a while, Evergreen’s health rapidly deteriorated with every story Nikóleva told. And she noticed this…she saw the shortness in his breaths and the increasing frequency of his coughs. His words became less and less coherent, his voice more constrained.

Yet that smile never left his bright face.

After she had finished her last story, Nikóleva gazed upon the frail and infirm body of the stallion she loved. He could scarcely move, and every other word was interrupted by coughs and wheezes. Tears trickled down her cheeks when he opened his mouth after a long period of silence.

“I’m rather…tired…everypony…may we continue in the morning…?” he just barely managed to say.

“Of course, Uncle.” his blue nephew said, “We’ll remain by your side in case you need anything,” his eyes were just as watery as Nikóleva’s.

“Have pleasant dreams, Brother.”

“Yes, Winter. I think…tonight I’ll have the best dream…of my life. I bid you all good night,” he began to shut his eyes.

But Nikóleva could not let him go…not yet. “Wait! We still have so much more to talk about! Can’t you stay awake for a little more?” her eyes pleaded with the stallion, but she knew the answer. Unable to bear it, the alicorn began to weep.

Using whatever strength his spent body had left, he raised his hoof and stroked the pink mane of his old friend, “My Love, I’m very tired. Let me…just…rest my eyes. When I wake in the morning, then…we can…talk…”

Then, without another word, he took Nikóleva’s hoof and placed it on top of his as he closed his eyes.

“In the morning,” Nikóleva thought. But morning never came, not for Evergreen. This sleep was his last and sweetest. For though he had been in pain, his spirit felt light and free, delighted by his beloved family…and one dear friend. Evergreen died that night, in a way so peaceful that few ponies could ever claim the same. The cruelties of this world would no longer touch that old stallion.

But that did not make it any easier. The three ponies realized shortly after Evergreen had shut his eyes that his spirit had been borne elsewhere, leaving them sad and empty. All three could not hold back their tears, and sought each other for comfort. No words were spoken for the rest of the night; Nikóleva only held the other two close and they both wept into her chest. She craned her long neck down and embraced them, weeping as she had only done a few occasions before.

And sometime during that night, she leaned back over the body of her love. At first she wished to utter an old alicorn prayer, but instead spoke nothing and simply kissed his forehead.

Returning to her mourning, Nikóleva recalled what her father had said when her mother died so many years ago: “We’ll see her again someday.”

And with all her might, the alicorn hoped that what her father had said was true, and that Evergreen would be right there as well.

2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 6. The Dragoness

2. The Alicorn Errant: Part 6. The Dragoness

Alone and in the cold rain, Nikóleva stood before the freshly-wrought headstone of Evergreen. It was humble and sported only an etching of his beloved cutie mark: three logs neatly cut and stacked. The simple trade of a simple stallion.

The funeral was short, yet still filled with kind and sincere sentiment from the many ponies whom Evergreen had met and enriched during his long life. Indeed, most of the attendees were terribly saddened when they learned of his passing. Several fell to their knees in mourning as the coffin was lowered into the ground. They all knew his time had been running out; the stallion lived to be sixty-one years old―few ponies ever did…yet against their rationale, everypony still vainly clung to the hope he’d outlive them all.

The green pony was too modest to ever accept such a wish, but many felt he deserved a long and prosperous life. One who felt this way in particular was a dear friend.

Everypony else having returned home, that friend still remained by the grave of Evergreen. “Why?” she perpetually asked herself, “Why did he have to go?” Tears kept trickling down her cheeks, concealed in the dour rain. Nikóleva had thought for many hours the night before, long after the spirit of Evergreen had left. Why was she given so much time, yet a stallion who toiled for his family and others, often thanklessly, died so young?

Was this her fate? To live an outcast―an exile for ages on end while good ponies crumbled in her wake? Was her longevity a divine punishment, imposed upon the alicorns for past transgressions? The loss of Evergreen stung her far more than any wound ever could; only her parents' deaths compared.

But her parents had neither been old nor dying. Evergreen had been, and there was nothing Nikóleva could have ever done to stave off his fate…he simply decayed before her eyes. That alicorn Maiëlindir perished in flames, unleashing the righteous fury of a warrior protecting all he loved. Evergreen’s death was quiet and inglorious. Peaceful yet ignoble.

He died neither in battle nor a martyr; he merely grew old. It was a grim reminder for Nikóleva. She, as far as she knew, was mortal. But she’d watch many more like Evergreen grow decrepit, while she’d stay young and fit. Life was a precious gift, granted to her from the Most High…yet could she handle retaining it while most had that gift slip away?

Being around others of her kind would alleviate the burden: how could she outlive them? But during her travels, she’d met only one other, who promptly disappeared. Now what had “it” said? There were other alicorns!

Maybe…maybe she’d find answers with them.

Nikóleva knew not where to begin her search for alicorn communities. She’d tried her best to hide her nature from everypony else, and the white mare could only assume others did the same. She’d have to be diligent then.

With this prospect, she vowed to finally find some answers to who she was and what the alicorns were. Where had they gone? Or were they always so rare? She’d know! By God she’d know! Now with clear purpose, Nikóleva raised her head from the ground and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Goodbye, Evergreen…,” she uttered. She’d always miss him, and the pain of his loss would never quite leave. But cherishing the memories they shared and the kind words he always spoke to her, Nikóleva could emerge a bit stronger and wiser after being broken by his inevitable death.

After a small prayer, the mare gave a smile to the grave and set out back to his home. She’d bid farewell to the family, thanking them for their hospitality and friendship. As a token of appreciation, they invited her to share one last meal with them. Toasts to the departed Evergreen were made, and by the meal’s end, Nikóleva was ready to leave.

For the last time.

The locals were becoming restless and distrustful; she knew it was time to go. Evergreen’s disinherited sister was very resentful and even openly hostile to the alicorn whenever she passed, and Nikóleva realized it was only a matter of time before those tensions might erupt into violent conflict.

Newly supplied and rested, Nikóleva took her first steps along the cobble road when Wintergreen stopped her and spoke to her one final time. She confided to her what Evergreen had told his sister years ago: that he loved “Nikól”, and could never bear to wed somepony else. In her own mind, the alicorn had deprived Evergreen of a chance to have a family and die beside a mare who could give him all he deserved. Nikóleva was not that mare.

“Please forgive me…,” the white pony said, tears streaming down her cheeks anew. She turned her face away in shame.

But Wintergreen took her hoof and brought the crestfallen alicorn back to her, “No other mare could have made my Brother as happy as you had. Last night, when he first saw you…that was the most blissful he’d been in years. I thank you, Nikóleva,” The elderly mare then kissed her friend on the cheek, “Good luck. I know you’ve been looking for something; I pray you find it.”

At first surprised, Nikóleva smiled back and embraced the aged pony, “I won’t forget you. Take care, Wintergreen.” No more words were spoken, and the green mare crept back into her home after giving one final wave at the alicorn. Nikóleva waved back and walked into the rain, disappearing forever into the mist just over the hill.

She trotted through the trees and fields for miles until the walls of Poneva came into view. She gave one last poignant look at the city; it would be many years before the mare would return, if she ever returned. She stared at the high fortress and towers adorning the seat of its King, rising majestically over the landscape. It was beautiful, overcast by the dull grey sky and lightly pelted with kind rain.

But the longer the Wintermail stared, the larger the hole in her heart grew. Evergreen had left a great absence, and the sight of Poneva only agitated that empty condition. If she were to continue, the alicorn’s yearning would become too much to bear.

But for all her pain, the pony could not yet turn away. Poneva held too many precious memories. With red eyes and a bittersweet smile she stood on the cobblestone road for what may have been hours, simply…staring off at the city. She remained there until the Wintermail could summon the willpower to look away.

Now facing the long road ahead, she took a few steps forward. She moved a few feet before hesitating.

“Farewell, Evergreen. Your travels may have ended, but I’ve a ways to go yet,” she managed a grin and finally set out for places unknown, again without a clear destination.

But such was what she had become accustomed to. With nothing more to go by except a vague feeling, Wintermail headed southwards, braving the wilds and harsh landscapes that lay between her and those blessed lands of Equestria. Whatever perils impeded her progress were easily swept aside, for few things now frightened the mare, let alone seriously threatened her.

Even the perceived increase in Diamond Dogs and other ruffians did not do much to deter the alicorn. Always deliberate and savvy in her movements, Wintermail could avoid most confrontations. Those foolish enough to engage the white giant soon regretted their decisions.

Fortunately, little troubled her on the passage to the coast. The towns were a bit more paranoid of attackers, but still friendly and hospitable just the same. Wintermail would often be delayed though with the typical fare: oppressive lords, bandits, raiders. She delighted in helping others, but it all became trite. Many even fled at the mere sight of the mare. Brigands had developed legends of the Wintermail who raised her blade and emitted a divine radiance to punish the unworthy.

The villagers told her about these stories many times. Some attributed god-like abilities to her: moving the Sun and Moon or summoning the very powers of the earth. Honestly, where did ponies get such ideas as this?

She’d become used to it all, though. Besides, fending off wicked creatures paid well and she’d often receive special gifts from grateful townsfolk. Still, having been raised a warrior of a race that possessed little more than an ancient pride and honor, Wintermail silently demanded a challenge worthy of an alicorn.

Unrevealed to her, this next town would provide just that.

The settlement wasn’t anything exceptional. A community of typical burghers; freelanders, minor merchants, and craftsponies. Where it exactly was escaped the Wintermail; who legally owned or controlled the town didn’t really much matter to her. After all, a mere peasant ill-concerned the high nobility of Equestria. The least she could do was return the favor.

Walking along the dirt streets, she glanced at various shops, inns, and taverns of honest ponies trying to make a living. Feeling a slight grumbling in her belly, the mare walked into a small tavern. Head hung low to avoid the rafters, she crept through the narrow passages between tables and found an empty spot along the bar counter. Grimy and downtrodden stallions and mares discreetly gawked at the odd stranger.

Wintermail acquired a talent for noticing when other ponies were staring: many often did and it had ceased to bother her…much. Shaking it off, she raised a hoof at the tavernkeeper.

“Excuse me…,” she sheepishly said, noticing the keeper was busy with another client.

He did hear her, and turned his gaze upon the white mare, eye widening once he realized who it was, “I beg your pardon miss; how rude of me. If I may say, you seem a bit familiar. Have we met before?”

Wintermail gave a soft laugh, “Hard to say; I’ve met a lot of ponies. You may call me Wintermail if you like."

“Very well, ‘Wintermail’. What can I get you today? There isn’t much, I’m afraid. Some moldy old bread and stale beer. Nothing’s fresh or particularly tasty, but it’ll keep you fed.”

“Your best meal, please,” she placed a full ten bits on the counter, a rather generous sum of money.

“Oh right away, Mistress!” The Keeper took only about a minute to prepare the meal, tapping his keg and retrieving a full loaf of bread. After preparing the meal, he placed the plate and cup in front of his patron.

Licking her lips, Wintermail grabbed a piece of bread in her magic and took a bite. In truth it was sour, stale, and altogether unpleasant, yet she managed to remain composed and grateful. The Keeper saw straight through her guise.

“Sorry I can’t give you anything better, especially considering how much you paid,” he gave back eight of the coins.

“Keep it,” Wintermail refused, eating some more bread.

“If you insist, Mistress…”

Drinking some of her beer, Wintermail noted that it was in fact of poor quality, “Did you suffer a poor harvest? Summer’s ending soon…I’d hate for you all to go hungry.”

“Not quite. Actually this year’s been bountiful, what with the warm weather. No, it has to do with…,” he began sweating.

“With what?”

“Ironscale,” He said softly, as if trying not to arouse suspicion.

“Who is that?” Wintermail asked, leaning forward and matching his tone.

“A dragon who lives on that mountain right there. See it smoking?” he pointed out the window. Sure enough, one of the mountains was emitting a black cloud of smoke, “Ironscale’s been there longer than anypony can remember, and sometimes comes down to add to its hoard. It roasts those who don’t pay tribute alive! It torched a lot of our fields and…killed some of our townsponies. Champions have been going up there for hundreds of years. Not a one comes back.

“Nopony has any money or produce anymore. Half of the town is deserted, and the other half is barely scraping by. According to the old tales, Ironscale goes to sleep for a century every several hundred years, so we use that time to recover. I probably won’t be around then, but hopefully my children’ll live without having to worry about the dragon.”

“My goodness! That’s awful! Why not simply leave this town? There are so many others.”

The Tavernkeeper sighed, “We can’t simply leave our homes. Besides, if Ironscale runs out of ponies to extort, it’ll just move on. I like to think we’re nobly sacrificing ourselves for the good of other places.”

Wintermail was disgusted, “That’s no way to live; in fear! How much can one dragon do? Banded together I’m sure the lot of your militia can drive it away!” her voice was now loud and disruptive.

But the Keeper was becoming increasingly indignant, “That one dragon can lay waste to a whole countryside. We’d just be swept away by its mighty flame.”

Finished with her meal, Wintermail pushed the dishes back to their owner, “It pains me to see a town suffer so. I think I’ll have a talk with this ‘Ironscale’.”

“What?!” another patron shouted, “You’re going to go into Ironscale’s cave?!” The other ponies in the tavern then all fell silent.

“Nopony that goes into that cave ever comes out,” a gruff stallion muttered.

“Then I think I’ll be the first. I’ve met a few dragons before; they’ve not given me much trouble,” she turned back to the Tavernkeeper, “Thank you for the meal. Now if you all excuse me, I have a dragon to speak to.”

Rising from her spot along the counter, Wintermail swiftly exited the establishment, galloping towards the mountain’s base. The patrons inside just returned to their bleak drinking, not expecting to ever see the tall pony again.

“Arrogant mare, she was. Pretty though,” a stallion said, gulping down his mead.

“Not for long.” A mare said, quite unemotionally. A dozen would-be adventurers and heroes galloped blindly into the dragon’s den. Why should she trouble herself over one more?

The hot sun beaming down on her nape, Wintermail scaled the rocky face of the mountain. It wasn’t exceptionally tall; she had seen far taller ones in her travels. But the path upwards was fraught with narrow ledges and steep drops. She’d been climbing for the better part of a few hours, and the summit was within her grasp. Just a bit further…

True, the alicorn was perfectly capable of flying up to the mountain. That would take a mere fraction of the time ascending on foot would. But it was far too risky; her wings―her heritage were to remain a closely-guarded secret. Besides, the climb built up her strength and character.

The flatter pathways of the mountain had given way to sheer cliffs. Meticulously choosing her next foothold, Wintermail careful planned her movements up the wall. She’d climbed several hundred feet already, and the ground below had become small and distant. Every now and then she’d glance downwards, her stomach getting a sinking sensation when she did so. Was she afraid of heights? She wasn’t sure; if she did fall she could just gently fly back up. But still a primal part of her mind was terrified.

It really was…a long way down… The slightest misstep would be the last for another, more earthbound individual.

Placing her forehoof on a higher rock, she mustered all the strength in that limb to pull her heavy frame up the cliff. Blessed with a strong physique, Wintermail was nonetheless burdened with the weight of her saddlebags and weapons. They were all exceptionally secured, but that did not change how cumbersome they were. A few times earlier her hind limbs slipped, and she was left to dangle by her two forelegs, the weight of her possessions almost working against her; the mare could feel her shoulders being pulled down, almost like her bones would pop from their sockets.

But good old-fashioned determination enabled the alicorn to regain her footing and press upward. Again raising a hoof, she placed it atop a rock and prepared to use it as leverage. But unfortunately, the rock was poorly nestled in the cliff, and as she let a great part of her weight depend on that stone, it began to wobble.

Her folly would be known when she raised her other forehoof for a higher rock, the shaking stone she entrusted showing just how poor her judgment had been. It slipped out of the cliff face and plummeted hundreds of feet down, quite nearly fracturing the Wintermail’s leg in the process.

Taken by surprise and without holds for her forehooves, the mare began to fall back. She feared for her life for a few moments before remembering something rather helpful: her wings. Unfurling the great white appendages, she flapped frantically and managed to cling back to the wall. Heart pounding, she folded the wings back against her body, thankful she’d been born with them. After some heavy breaths Wintermail resumed her climb, ever mindful for a loose stone.

“Damned mountain.”

Finally, after much arduous climbing, the mare spotted the lip of a ledge she could rest upon. Excited and feeling renewed, her ascent became faster and in no time at all she reached the top of the cliff. Placing her hoof on the flat rock, she felt around for a couple seconds to ensure the terrain was stable and large enough to support her. Satisfied with the results, the alicorn put her other forehoof on the ledge and pulled herself up, kicking with her hind legs for an added boost.

Heaving herself over the edge, the mare swung her back section forward and stood up, dusting off her pristine white coat. Panting, she looked on in relief at the black smoke emanating from the large dark hole that lay before her. “At last!” She sighed, quite ready to repay the dragon for all the purported damages it had caused.

Galloping closer to the cave, she slowed her pace as the ominous air of the mountain made its way into her head. Taking a deep breath, she kept her sword within reach and wiped the sweat from her brow.

“Courage, Nikóleva,” she told herself, trying not to become intimidated. This was not an easy task, for the cavern’s entrance echoed with the loud breaths of a monstrous beast. Wafting her snout to avoid the carboniferous fumes that filled the cave, she crept ever closer to the source of the noise and smoke.

The cavern was dark, the Wintermail’s eyes still used to the sunlight outside. As her vision started to adjust, she saw exactly what lay on the ground along the tunnel’s path. Bones, some white, some charcoal-black, littered the floor. Many skeletons were still clad in steel armor, with their useless weapons spread along the ground. Some even had their own arms used against them.

The bones belonged to ponies, but disturbingly quite a few held a special secret. Wintermail leaned down to inspect one in particular which was adorned with golden armor…almost like…that one skeleton she recalled from that city all those years ago.

It had been a large pony, maybe one as tall as her father. A horn poked through its tarnished helmet, and the cobweb-infested limbs on its back rested against the wall. Its jaw hung open in agony, probably because its two hind limbs had been shattered and maybe even ripped from its body. Whoever this pony had been in life, it was clear to Wintermail this alicorn warrior had suffered greatly in its gruesome death.

Another alicorn found its eternal resting place a few feet away, its body contorted in a number of uncomfortable positions. Its limbs bent every way except the right one, and its head had been…cracked from its neck. A third alicorn skeleton was half blackened, half ash; burned alive, the poor soul.

A fourth was somehow severed in two, its halves laying several feet from each other. A fifth, a sixth…this cave was a graveyard for dozens of ponies who tried to slay the dragon and failed. And a good number of them were alicorns!

Creeping through the boneyard, Wintermail nervously looked around and tried not to grow disheartened. Unfortunately, the mare did not notice a ribcage on the ground before she stepped on it. The flat bones all splintered and cracked in the wake of her strong hoof, and the noise caused a terrible stir.

Frozen and terrified, Wintermail finally shifted her attention to the gigantic dark mass that dominated the cave chamber. The creature uncurled itself and stood on its four massive tree-like legs before giving a vast yawn. Opening its giant maw, the creature revealed hundreds of sharp teeth. Closing its mouth, the monster flicked its tongue and stretched out its legs. Erecting its long snaking neck the beast narrowed its gaze on the white alicorn who dared to disturb its rest.

Glaring with dark green eyes and growling at the intruder, the dragon stood on its two back legs and breathed in for what seemed like a full minute. Then it uttered a mighty bellow that might have ruptured the eardrums of Wintermail had she not covered her ears.

When it was out of breath, the dragon swung its tail to surround the alicorn in a circle where the it could deal with the mare at its own discretion. Trembling, the mare saw the full glory of the indigo reptile. Behind it rested a glittering mountain of gold and jewels and other treasures, collected over the monster’s incredibly long existence.

Towering perhaps a hundred feet above the tiny pony, the dragon bared its teeth and…begun to laugh?

“How rude of you to disturb my slumber,” it said, with a booming voice that sounded almost female, “I take it you’re another prospective ‘dragon slayer’?” the dragon rolled its eyes in annoyance.

“I do not wish to slay you…I…came to ask if you’d…stop raiding the good ponies down there,” Wintermail said, jittering as her bravery started to fail.

The beast let out a raucous guffaw, “Hahaha! Such naïveté! In all my years, I’ve never had anypony actually ask me to stop! They just simply run up and try to cut me down,” The dragon curled its slithering neck down to face the alicorn, “I almost feel sorry for the impudent little things.”

Wintermail gulped loudly, but otherwise said nothing.

“The answer is ‘No’. I rather like my hoard, and look forward to expanding it. In fact…I think I’ll peruse the countryside for a few trinkets. But first, I need another trophy,” the beast’s smile curled to a devious grin.

“Y…You’re the largest dragon I’ve ever met…” Wintermail replied, now sweating beads.

“You weren’t expecting such a magnificent specimen, were you? Hehe yes those petty things are the Lesser Dragons. I however am a Greater Dragon, or Qhumvraoli as we called ourselves once. We are Gods among our weaker kin, not unlike you Alicorns are to your Tulicëai.”

“’Alicorn’? I’m afraid―“

“White one, I’ve encountered and fought enough of the ‘Triple-Kin’ to know one when I see it.”

“You know about my kind!?” Wintermail shouted, forgetting the mortal danger she’d gotten herself into. Her excitement evaporated whatever fears she held.

“Know about them? I remember when they first wandered to this country ages ago. Every wide-eyed and pompous champion among them thought they could overpower the Great Blue Dragon. I’m indigo actually, but I digress.”

“Did you kill my people? I see their remains in your cave.”

“Those were ponies foolish enough to challenge me. The Alicorns were belched from the sea and faded away…not unlike my kind,” the dragon’s arrogance started to diminish, a solemn feeling taking it over, “You and I, Mare, we’re relics of a time long passed and forgotten. My parents warred against the precursors to your kin, and I warred against the Alicorns of old. The Greater Dragons waned and shrank in number, but I remained to only grow stronger and richer.

“My race is far older than mere Alicorns, those so-called ‘Masters of the World’!” the dragon cried, visibly growing angry.

But Wintermail was not deterred, too fixated on learning about her heritage, “I know very little about the Alicorns! Tell me more!”

“Proud things!” the dragon then lashed out at the mare, who narrowly avoided being devoured by a hulking beast, “The Great Dragons ruled for thousands of ages! Why submit to small and impermanent ponies!? Hahaha! Some of us lived for over a hundred-thousand years, when the World was younger and less tame. I’ve a legacy of five millennia. What is the Alicorn’s legacy? You?”

Realizing the dragon was finished toying with her, Wintermail readied herself for battle, “I’m simply a humble traveler.”

“Soon to be dead. I’ve seen your type wander in here every few centuries, eager to prove themselves. None succeed; only manage to become a little…well done,” The dragon grinned, moving its head over to a pile of charred bones, “I’d offer you a chance to withdraw, but I’ve a reputation to uphold. Besides, a Dragon’s code of honor doesn’t allow a duel to end in a tie.”

Drawing her sword, Wintermail took a stance and stared the mighty beast down, “I’ve made my choice, dragon.”

“’Dragon’? I am Ironscale the Dragoness! Queen of Drakes and Wyrms! The Eldest of all scaly beasts! Dhimjoriq I am known as in the ancient tongue of the Greater Dragons. Alicorn, your fate shall be amongst your dead kin, your rotting corpse gnawed at by creeping things. Countless others have coveted my throne and riches, but none other than God itself can remove me!” the Dragoness then raised her head and bellowed louder than before.

Emerald-green flames shot from her mouth, charring the cavern walls black. Wintermail jumped and dove out of the way as the monster bathed the chamber in a fiery baptism of infernal fury. Now fighting for her survival, the mare took the greatest care to pay attention to her surroundings. Every moment the Dragoness tried to squash the alicorn with her clawed feet, or crush her enemy beneath her gigantic slithering tail.

Recalling the one weakness of a dragon, Wintermail tried to find a good opening into the vulnerable underbelly of the beast. But for such a massive creature, the Dragoness proved surprisingly nimble and aware. She took care that her stomach was always hidden and protected behind her powerful legs.

The alicorn had to be quick on her feet, though. Every moment Ironscale tried to grab the puny pony and squeeze the life from her. Not a moment passed that Wintermail was able to remain still. Her heart pumping viciously, the white mare could not become tired, for it would undoubtedly spell her end.

But luckily, the monster did have something Wintermail could exploit: its claws. Every time she slammed her talons onto the ground hoping to rake in the pony, Ironscale’s nails would dig into the floor and remain stuck for a fraction of a second. After a few close calls of being snatched up, Wintermail picked up the rhythm and managed to slip behind the Dragoness’ defenses.

Starring straight up at the beast’s yellow abdomen, Wintermail raised her blade. Knowing she had this one chance and mere seconds to execute the maneuver, she jumped up onto the dragon’s leg and held on for dear life. Having her sword in a magical embrace, the mare began to climb the limb despite the great force Ironscale was employing to shake the alicorn off.

Now at her shoulder, Wintermail looked at the gap between the Dragoness’ scutes. Narrowing her gaze, the alicorn took the blade in her hoof and leaped upwards, ready to stab her steel into the soft tissues of the monster.

A mere foot from the dragon’s belly, she thrust the blade hard into the gap. But when the silver tip touched the dragon’s scale, the sword couldn’t withstand the armor. The blade buckled and bent before shattering into several iron shards. Horrified and distraught, Wintermail could do nothing as she plummeted to the ground, the sword’s hilt still in hoof.

Landing hard on the cold stony floor, the mare looked in disbelief at her fractured weapon, its shards littering the area around her. Almost breaking down into tears, she readied herself to be slain by the Dragoness.

“How…how? The steel of my blade…was the utmost…,” she muttered, completely shocked at what happened to her beloved weapon.

Ironscale stopped its raging and back out from over her prey, “Hahaha! No mortal blade can assail me! I’ve been chewing on the deep jewels of the Earth for thousands of years! Now my scales are as hard as diamonds!” Bellowing in triumph, the Dragoness leaned her neck down and opened her massive jaws.

Now standing up, Wintermail starred right into the gaping throat of her adversary. Now glowing a sickly green, the beast’s mouth was about to expel a fiery torment that would end the mare in one decisive blow.

But then the pony got an idea.

Another sword was girt around her waist, one she never used: her father’s old blade that she kept beside her at all times. Heretofore it provided inspiration and confidence as though the old blue stallion was standing right behind her. But a sword is meant to be used, and she now realized how disrespectful it had been to simply “have” the weapon.

Eónadin was hers now, with every intention that it’d be Nikóleva’s tool of choice.

Almost as if the sword were begging to be drawn, Wintermail felt an urge to pull the weapon from its sheath. Tossing aside the broken hilt of her old sword, the mare used her magic to draw Eónadin and reveal its brilliance to the World once again.

Its blackened steel shone even in the dim light of the cavern, the silver moon and golden sun adorning its hilt flashing as though it were drawing the power of those heavenly bodies. Feeling stronger and a renewed resolve, Wintermail swung it a couple times to get a feel for the blade. Peculiarly, Eónadin did not glow as it had before. Curious, but of little importance right now.

Still in Wintermail’s aura, the blade hung down, ready to be swung at the Dragoness.

Ironscale looked perturbed when her opponent drew her second blade. Her look of arrogance and victory evaporated the moment that ancient sword was revealed.

“Where did you get such a weapon?”

Wintermail said nothing; only narrowed her gaze.

The Dragoness curled her lips into a greedy smile, “Simply beautiful…I want it.”

Wintermail smiled a confident smile. Undoing her cloak’s clasps, she discarded the garment and removed her saddlebags. Then, in one proud show of dominance, she unfurled her large feathery wings and flapped a couple times before lifting off the ground, “Only from my cold dead corpse shall you take it.”

Insulted, Ironscale leaned her head back and let out another mighty roar. Then, to the alicorn’s surprise, she charged forward. Jetting off, Wintermail swooped out of the way of a stream of green fire spraying from the beast’s maw. She flew out of the cave’s entrance and above the ledge just in front. Ironscale followed her out of the cavern and slithered around the mountain.

Perched atop her throne, the Queen of Drakes and Wyrms let out ear-bursting roars and cries to signify exactly who commanded this mountain. Wintermail flew upwards around the monster’s head and swatted her sword at the Dragoness’ spines. Annoyed and right about tired of this interloper, Ironscale clawed at the air hoping to catch the alicorn.

But Wintermail was too quick, and flew down behind the monster’s head. Raising her blade, the mare plunged the dark grey steel between Ironscale’s skull and spine. With immense precision and ease, Eónadin penetrated the scaly armor of the dragon and cut deep into her skin. However long the blade was, though, it could not reach the monster’s spinal cord.

Pulling the sword up, Wintermail swung off the crimson-red blood of the Dragoness and tried to figure out another method. Shaking off the wound as if it were an insect bite, Ironscale nonetheless was surprised and frightened that the attack succeeded in harming her.

“You pierced my hide!” she yelled, now on top of the mountain’s rocky summit. Swinging her tail and claws at the small pony, Ironscale left her side exposed.

“That’s it!” Wintermail said to herself. Working up the courage to carry out her plan, she took deep breaths and aimed her sword straight at the Dragon’s heart.

Without much hesitation, the mare dove straight for Ironscale’s rib cage, hoping her judgment was correct. In a lightning quick display of flight acumen, Wintermail careened right into the gap between the dragon’s ribs and cut every bit of tissue in her path before emerging from the other side.

Having cut a hole straight through Ironscale, the formerly-white alicorn gently landed on the summit, absolutely covered in blood. Violently denying the urge to vomit, Wintermail heaved before the stunned beast.

Cringing at the pain of her insides being sliced through, Ironscale lumbered for a moment, turning to her victorious opponent. Gushing blood from both sides, she began to shake and grow tired.

“W…What did you do to me, Warrior?”

“I missed your heart, but severed a great artery. You will die.” the mare replied solemnly.

But instead of trying to take revenge, the Dragoness just laughed, “The Law of Honor…dictates that I allow you to go free; in my death, you are forgiven. Dragons respect strength, and your slaying of me is the greatest show of it I’ve ever seen. By our customs you’d be our Queen.”

Again Wintermail did not reply.

“Five millennia I’ve endured, and now I finally meet my end in battle…a righteous end if ever there was one!” Ironscale tried to laugh but instead coughed up blood, “But…with me shall go the last of those who saw the glory of Triple-Kin. The Greater Dragons are like you…we’re fading quickly. Soon there shall be none left…just like the Alicorns. Those of my kind that remain are too young to have seen those bygone days.”

Tears pouring down her cheeks, Wintermail dropped the sword and fell to her knees. “Do not weep for me or mine, White Warrior,” Ironscale reassured, showing a gently serenity in defeat, “Our peoples are fossils of ancient times, irrelevant now. By slaying me, you’ve granted me the glory every Great Dragon desires. I am honored…that my opponent was of that noble race from across the Sea.”

“Then I shall…mourn for you as though you were my own.” Wintermail said, still crying and kneeling.

“Please,” The Dragoness smiled and closed her eyes, “But…may I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.”

“As victor, you’ve right to my hoard. But within it is my most precious treasure: an egg. My child has yet to hatch, and without dragon’s fire it won’t…not for a long time. But I ask you: take care of the egg until that day comes. Do what you will with everything else, but protect my child,” her life fading fast, Ironscale’s speech slowed, “Raise it…in the ways…of ponies. My people’s…ways…are violent and cruel… But do not tell…it about its mother… Tell it not what it is…my child will only chase a kind that fought itself to oblivion.”

“I swear…by Lórian’s own name that your egg shall be forever safe.,” The mare answered, holding back a fountain of tears, “And when it hatches, it shall be my own child.”

“Thank…you…” Ironscale uttered, the last words to leave her lips. Now too weak to grip the mountainside, the Dragoness slithered off. Horrified but unable to do anything, the Wintermail witnessed the creature plummet hundreds of feet down, the sound of her back breaking hauntingly audible. Whether she died before her fall or on impact was never made clear, but with Ironscale the Dragoness went the legacy of a race much older than even the tall Blessed Ponies.

“And so the Dragoness laid there, her ravaged body a testament to my savage hoof. I learned a hard lesson that day…how…similar our enemies can be. Yet I kept my promise, and crept back into her cave…and rummaged through her hoard,” Princess Celestia told her story, growing tired after several hours of speaking.

“Within the mound of gold and silver, I found nestled safely within a single small egg, lavender in color with dots of purple speckled about its shell. I took up the egg and cradled it gently…I put it up to my ear to see if I could hear the baby inside. Its heartbeat was soothing… I think right then any living thing would have delighted me.

“I wrapped it in my aura and gathered my things, placing the egg within my bag. Twilight, Dragon eggs are nigh-impenetrable, so I was not worried about it breaking. Still, I remained ever mindful while it rested in that bag. I was so conscious of it that I forwent donning my cloak, and instead flew down the mountain. I’m sure nopony saw me, but I did not care if they had.”

Twilight Sparkle said nothing, merely writing the words of the Princess. The Solar Monarch’s face became full of pain and gravitas, “I came to a stream where I thought to wash myself off. The blood…oh Lord above the blood…I washed for hours…but it would not leave my fur…my coat was stained. By nightfall I did clean it from my hair…but…but I fear the sanguine marks of my sin shall forever blight my very bones…”

Celestia brought her hooves up to her face. “When the last of the blood had trickled down the river’s flow, I departed again… That egg in tow.”

Princess Celestia did not speak for a while, instead seemingly lost in her own thoughts. Twilight sat without anything to write down, and for the first time all night she lifted her gaze and looked upon the face of her dear mentor. Her lip quivering and eyes red, the white alicorn’s regal façade had faded all but entirely, revealing a mare whose past sometimes became too much to bear.

Ears drooping, Twilight didn’t know what to say. Perhaps it was best to not say anything, and let Celestia deal with her own demons. But a minor detail in the story did catch her interest. Maybe a change of subject might lighten the room’s mood.

“Princess…,” the purple winged unicorn began, “What became of that egg you found?”

“I…found a good home for it; for the dragon baby inside.”

“Wait…,” Twilight paused, a certain realization dawning on her, “You don’t mean…Spike?”

The tall alicorn simply nodded.

“How…could you, Princess? The Mother? You killed his mother…and you never told him…,” Twilight uttered, disturbed to say the least.

“It's best for him that he didn't know…best for everypony...,” Celestia spoke, her eyes too filled with shame to look at Twilight.

“I…I can’t believe it―I refuse to believe it!”

“I speak only the truth.”

“No Princess…somepony as wise and just as yourself…you slew his mother…,” The lavender pony was stepping back, quite unsure what to think.

“Twilight, listen to me―“

“How could you?! Who even are you?…Princess I thought…”

“Twi―“

“You monster!” Twilight spat, taking a defiant stance.

“Silence!!” Celestia’s anger exploded, her eyes glowing and her voice like ten others speaking at once. Her fiery wrath incurred, she stood over the small lavender pony and spread out her wings, appearing like a force of nature. The Princess’ commanding presence almost drew the very power of the Sun itself. “Impudent Twilight Sparkle!! You and your cushioned…privileged life could never understand the way of the World then! What would you have had me do?! Simply allow those townsponies to suffer?? I had no choice but to slay the dragon! How dare you self-righteously talk down to me! Were it not for your comfortable ivory towers the World would eat you alive!”

Glaring at her student, the mighty alicorn stood over a cowering purple filly who had run out of space to back up into. Against a wall, Twilight was shaking in fear, uncertain what would happen next. Celestia though caught her image in the mirror along the wall. What she saw staring back at her was a very angry and frightening creature; scowling eyes filled with malevolent magic and bared teeth gnashing against one another: a Monster.

Filled with remorse, Celestia threw herself over Twilight, hugging the pony tightly, “I…I’m…I’m so sorry… That was somepony…else speaking….somepony with a much shorter temper,” Twilight could only whimper, still terrified and shocked, “The greatest deceit I’ve ever committed…was making everypony think I’m perfect… Are you ok? Are you hurt? Oh please forgive me…”

Assured that she was no longer in any harm, Twilight reciprocated the hug, sling her forehooves around the Princess’ neck, “I’m fine… We all let our emotions get the better of us sometimes. Why one time I got so angry I swear I caught on fire!” The two shared a laugh, Celestia’s eyes still a bit wet with tears.

After a few tender moments, Celestia released Twilight, “You must be tired…go off and get some sleep; it’s late. We’ll continue tomorrow…if you’re still interested, Twilight.”

The winged unicorn closed her book and smiled at her mentor. “Of course, Princess!” Yawning, the lavender mare turned to the door. Opening it with magic, the pony trotted out and shut the door, “Good night, Princess!” she said just as the wooden door closed.

“Good night, Twilight Sparkle…,” standing up and crawling into her own bed, the alicorn Princess laid her head down on the soft pillow. Closing her eyes, the mare silently kicked herself for such a callous display. “Losing her temper”? How foalish! Thankfully her full wrath was not realized.

A disgusting amount of times the mare had become unfettered, and a pony of her strength could, and certainly did, cause appreciably physical damage. A few times she’d become violent, mostly fueled by her own insecurities. “A pathetic individual,” she sighed, rubbing her tired face with a hoof. Celestia was supposed to be better than all this. Not to mention this was the second night of trying to dictate her past and both instances she proved incapable of simply finishing the story as any sensible pony would be expected to do.

Maybe rest would help the mare to calm her frayed nerves. Yes…sleep. Utilizing a certain spell, Celestia blew out all the candles and turned off the lights to her bedchamber, and finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

End of "The Alicorn Errant"

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 1. The Minotaur

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 1. The Minotaur

Scattered across the limitless clouds the dying rays of the Sun gave way to the starry sky, their fiery red glory retreating back below the horizon. A serene and cool dark blue overtook the night as Princess Luna raised her beloved Moon to fill the void her sister’s Sun left. The midnight mare however did not conduct her nightly routine from atop the balconies of Canterlot Castle, but instead opted to perform the ritual while in the city square.

She wanted a little variety, and she could tell others enjoyed the departure from everyday dullness. Dozens perched out of windowsills or gathered around the Princess and her guard as truly ancient magic rose the Moon just as had been done since the beginning of time. Loud cheering echoed from the town center, delighting Princess Luna more than they could imagine. There was no danger of breaking her concentration; raising the Moon by now had become old hat.

When the silver heavenly body had found its resting place for the night, applause and stomping hooves rumbled the cobble streets, filling the Princess with overwhelming feelings of pride and accomplishment. Satisfied with a job well done, the lunar mare waved out to the crowd and quietly let them retreat back into their homes. Ponies needed their sleep and of course the night shifts were starting.

Princess Luna had her own duties to attend to as well.

But before that, the alicorn stopped by a small fruit stall and eyed a very red and delicious-looking apple.

“Good merchant, your produce is impeccable. We―err…I should like that particular apple right there,” she asked, pointing a hoof at the fruit in question.

“Of course, Majesty. Three bits, please,” the unicorn replied, levitating the apple into a paper bag.

“Actually,” Princess Luna interrupted, remembering her guards, “I should like an additional three apples.”

The vendor nodded and accepted payment before giving the bag to his Princess. Distributing the apples to her guards, Luna took a bite of her fruit, “My, that is scrumptious!”

The armored ponies each sampled their own apples, “Thank you, Princess. I was a bit famished.”

“Well what use is a starving soldier?” Luna replied, smiling, “Come; we mustn’t dawdle. My Sister shall be leaving her post soon.”

With perfect obedience the guards followed their Princess back down the streets of Canterlot to the old white fortress on the mountain.

The nightlife always fascinated Luna, especially since the invention of that new-fangled light source enabled ponies to work comfortably even after the Sun went down. Unfortunately it did drown out some of her less brilliant stars, but so long as the Moon remained visible she supposed it was fine. Also Celestia turning down the blue mare’s light bulb ban effectively made her accept the change.

Nevertheless, it was a ceaseless source of interest for Luna to observe the activities of ponies when the intrusive light of the Sun had disappeared. Once naïve, walking these streets after a while made Luna rather savvy to what exactly went on here. Ponies suspiciously looked both ways and slowly crept behind closed doors, feeling as though they were getting away with…more immoral things.

But of course more wholesome industries thrived at night; theaters bustled with ponies from all walks of life, clubs and bars invited anypony with a little money to have a drink and a good time, not to mention the miracle of the modern “cinema”, projecting so-called motion pictures. Never in her life did Princess Luna think she’d have the pleasure of seeing an image actually move!

Such were the wonders of the world she had awakened to. Still, often she’d walk atop the castle walls and sigh nostalgically for those older and simpler times. She was poorer and lucky to go a day with a full belly, but at least she knew how things worked. Perhaps it was insane to want to return to such an unenlightened and barbaric time, rife with disease and violence. But Princess Luna had been born into that world, and she long thought she’d die in it too. History proved otherwise.

Yet she adjusted rather well, and found honestly little reason to complain; though ponies of the modern age were a bit dull.

Coming up to the inner gate of the Castle, Luna and her guard crept through into the grand Castle Courtyard. Amidst topiaries and stone statues, the Princess slowly walked by the beautifully-crafted fountain spouting crystal-clear water. But the Princess was not given a chance to enjoy the garden before a minister galloped up to her.

“Princess Luna!” He shouted, trotting nervously towards his liege. The black-suited stallion was sweaty and out of breath as he stood before the tall alicorn, “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but an urgent matter has come up. A telegram has just been received by a Member of Parliament.”

Taking a small folded piece of paper, Princess Luna skimmed the note. It detailed something about a land dispute between two provinces; apparently a vein of precious minerals had been found and the border was unclear there.

Giving the telegram back to the stallion, Luna rolled her eyes and huffed, “And you wish for me to deal with the situation, yes?”

“As Minster of the Interior it falls to me to inform you of―“

“And Parliament cannot handle the matter? Honestly, why grant them powers if they do not wish to exercise them…” As the Princess was working on a solution in her mind, the faint shape of a purple winged unicorn came into her view. Her mood lightened, the blue alicorn dismissed the group of retainers walking beside her, “Leave me; I shall telephone the respective provincial governors and legislatures. You will receive a message once I’ve arranged a hearing.”

Nodding, the various ponies did as they were commanded. Now alone, Princess Luna could speak with her friend unhindered by such bothersome things. Cantering down the long castle hall, the mare came up to Twilight, who was too engrossed in some book to notice the Princess.

“Twilight Sparkle!” Luna shouted, knowing full well how difficult it could be to shake the lavender pony from her reading, “It is rather dangerous to read while walking, you know,” she smirked.

Poking her head from the book, Twilight was a bit confused for a moment, “Oh…Princess Luna! Good Evening! I was just on my way to your sister’s chambers.”

“I was informed,” Luna replied, almost disapprovingly, “What is that book you are reading?”

“Oh, just what I’ve written so far for Princess Celestia. She’s asked me to―“

“I know,” said Luna in the same sour tone.

“Um yes, well I’m proof-reading it.” Twilight, no longer distracted by the book, noticed Princess Luna’s face. Her brow was furrowed but she wasn’t quite angry. More…frustrated or concerned. “Is something the matter, Princess?”

“You might say that…,” Luna began, “I fear for my sister; I confide with you, Twilight Sparkle, that it gives me great pain to see her so distraught. She has become more and more agitated since you’ve began this endeavor.”

“I’m very sorry, Princess. I admit she’s shown a few sides to her I didn’t think were there…”

“Celestia has lived for quite some time. Understandably somepony as old as her might feel a bit…strained at times. She’s in perfect health…if physically, but she has always been a mare of the Old World; I am one too of course. I can see it in her eyes, her reminiscence of all those memories she is trying to convey to you. Bouts of nostalgia plague her often, and her mood can be quite depressing sometimes.” Luna’s eyes grew a bit misty, but the midnight alicorn could still keep her composure strong and air-tight.

“She does an excellent job of concealing it…maybe too well. She had a temper, and things like that never truly go away. And I’ve witnessed a few times when her repressed emotions would not remain inside her forever. I sincerely apologize you had to endure such a spectacle personally.”

“I…may have said some things…out of line. It was an emotional moment for both of us,” Twilight sighed, matching Luna’s pace in the hallway.

“Yes I was told about that.” Twilight looked puzzled, much to Luna’s amusement, “Not much happens in Canterlot that escapes me. Rather cliché but true; I am very well-informed. Yes it was…jarring I wager to see the normally stoic mare so incensed. Do not worry, Twilight; Celestia was more angry with herself than anything.

“You will have to forgive my sister; she carries many regrets―we both do. She has become so distant ever since I returned…sometimes it is like I do not even know her―like she is not even my sister. Her inner flame often seems to have grown cold, like the hot coals of her furnace during a Winter’s night…,” Luna looked up, trying to lighten her mood, “Her mind is probably preoccupied, as old mares’ minds are apt to be. So please, Twilight, go easy on Celestia.”

As she spoke, Luna spotted the white mare trotting towards the same destination, “Of course, if she ever were to lay a hoof on you,” the blue Princess said, grinning, “She would have to deal with me.”

Twilight gave a soft laugh and continued forward. When the two reached the archway to the staircase up the Royal Tower, Celestia stopped in her stride and looked confused.

“Luna, shouldn’t you be in the Throne Room?” the tall alicorn teased.

“Oh I was just on my way, Dearest Sister. But I happened upon our good friend Princess Twilight. Now I think I shall pass her on to you.”

“I saw a minister running along the hallway with a purpose. What did you do?” Celestia asked almost condescendingly.

“Nothing yet, Sister,” Luna replied, now in a more serious tone, “He gave me a telegram about a border dispute; nothing too important.” Twilight now firmly “attached” to Celestia, Princess Luna turned around and headed to her seatl “I shall go deal with the matter: the Night is not going to watch itself. Pleasant dreams the both of you.” Smirking one last time, the Midnight Princess elegantly trotted off to her place while Celestia and her student went off to theirs.

The first seconds of the climb up the stairs was quiet and awkward, each individual knowingsomething had to be said, but not quite sure exactly what. Both ponies looked a couple time like they were about speak, but the words died on their tongues. Finally, almost at the top of the stairs, the silence became unbearable.

At the same time, both mares tried to speak, but whatever they said became mixed up with each other. Another uncomfortable paused before Celestia allowed Twilight to go first.

“Um…Princess…I’d like apologize for my previous comments. I was just a little…surprised,” Twilight uttered with an uncommon sincerity.

“Oh no, if there’s anypony who should be apologizing it’s me! I can hardly blame you for what you said…if I were a younger mare I might have said the same thing.”

“But it was completely out of line!” Twilight insisted, their banter now a competition to “out-sorry” the other. “You’re right; I wasn’t there, I don’t know how it was.”

“I understand exactly where you came from; I can imagine learning something like that would not only shock but infuriate somepony.”

“Words can hurt, and it was wrong to lash out at you Princess,” Twilight said with a humble countenance.

“Nothing can excuse my rash behavior. Twilight, it happened during a period in my life when I was…often brutish and headstrong. I was an adept fighter, armed with an immortal blade. I was so confident―bordering arrogant because I could not be defeated. But unfortunately…violence―the way of the sword, was all I knew. I thought every dispute could be solved with a show of force or strength,” Celestia confessed, the prize for “Best Apology” silently awarded to her.

“I had run away from my past and tried to forget all my mistakes. But when they caught up to me, I grew so angry that…well...I acted the only way I had known how. I’d like to think that the old ‘Me’ has reformed and matured, but it’s been demonstrated that isn’t quite the case. So again, Twilight…allow me to offer my deepest apologies.”

The lavender pony remained quiet, merely making eye-contact with the alicorn. “We’ll call it ‘even’,” Twilight finally said, grinning. Devoid of substance or emotion to the casual onlooker, the response was of the utmost meaning to Celestia. The alicorn began laughing uncontrollably, pulling her student―friend into a tight embrace.

“Are you ready for more ‘story time’?” Celestia asked. Twilight giggled and nodded, wide-eyed as always.

Releasing Twilight, Celestia returned to her path and reached the door to her room. Saluting their Princess, the two guards then opened the doors and allowed the two inside.

Closing the heavy oaken doors behind her, Celestia then levitated off her tiara and placed it safely on a shelf. Removing her golden slippers and collar, the Solar Princess finally had a chance to simply stretch and rest unencumbered. Lying down on her large pillow, the Princess used an old spell to light the fresh logs set within the fireplace.

Another spell to rush air into the hot center of the fire, the room was now crackling and lit by a dim orange glow. The rustic smell of burning wood in her nose, the alicorn curled up with a woolen blanket and sighed.

Twilight meanwhile just opened up her book to the next blank page and summoned a quill and ink bottle. She then dipped the pen’s tip and wiped the excess along the lip of the bottle.

Smiling in her motherly fashion, Celestia stood her neck up, “Ready?”

“Yes, Princess,” Twilight replied, feeling rejuvenated and excited to continue. She glanced up at Celestia as a gesture of interest, but as she looked back down, Twilight caught sight of something very strange.

For hidden in the white fur of the Princess, almost invisible, was a small line, roughly hoof’s-width, just below her neck.

Celestia knew exactly what Twilight was staring at, “Good, because I’m sure you’re very curious how I got it.”

Gently kissed by the Sun’s rays, thick and tall blades of verdant green grass swayed ever softly in the breeze. Butterflies and birds of various kinds fluttered about, chirping and enjoying the final days of Summer. Some of the leaves had already begun to turn colors, and soon they would fall to the ground, ushering in the chilling snows of a deep Winter.

Slowly making her way through the serene meadow, a white mare in no hurry took in the wondrous scenery before her. Here, everything was so calm, the sounds of nature soothing to her battered ears. Off to her side deer grazed innocently beside a small stream, and small burrowing creatures wandered about to places only they knew.

Here, the desolation of that dismal town was far away. She left in such a hurry, the Wintermail did not tell the townsponies what she had done. It stood to reason sooner or later they’d realize the Dragoness would not trouble them any further, and likely the ponies would help themselves to the enormous hoard of gold and silver and precious gems once they found it was no longer guarded.

Wintermail herself took no amount of coins or chalices, but instead kept a small purple egg inside her bag. She knew not how to hatch it, or even what to with the infant once it had. But she made a promise to protect the egg at all costs. And in this clearing it was safest of all.

Finding a large rock in the meadow, the Wintermail galloped towards it and inspected the boulder. It was wide and flat on top, a perfect perch above the grass and a nice place to rest. Removing her cloak and saddlebag, the mare then ungirt her weapons and placed all the items on the rock. Jumping up with her powerful legs, the mare then lay down, head held high, and enjoyed the genuine beauty of the begotten world.

Basking in the Sun, Wintermail felt at peace, especially after her encounter with as frightening a creature as a dragon. Glancing down at her newly-designated sword, the alicorn was reminded just how close she had come to death. If not for the otherworldly strength of Eónadin, the Dragoness would have taken her as she had with so many others. It was almost unfair; a beast who counted her age in centuries laid low by a mere pony.

Perhaps it was just Wintermail’s skill that cast down the creature, or maybe the designs of something else. Whatever the case, with her Father’s sword by her side, the white alicorn felt all but invincible. No villain on this good Earth could assail her and win.

Her mourning for her opponent’s death was over, and now she wished to clear her mind of violent thoughts. Unfortunately, ideas of battle and strength were rather difficult to sweep away. With her newfound power, Wintermail relished the chance to defeat an adversary of even greater prestige and talent. Her enthusiasm soon became outright excitement and yearning. If dragonhide could not withstand her dark blade, what could?

Still, today was a nice and quiet day. As of yet rather early in the morning, she had nowhere in particular to go. “Perhaps I could wait until tomorrow,” she thought, wishing to rest and savor her anticipation. Now a seasoned warrior, the Wintermail knew rest and relaxation treated the fighter well.

Therefore, convinced by the pleasant comfort of today, the mare decided to simply “take a personal day”. Atop her rock, Wintermail sat and smiled and watched as animals flew and ran by, completely oblivious to the large pony observing them. She rested on her back and gazed at the clouds, trying to make shapes out of them. She drew pictures in the dirt and crafted dolls out of leaves and sticks.

Content and innocent, the mare felt like a filly again, enjoying life without the overbearing worries of a cruel and demanding existence. Over the course of the day, she’d frolic in the large throngs of wildflowers before they died away in Winter. She’d climb trees, an activity she’d grown fond of in fillyhood. The small river a few dozen yards away would prove a perfect place to swim and cool off.

Sword practice was mandatory in her daily routine, and she did that from about noon to a few hours before sunset. But in between all her activities she’d travel into the woods and find some wild berries to snack on. Those pretty flowers weren’t bad either.

As evening rolled around, Wintermail leaned back on her rock and looked up at the sky, soon to fade from blue to black. Chirping crickets provided the perfect ambience for this time of day. She even spotted a couple fireflies glowing in the distance, probably the last before Autumn came.

When star and moonlight remained the only guides in the darkness, Wintermail pulled from her bag a long wooden pipe, fashioned from a very talented craftsmare from Manehattan. Pipe smoking was a favored indulgence of Equestria’s upper echelons of power, and most anypony who could afford it engaged at least once in a while. This made the growing of its preferred fuel a lucrative trade.

Wintermail unfortunately possessed little of the spear-shaped leaves and begrudgingly rationed them. Her pipe woefully under-filled, she struck a piece of flint from her bag and lit a dried twig before lighting the shredded leaves. Pipe in her magical aura, Wintermail leaned onto her back and laughed. The only thing to enhance her evening would be a good tall mug of ale!

When the scant leaves were spent, the mare once again gazed at the stars. Many nights the Wintermail would ponder exactly what these twinkling lights were. What placed them far above the Earth? And why? Were they like the Sun, hot and brilliant? Or were they cold and miniscule, forever to remain in the shadow of their much brighter sister? And the Moon―could one walk upon its surface? Could she perhaps swim in the dark greys seas scattered across the silver orb?

She wondered and stared until the Moon rose high in the sky, at which point a benign sleepiness befell the mare. Her eyes becoming heavy and yawns interrupting her quiet, the Wintermail crawled off her rock and gathered her things. Almost too tired to stand, the alicorn knelt down onto the soft grass―her bed for the night, and draped her cloak over her large body as a makeshift blanket. Remembering well the precious item she carried in her bag, she reached out and brought the pack towards her. Resting one of her long wings over the bag, she cradled herself around it to ensure nothing would disturb the egg.

Pleased at its safety and utterly exhausted, the mare laid down her neck on the grass and quietly, without fuss, closed her eyes.

The white mare awoke at first light, something she had become accustomed to doing. In fact it was difficult for her to not wake up as the Sun rose. Wiping her eyes the mare rose up and stretched vigorously until a satisfying “pop” occurred in her back. Glancing around, the pony spotted nothing too different from when she first wandered here: the boulder was still in its position, all her things still right below her, and the animals still chirping and rustling in the tall grass.

Running over to the stream, the mare jumped in and bathed for the morning. After lathering her mane with soap, she rinsed her hair and crawled back onto the bank. Shaking off the excess water, the alicorn spread out wings to dry the feathers. Feeling clean and refreshed, the mare then put on her saddlebags and girt up her sword and dagger.

Clasping her dark cloak around her neck, the white mare soon left the meadow exactly as she found it. Ever restless, the Wanderer of the North crept back into the forests she had explored for the last few decades.

The road she followed snaked through a quaint wood of red and orange leaves, ready to fall at any moment. Admiring the pleasant sight of these trees, the Wintermail continued down the path for about a dozen miles before coming again to another clearing. The next dozen miles should have been just as uneventful and calm as the first. But rising above the forest canopy…just barely visible was a sort of…miasma?

The scent of something burnt filled her nostrils, and a bit hesitantly the mare started forward up the dirt road. The smell was quite familiar: almost like charcoal. The vapors became darker and darker until they turned black. The faint crackling of a fire soon became audible as she passed through the final trees until coming to an open area.

What came into view on the other side of the forest was too horrible for words. The pale alicorn, turning whiter than usual, couldn’t help covering her snout with a hoof, in part to keep out the stench of rotting flesh…as well as in utter shock. For there down the rest of the way were the ruins of a small town, like the thousands littered across the countryside of Equestria. But this town had fallen victim to a terrible travesty.

Amidst the smoldering wreckage of burning homes, the settlement was littered with the mutilated corpses of its inhabitants. The most visceral details were much too gruesome for the alicorn to ever recall, but she could hardly avoid stepping in blood or entrails. These poor ponies…whoever had done this most heinous act was not discriminant in whom they slew. Mares, stallions, even foals―anypony who had gotten in their way.

Wintermail had seen many raids, but this…this went above and beyond…as if the very motive of those damned bandits was to destroy life wherever it clung. She simply could not fathom the magnitude of the destruction. As she peeped into the tattered remains of small hovels, they were nearly empty. What the brigands could not take with them they merely torched.

And the villagers themselves…

Pieces―literal pieces of ponies lay scattered about, bloody and deformed. A few poor souls had even been tied to stakes and burned alive. Wintermail’s heart was utterly crushed seeing the looked of agony on what remained of their charred faces. One mare was found dead, clutching her newborn foal. A stallion rested in front of his family, cut down in one final vain attempt to defend his loved ones. Whatever weapons they were wielding had been plundered by the victors.

Tears running down her cheeks, the white mare paused her step and fully took in the horrors that surrounded her. In all her life, she’d seen death and gore, wrath and ruin…but this…this was just…evil. Overcome with anxiety, the mare fell to her knees and wept openly.

Grieving for a few minutes, the mare then wiped her eyes and rose up. Distraught, she slowly walked further into the town. More and more burning buildings, most reduced to blackened hulks smoking with death. More maggot-covered corpses reeking with the stench of rotting flesh. More testaments to a kind of brutality Wintermail had only heard in stories.

Among the dead bodies, the mare tried to figure out who the raiders were; though she already had a pretty good idea. In addition to pony corpses clearly showing signs of hostility―likely common bandits, she also spotted Diamond Dogs of course…wretched curs! But most curiously of all the eviscerated remains of a creature far larger than either rested limp upon the road. The head of a bull, complete with giant horns…yet the body of something…else. A bipedal creature, accustomed to using its forelegs not for walking but manipulating objects.

A species of creature Wintermail had met long ago: a Minotaur, found particularly more northwards than one might expect.

Her sorrow quickly turning to anger and vengeance, Wintermail stepped over the gored head of the Minotaur. She grimaced at it, wanting to drive her hoof into its face, “What Demons drove you to such carnage?”

“The worst…demon of them…all…,” a weak and strained voice said.

“Who said that? Show yourself!” Wintermail demanded, drawing her sword.

“Here, inside this home…behind the boards,” the voice replied, coming sure enough from a small ashy shack.

Levitating her weapon, the mare pulled the planks down from in front of the building. Expecting to see a low-life ready to be slain, she restrained herself from stabbing the pony that sat inside.

Whether it was friend or foe couldn’t be known at that moment, but Wintermail knew by looking at him that he was no danger. His hind legs were covered in blood and even some of his bones jutted outwards. The mud he sat in had seeped into the wounds and the stallion looked too weak to move from his “refuge”. His expression was lethargic, no doubt whatever vitality he had left was steadily leaking. His red coat was filthy and muddied, and his wings broken and frayed.

This Pegasus still wore his padded cloth armor and held his bow close, an arrow already strung.

“Bless you, White Mare,” he struggled to say. He knew he would die soon, but by the grace of the Gods somepony came whom he could tell his story to.

“What in Lórian’s name happened here?” the alicorn took a good look at his eyes, “Did you have any part?” the tip of her blade was mere inches from his neck; it would behoove this stallion to be truthful.

“Spare your energy…I’ll be dead soon enough…,” he boldly said, lightly brushing the sword aside.

Sheathing the weapon, Wintermail tried to figure out the best way to rescue this pony, “Not if I can help it. Here…I’ll lay you on my back.”

But just as she was about to lift the injured pegasus, he held up a hoof defiantly, “It’s my time. I cannot feel my legs…maggots are gnawing on them now. My ribs feel broken and I’ve barely the strength to sit up.” The mare looked down at the stallion’s hind legs, which each had a makeshift tourniquet around them. He wouldn’t bleed out, but he’d certainly die.

“There was…a raid…I’m sure you’ve figured…that much out. I was with the town…militia…there must have been a hundred raiders…dogs…ponies…even…Minotaurs! We tried our best, but they were too numerous and fierce.”

Wintermail opened her canteen to clean the wounds and give the pegasus a drink. He took it gratefully and continued. “They slaughtered every able-bodied stallion and mare who fought against them. Whoever was left they rounded up and bound in irons, doing Gods know what to those miserable innocents. Though…seeing as they took everything of value…more likely than not those captured will be sold into servitude.”

Teary-eyed, Wintermail became even more incensed. “That all happened yesterday…the most hopeful of them were praying, hoping some champion of the Gods would come and save us. I…I forget the name they gave it. Naïve fools!”

The alicorn could hardly believe it. Yesterday she selfishly decided to frolic and laze around…when ponies were in need! Her one mission…her one purpose…and she failed. She allowed unprecedented ruin to befall this place…all for her own self-gratification. Her anger mounted even further…all directed at herself.

She took a step back and looked on at what she had allowed to happen. Vultures and raccoons had crawled out of the woods to feast on the mountains of flesh and offal that rested in the wake of the raiders. Maybe a thousand dead were cruelly denied their right to life…and the one that could have done something…the one whom they hoped would do something…abandoned them.

Almost unable to bear the weight of her regret, the Wintermail fell to her knees once again . Her back buckled under the realization of what exactly had happened. The Wanderer who had dedicated her life to helping those in need…failed on the most fundamental level.

With red eyes and a heavy heart, she eventually turned back to the archer. She stared at him for a few moments before she could summon the willpower to speak. “What drove these…savages to such carnage?”

He leaned in closer, as if what he was about to say were a great taboo, “There are…rumors…that the very…voice of Evil…whispers into their ears…and urges them on. I overheard them say something about…’The Master’.”

“The Master”? Who could that possibly be? Wintermail wasn’t sure…but then again she wasn’t too concerned about their dark god. All she wanted was a chance to redeem herself. “Are there others? Survivors, I mean.”

The stallion paused a moment, “…No. They were…thorough in their plundering. I was knocked back by a macedog…banging me against this shack. Some boards fell off and onto my legs, breaking them. They probably thought I was dead…I was certainly unconscious…but with nothing of value to them. They left me alone…and after they had moved on…I awoke. I’m very sorry…Great Mare…but I’m the only one remaining.

“A courier thankfully got away…carrying a message for the Count. These attacks have become more severe and frequent…so I’ve heard…but they only raid outlying towns and ill-defended places,” his breaths became slow and strained, “I have done my…part in the defense of my home…however little it amounts to. I will do one more…act of compassion…leave White One.”

“What? No! I’m going to take you to a physician!” Wintermail shouted. She knew the pegasus didn’t have my time left, but she couldn’t simply forsake the pony.

“Let me die here…in my hometown. You though…are not safe yet…for there is…one straggler who elected…to remain after the horde departed…”

A furious look on her face, Wintermail leaned down closer to the stallion, “Who? Tell me where this murderer is.”

He tried to raise of a hoof, but his energy was almost completely sapped. But as fate would have it, his direction was not necessary. For down the road, further into the town, a lumbering shape appeared.

Wintermail saw the figure and immediately took a battle stance, drawing her black sword. Boiling over with rage, she gnashed her teeth and spread out her wings.

“Come forth, brigand!” she yelled with an almost god-like quality.

A sinister laughter was all that responded. Stepping through the smoke was that dark figure progressively becoming more and more defined. When it finally burst into the open, the creature in all its glory and malice stood before the Wintermail.

It stood roughly her height, not counting its two large grey horns. Standing on two legs, the muscular warrior was scarred and battered, yet still strong and primal. Its fur was silvery blue above the waist, its legs covered in shaggy black hair. With black cloven hooves the monster stepped with a quiet menace. It had sickly yellow eyes, which stared straight at the mare. Its ears and nose pierced, this…thing completed its barbarous look with a long polearm tipped with a blade.

Pounding the bottom of his glaive onto the ground, he smiled deviously, “What is this?” he asked. He spoke with a clear accent, obviously Minotaurican to the alicorn’s ears, “Has my waiting finally paid off? A Pony Goddess bares herself to me in challenge!” Wintermail’s expression continued to be as cold and hostile as possible. “They said ‘She’ would come. I waited all night…and yet nopony showed up. You are a little late, Goddess.”

But the mare was in no mood to play games. Seething and about to unleash her fury on this wicked Minotaur, she readied her blade, “You shall know Divine Wrath soon enough! Have at you!”

“A warrior? It is in your blood to fight…yes! I humbly accept; the rabble here was too easy. But a Goddess…that is a prize!” he took up his glaive in a similar stance.

Arrogantly, the mare smirked, “You deal with Wintermail the Dragonslayer!”

“Oh really?” the bull taunted, “These are dragon’s teeth,” He pointed to a necklace he wore of razor-sharp teeth of varying sizes, “Let us put your name to the test, Kiathōné.

Her Minotaurican quite out of practice, Wintermail nevertheless recognized that word; it was no term of endearment.

Unable to restrain herself any further, the alicorn rushed forward. She knew that any swing she made would hit; nothing was sharper than Eónadin. Her relentless aggression put the Minotaur on the defensive, who would try and succeed in dodging every slash. Frustrated by further futile attempts to hit the bull, Wintermail swung even harder. But it struck her as rather odd that the Minotaur made no attempt to attack with his weapon.

Confident, the mare swung once more and miraculously met the bare chest of the Minotaur. It was a shallow cut, just grazing the skin. Thinking she’d won, the mare followed up her attack with another, this time a thrust forward.

But it did not meet its target. For the bull had made no mistake in taking an injury. He was biding his time, avoiding fatal wounds to win a decisive advantage. The mare had stricken him; she was now overconfident. He had assessed her fighting style, and now he knew exactly how to counter the mare.

When she stabbed forth her steel, he turned his body out of the way and brought the edge of his glaive down on the flat side of her sword. Pushed down, the sword could not defend against his next rapid blow. He jammed the end of his pole into the mare’s snout. Bloodied and disoriented, she just barely avoided his own thrust, the blade making a small gash in her side.

Thinking she’d learned from her folly, she tried to slash his legs, but the Minotaur was too quick and aware. Everywhere she stepped and even glided he’d beat her there and obstruct all options. Sweating nervously, Wintermail was at a loss. Distracted by her ineptitude, the mare was soon knocked to the ground. Only the most acute of reflexes enabled her to avoid the glaive as the Minotaur stabbed it between her legs.

She was allowed no moment to paused; her opponent’s blade missed by simple hairs far too often. Another stab cut a wound into her forelegs, and yet another on the side of her cheek. Panting, she even thought about suing for peace.

“Tired, Kiathōné?” She just glared at him, breathing hard. “You are sloppy; you do not seem to know what you are doing.” Raising her sword, she prepared to thrust the blade into his chest while he bantered. Of course the act was interrupted. The sword was slammed onto the ground, rendering its owner unarmed. “Dragons are so clumsy, and arrogant without knowing how to fight,” he grabbed her by the neck and raised her off the ground; no easy feat, “I am proud because I know how to fight,” he grinned and started crushing her throat.

Desperate, the mare remembered she had one more trick. Reaching down to her waist, she pulled her dagger and plunged it deep into the Minotaur’s chest. Expecting to be let free and the bull to fall over dead, she smiled.

But her victory was short-lived. The Minotaur clenched his teeth, channeling his pain elsewhere. Sighing, he glanced down at the dagger and pulled it from his chest. He looked at the blood-soaked knife, “You are going to have to try harder than this,” then, with great cruelty, he in turn plunged the dagger right between Wintermail’s neck and shoulder. Wailing in agony, the mare was now helpless and at the mercy of the Minotaur.

The bull threw her down onto the ground, knocking the wind out of the pony. Dazed and confused, Wintermail just barely managed to catch the Minotaur’s hoof as it came stomping down on her face. In a battle of strength, the mare’s forelimbs started to ache restraining this hefty beast. She could tell by his beads of sweat that she proved a worthy match, but the dagger wound sapped her energy while the Minotaur’s seemed to only grow.

Retracting his leg, he stomped again, breaking through the mare’s guard. Miraculously, Wintermail moved her face out of the way, but unfortunately her long horn was caught directly beneath the bull’s hoof. Time slowed down, and the immense force caused a slight crack just above the base of her horn. As the foot crashed lower and lower the crack split open, severing the nerves inside with it.

Her beloved horn was now completely broken off. Every stinging sensation was felt quite thoroughly by the mare, and she screamed in pure torment. Body trembling, she could hardly believe what had just happened.

The bloody jagged stump that was left was devoid of magic, and the mare who wore it was too weak to do anything else. Cackling in triumph, the Minotaur stood over his prey and readied his glaive. Pointing the tip directly at the throat of this pony, he pulled back slightly in preparation for his finishing stab. Eyes filled with fear and nearly hyperventilating, the Wintermail knew this was the end.

Or perhaps not.

The injured pegasus, almost slipping into shock, managed to take his bow and draw an arrow, utilizing the last of his vitality. Rendered helpless, he could do one last thing to avenge his town…and save this valiant, if reckless, mare. Aiming the shot, he pulled back as far as his foreleg would let him. And just in time to save that pony, he let the arrow fly.

It missed wholly its target, but still managed to graze the left cheek of the Minotaur. Now holding the side of his face, the Minotaur was distracted just long enough for the mare to scramble back onto her feet and gallop away. Before she did, the Minotaur thrust his glaive down, trying to skewer the mare. He only managed to catch her tail, slicing off all the hair that trailed from it. Had she hesitated for but a fraction of a second, she’d have lost her tail altogether.

At full speed she ran past her sword and salvaged it, lest it fall to the plunder of that Minotaur. Somehow she sheathed the blade and kept running as fast as she could. Everything became a blur and she did not stop for what seemed like a mile or more. The alicorn had no time to thank her savior, nor to look back and learn of his fate. But as she careened into the wood, she heard the loud roar of the bull, bellowing either in victory…or anger.

Now alone once again, her rush subsiding and her muscles aching, the mare stopped before a small spring and collapsed onto her knees. Panting, her throat sore and dry, she soon felt again the pain in her neck. Breathing quickly, she worked up the willpower to take the dagger and yank it from herself. Yet the wound would not stop bleeding so profusely, even as she pressed against it with a ragged cloth.

Cleaning her injuries, the alicorn reached into her pack and looked around for a needle and thread; no such items turned up. Taking a deep breath, she realized only one thing could staunch the flow.

With very little time, the mare gathered some pieces of kindling and a few rocks to craft a rudimentary fire pit. It was shoddy, but it would have to suffice. After striking the place with her flint, the fire was soon crackling loudly.

Taking her dagger again, she rinsed it off in the spring and placed the blade in the fire. The excess water flash-boiled in a loud hiss. The fire was much too cool to cause the knife to become red-hot, but after a minute or so its temperature was sufficient for its upcoming task. Retrieving the tool from the flame, the alicorn closed her eyes and mentally prepared herself for a very courageous move.

This would hurt quite a bit.

Positioning the blade’s flat edge over her wound, she then pressed the metal against her skin. Sizzling, the cut was seared shut. Through the ordeal Wintermail clenched her teeth and tried to keep her screams quiet. Only about a second was spent burning her flesh, but it felt much longer. Pulling the steel of off her, the mare heaved for a moment, trying to manage her pain.

Quenching the blade in the water, she then sheathed it. Now an anguish-inducing agony raked in her forehead. In her haste, the mare had forgotten that…her very own horn…had been broken off. She had seen this particular injury before; ponies assured her horns grow back―provided the wound is above the skull. Her affliction fit this criterion, but that wasn’t what made her worry.

Left without magic, she’d have to suffice with hooves and wings alone. It could take months, perhaps even a year before the horn had regrown to its original length, and in the meantime she’d be left with a very sensitive and venerable stump.

She walked calmly over the water and stared at her reflection. In it she saw not the strong Wanderer of the North, the Wintermail…but instead a hornless pony, blood trailing from her nostrils with an ugly black scar below her neck. The slash along her side wasn’t very serious, but it still conveyed a sense of defeat and shame.

She nearly died, and only the grace of some nameless pegasus prevented her anonymous demise. Never before had this mare been so thoroughly and utterly defeated. That Minotaur could not be touched, and when he was…nothing came of it. He was like a force of nature, unyielding, and Wintermail was caught in his tempest.

Arrogantly rushing to avenge that town, the mare was taught just how misguided her folly had been. She’d carry these scars for the rest of her life.

Automatically summoning her magic, her horn then sent a vibrant sting through her body. Falling down onto her knees, she began to weep. Tears poured down her face and into the spring, disturbing its calm surface. Frustrated and angry, she slammed a hoof on the ground.

Discouraged and despairing as never before, she drew her sword and brought the blade up to her face. In her reflection she noted the characters engraved along the steel’s length. She had failed her father, her sister, those townsponies…and now she’d failed herself.

It was time, she thought; time to abandon her errant lifestyle and live out a simple and harmless existence. The Minotaur did her a favor; showing her she was no longer that young mare…the heroine. Age was creeping up on her, and her place was clearly not here anymore.

Where would she go? Well, that was a great question. Hopefully someplace where she could blend in…or at least disappear into obscurity. Someplace she could do no more harm; someplace where her poor judgments would not injure her, and more importantly…others.

Returning Eónadin to its scabbard, she hung up the sword for good. Standing up, she dried her eyes and set out on a path to the nearest road. She could not linger here; the Minotaur might be looking for her; something else might be looking for her. Trudging through the forest, she soon found an old stone highway, heavily overgrown with grass and weeds. It wasn’t much, but hopefully it would take her away from it all.

Silently, she then decided to settle down in the next city that she found, however far down the road. There, she’d use her appreciable sums to buy a place for her to rest and engage in her craft. There the Wintermail would become a humble smith…the only other thing she was good at besides fighting―or, now the only thing.

A little less agitated, she came to look forward to this new resolution as she traversed the many miles of the road. Perhaps in time she’d forget this violent life and adjust to quietude. Yes! That sounded very nice.

And unbeknownst to the Wintermail, she’d find something else in the next city. By either chance…or purpose…that destination would just so happen to be a white fortress built into a great mountain so many ages ago.

The City of Canterlot.

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 2. The Mountain-borne Keep

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 2. The Mountain-borne Keep

In the days before the Kingdom collapsed and fractured into its current state, the White City of Canterlot resided in the eastern half of the Realm, built and occupied to hold sway over the sometimes mutinous southern provinces. But when Equestria became undone, Canterlot then shifted to being the center of what few states rulers and ponies of note, both within and without, still called “Equestria”. The mountain fortress withstood siege after siege and endured to rebuild the scant remains of civilization left in the wake of an invasion seemingly engineered by some malicious and unseen force.

But its virtuous rulers, despite their determination and good intentions, could never summon the resources to reunite their fallen nation. Canterlot would have to remain content with merely being a monument to a more enlightened and stronger time.

There was a shallow and short range of mountains, the largest and tallest millennia ago selected to be the perfect place to construct a citadel of unparalleled splendor. How the masons and architects managed to hoist the thousands of tons of marble up a sheer cliff, buffeted by a mighty waterfall, will forever elude the knowledge of ponykind. Some say the Gods themselves helped build Canterlot, others that giants quarried whole mountains. However they did it, nopony now could reproduce this fortification, leaving Canterlot a perpetual object of awe and wonder.

So sound was its construction that a great part of the castle itself actually jutted out from the mountain’s base! And nine centuries of material neglect and war had done nothing to degrade its foundations. Passing through the outlying homes beyond the outer wall, a tall alicorn whose coat matched the city’s masonry trembled before the majesty of Canterlot.

This was not the first time she had visited the city, but the glory and magnitude of the Southern Fortress could not be diminished in her mind. True, the wealthy merchant city of Manehattan commanded a vast harbor and dozens of massive bridges, and Trotterdam had taken great steps to drain the fens that surrounded it, in effect creating new land…but nothing in Equestria could compare to the feat that was Canterlot. Perhaps only the old alicorn city of the north surpassed the mountain-born keep; of course only one building there has since remained.

The tall spires and steeples rested high above the walls, easily visible from where the Wintermail was walking. She had forgotten just how close she was to Canterlot, and when she spotted the white stone far in the distance, a wave of happiness and even excitement swept over her. This was where she would make her new life. The air was cleaner and sweeter, the scents of exotic flowers on the wind. The crystal-clear snowmelt nourished the city and filled its famous baths and fountains. Far below the cliffs the fertile valley grew enough food to feed everypony―and then some. The riverine villages were quaint and calm, living comfortably under the shadow of a fortress that discouraged any invasion. Nigh-impenetrable, Canterlot could allow its citizens to trade and craft without fear of molestation by raiders or ambitious princes.

Yes…that sounded like a nice existence. Hopefully Wintermail could find a niche in the city’s life and make it her own.

Passing by numerous ponies, some pulling carts of hay and other produce, she stepped further down the cobblestone and came to the Outer Gate. Haft of marble the ageless gatehouse stood imposing over the small homes that crowded before the walls. A short drawbridge straddled the fall’s cool blue water, providing another great obstacle for any attacker.

Crossing the bridge, the Wintermail was stopped by a few guardsponies, each one clad in chain mail and plates. They wielded a long spear, tipped with a sharp steel blade. On their waist each one wore a sword as a sidearm. This was the Canterlot Guard, an elite cadre of highly-trained soldiers who swore loyalty to nopony but the sovereign. In times of old they garrisoned the fortress at the King’s behest.

And to some, they still did.

An officer, wearing armor with a golden trim, approached the alicorn and eyed her intently. “State your business in the White City, Miss,” he commanded, his voice authoritative but still respectful, “I've seen every face in this city, and I’m sure I’d remember somepony like you.”

“I've come to take up residence in your illustrious city. Is this intention permissible?”

The officer stepped forward and studied the mare. She didn't appear too threatening―a bit large and clumsy, but harmless. The one eye she showed was filled with uncertainty…almost eliciting sympathy from the unicorn stallion. However, he noticed her cloak. Puffing out his chest, the officer tried to have his height match hers.

“I’m going to have to ask you to remove your cloak. I can’t have you smuggling any illicit goods.”

But the Wintermail became indignant. “I never remove my cloak in such a public place; simply indecent!” she huffed.

The guard’s eyes narrowed, “I tell you, Vagabond, to comply. Our gates may be open during the day, but do not think that gives you right to bring any and all things into the city. Do not confuse our reception for weakness. We take our charge very seriously.” He turned and nodded to his soldiers. With perfect discipline they lowered their spears and aimed their tips at the alicorn, “Now, please tells us what you intend to bring with you.”

Hesitant at first, the mare came forward to the officer, an embarrassed look on her face. Displaying her side to the officer, she positioned herself so everypony else could not easily see. Wintermail then lifted up a piece of her cloak. The officer, confused, leaned in and spotted something very strange.

Her horn may have been broken, but this mare was certainly a unicorn―at least until this officer saw her long white feathers tucked neatly under the cloak. He did notice her saddlebags and a long sword, but the wings…somehow excused her.

Wintermail would never be sure exactly why, but the officer nodded and called off his troops, “I see…you have business here. My apologies for keeping you.”

She cocked an eyebrow, “…yes! But please don’t tell anypony!”

“I never do,” he assured. This stallion could very well have feared the wrath of this “goddess”…or perhaps he knew something that the Wintermail did not.

Nevertheless, the mare continued on through the large gate. Befuddled, one of the guards addressed his sergeant, “Sir…why did you let her through?”

“I have orders, Corporal. That is all you need to know,” he muttered mysteriously. The rest of the body accepted this response and returned to duty.

Leaving the guard behind her, Wintermail was finally within the city walls, surrounded by all the wonder and majesty that was inherent in Canterlot. A long avenue stretched from where she was at the city gates all the way to the inner wall of the castle itself. Lining each side of the street numerous stalls set up shop, providing every good and service imaginable. This was little different from other cities, but Canterlot stood apart from most by an elegant architectural style of a breed now long dead.

It was just as she remembered the last time she ventured here. Spires of temples stood among the low homes and shops, a constant source of relief and security for the ponies who lived and journeyed here. The massive walls studded with towers cradled the city, further cementing that peace of mind. The castle in the distance was multi-tiered and from what she heard contained dozens of large chambers and halls for all variety of functions. From out on the street sadly Wintermail could only see the stained glass windows and turrets adorning the keep.

Large conical towers and domes, oh so beautifully painted, rose out over the city, providing breathtaking vistas of the valley and mountains. The tallest of them all was over a thousand feet above the ground, suspended by nothing but masonry and a faith in the talent of its builders. There, she was told, was where the Prince resided.

It would have been a wonderful and perhaps even magical experience to simply tour the castle. But alas such a privilege was reserved for somepony above her station; she was a simple peasant girl, and commoners are not worthy of such an honor.

Moving her mind back to her mission, she wandered the streets for a time, trying to recall the location of a very important building. The city square, centerpieced with a magnificent fountain of a stone alicorn, held a few helpful centers. There was a post office, ill-used in a time when most ponies could neither read nor write. There was a bank, accepting deposits and granting loans of gold and silver. But what concerned Wintermail the most was the Tax House.

A crowd of ponies was usually present there, always upset about errors or mismanagement of their taxes. Farmers and artisans from abroad loudly argued with the taxation officers who had accidently, or not, demanded more revenue than was originally asked. This dissatisfaction made the tax collectors very nervous; the Princes, as Wintermail had heard, were never overly found of incompetent bureaucrats.

Today, however, things were relatively calm. This behooved the mare, for she did not wish to become hung up in pointless delays or waiting. The single room was of a fair size, comfortably lit by several large windows. A couple guards stood by the doors, charged with defending the tax collectors from angry, sometimes violent, citizens. A few officers sat at their desks, counting coins and reviewing documents written in those strange symbols that meant little to the Wintermail.

The mare approached the chief assessor, with his amusing black hat and robe. Scribbling out some words on his record book, the unicorn then dipped his quill back in the ink bottle. Drying the ink with his breath, he closed the pages and looked up at this interrupter.

Who stood before his desk was certainly uncommon in appearance. Tall and slender, she nevertheless looked like she’d seen better days. Ragged and bruised, her face stared straight at his. Now what could she want?

“May I help you, Miss?” the stallion asked in a clearly annoyed tone.

She replied, matching his disposition, “You know all about who lives in the city and where, correct?”

“Yes; has there been a problem with collection?”

“No…at least, not yet. I would like some land. A place to live on. I’d be willing to pay handsomely. Surely you know which plots are available.”

The assessor looked at the mare intently for a moment. Then erupting into laughter, he nudged the pony next to him, “Haha! She wants some land! Will that be twenty acres or ten?!” his associate joined in the chortle, “There’s no land in the City! There’s no land on the riverbanks; there’s no land within ten miles of Canterlot. We've had refugees pouring in, fleeing from all over Equestria. Mustangs, Diamond Dogs, brigands, pirates…raiders of all sorts and colors have been harassing village and keep.”

“I know,” Wintermail replied solemnly.

“Oh you know? Well did you know that all our inns, beggars’ kitchens, even temples are filling up with ponies we cannot house.”

“Or tax!” another tax collector said, placing a silver coin on his stack.

“Right. Many are escaped serfs or without a bit to their name. And the Prince won’t turn them away; he’s too ‘compassionate’. But he doesn’t know what exactly to do with them.”

“Bloody fool, the Prince is,” the crony said.

“Watch yourself,” a hitherto silent guard asserted, “You lot of misers best remember who gave you your positions.”

The head officer gave the guards a dirty look. “Yes well…,” he started, opening a book, “What did you have in mind, Miss? We might have something, provided you can pay for it.”

“Someplace I can build a forge. Someplace within the city walls.”

Leafing through his book, the collector finally found an entry, “You’re in luck; it seems old Greymane has an open loft. Right there in the Artisan’s district. Go talk to him, and see if you can’t rent it out. Other than that, we can give you a plot in the Everfree,” he grinned, eliciting a giggle from his minions.

“I think the loft will suffice. Thank you,” Wintermail said, bowing her neck before the officers. Not wishing to spend another moment in this place, the mare turned back and left the building just as soon as she came.

Another coin onto the stack and the collector jotted down a few numbers in his book, “What do you suppose happened to that girl?” he asked his coworker, “Her face…”

“Must’ve been pretty once! I think the serf got in trouble with her Lord; beat her black and blue. Took a sledge to her horn too; I’ve seen it happen several times before.”

“I bet it took a dozen guards to hold down that giant. I’d hate to be that poor bastard who found himself behind her back legs,” the two ingrates shared another laugh and resumed their duties, almost oblivious to what was happening beyond their office.

Meanwhile, outside amidst the raucous clamor on the streets of cartwheels and horseshoes, that white alicorn quietly strolled down the cobblestone ways. Her presence was almost lost beneath the sound of hundreds trotting about and haggling with vendors. Canterlot, though not as large or wealthy as Manehattan or Fillydelphia, still drew cultures from all corners of the known world. An odd character here or there would not arouse much notice.

Exotic spices, silks, foods, and animals were commonplace for one who knew where to look. Though Canterlot’s inland position could not draw in the massive foreign produce that the great maritime Merchant Lords were able to, the simple prestige and security the City offered was found few other places. Certainly the mild climate appealed more than northerly locales like Poneva.

River Traders delighted in the deep and safe waterway that allowed barges and the like to sail up to the valley docks with little fuss. Zealously defended by a detachment of the Canterlot guard, this river provided a free and peaceful avenue for travel and commerce.

Wintermail, once she had established herself, would have to take advantage of the plethora of goods the savvy merchants procured. But for now, she had to locate the artisan’s district. If the collectors were to be believed, though she couldn’t be sure, then there’d be a place the mare might at least rest for a few days. Yet even for her great height, Wintermail had trouble finding her bearings. Crowds always plagued the markets and inns, now compounded by apparently an influx of refugees. Drunkards snored loudly in the gutters, empty bottles of wine and liquor lying beside them. Slop formed disgusting puddles in the road, agitated by more buckets being dumped.

Walking the streets of a large city was always an ordeal. Ironic how so beautiful a fortress could contain such squalor, but it was nothing alien. "Nothing is perfect," she thought.

Stilt-walkers and fire breathers performed in whatever open spaces they found, working for a few bits. Any other day, Wintermail would've enjoyed watching them, but today they proved only an annoyance. She had things to do and intrusive entertainers were blocking the road! Nevertheless, true to her charitable disposition, the mare dropped a few coins into their cups and continued on her way.

As she progressed further and further, a common sight started to make itself known. Now away from the merchant’s quarter, inns and taverns soon became the dominant establishment along the streets. Powerful laughing and sometimes anger echoed from their doors. But beside them, sitting on the curb and wrapped in rough rags, were dozens of impoverished-looking ponies. Ponies too poor to afford a room at the inn, or simply arrived after they all became full.

They looked truly pathetic, emaciated, filthy, and without any place to go. She cantered over to one and craned her long neck down to meet the pegasus mare’s gaze. Eye’s glossy and sympathetic, the Wintermail smiled softly, “Why are you so downtrodden?”

The mare looked up and opened her mouth. She was missing a few teeth and possessed a very distinct lower class accent, “You’d be too if ya saw what me and mine did. Ain’t neva been a raidin’ party like dat, no m’Lady.”

“Oh, I’m no ‘Lady’,” the alicorn giggled.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Miss. Fought you was a Knight! Just dat fancy sword ya got belted ‘round ya. Anyways, big ugly fings come chargin’ out da woods, like some…spectre―yea dat’s what i’ is! I gavvered up me brood and set out for Canterlot, just as ‘em wildfolk torched our ‘ome! We ain’t got a bit to our name no mores. Took i’ all, dey did. Not like it do any good; ain’t no place for freelanders ‘ere. Ain’t no place for ‘em out dere, neivver. Is we blockin’ the paf, girl?” the peasant mare asked. She then gestured to her several children, “C’mon, kids! Let dis nice unicorn pass frough!”

“Please, don’t trouble yourselves on my behalf,” Wintermail reassured.

“Our family looks out for dose who’s protectin’ the countryside! I see ya took a bit of a beatin’, ya did. Least ya got out wif most of ya pieces!”

The white pony paused a second. She must have truly looked like she’d been through hell; she supposed she had. Shaking herself from her thought, the mare reached into her bag and produced a couple golden bits, “Here; it’s not much, but it should hold you until you can find work.”

The pegasus happily accepted the alm, “Oh Gods above bless ya! If da Prince ain’t Knighted ya yet, ‘e should!” the mare stood up, her children following suit, “Make yourselves presentable! We’s moneyed now; I ain’t havin’ ya lot paradin’ like some street rabble!”

This eccentric pegasus and her fillies and colts then trotted off into the sea of ponies, hopefully to find a nice meal and warm beds. Wintermail smiled and shook her head, “Such odd company.” Turning back to the road, her ears drooped, for now she realized again there were others on the street: her charity was not finished.

So she took up the tedious but fulfilling task of helping out these poor ponies with her gold bits. It wasn't the money she was worried about; she had more in her purse than many would see in a year. She gave it out generously. But it was scant and not enough to help them for very long. Wintermail had to trust in their prudence and frugality; she still needed to provide for herself.

And while distributing alms to the various ponies in the gutters, she took time to greet them and ask why they were in their current positions. Most professed to being victims of raids; nothing new. A couple told her a rumor that the Canterlot guard would dispatch a party to deal with the brigands. Others knew nothing of the plunder, for they were just escaped serfs.

Ponies tied to their Lord’s land. They could escape. Many did, most were caught and branded. Some were allowed to buy their freedom, but at a price so high few could ever hope to do so. Canterlot had acquired a reputation for not only safety, but also liberty. For some reason, the White City did not have any serfs. The land was toiled by free stallions and mares. True many still labored for a Lord, but they were technically free to go at any point.

Perhaps this absence of a custom so fundamental in other realms coupled with a history of Freelanders made available acreage a bit scarce. In any case, Wintermail was glad she didn't have to be the one to deal with it. How awful it’d be to endure the burdens of leadership! Lórian bless this “Prince”, whoever he was.

When the last few coins had been given out, Wintermail wasted no time in leaving this particular area. She had more than enough still left, but the mare looked and felt rather silly going from pony to pony, almost mechanically and insincere. Holding her temple and sighing, the alicorn continued on. “How do I get myself in these situations?” she thought.

Past the numerous lodgings, deeper into Canterlot, the crowds grew no thinner. In fact, in some respects they actually became larger! The all-too-familiar ruckus of metalwork and hissing water and the visible black smoke was a dead giveaway of her destination. Hundreds of stalls came up, hosting craftsponies of all colors and talents. Ponies needed utensils, tools, weapons…and metal was the preferred material. A talented smith could carve out a respectable living, if the throngs present today were any testament to good business.

Wintermail hoped to eke out a small piece of this pie.

A few soldiers flew above her, carrying freshly-crafted spears and armor. Carts brought in ingots and wood, which the smiths happily bought and sculpted into their eventual art pieces. Wealthy stallions and mares dressed in silken robes and smelling of perfumes dropped literal bags of gold for extravagant jewelry for their darlings. Burly and rough ponies carefully poured their crucibles and lightly dinged their molds open with hammers.

A genuine smile found itself on Wintermail’s lips, she having finally located a good place to settle. If those reports of sorties being sent out to deal with the brigands were true, the Guard would need a good number of weapons. And blades had become the white mare’s specialty.

Excited, she ran up to a blacksmith who looked old and like he knew the neighborhood. He noticed the mare walk up and gave a simple smirk. “What ya need, Ma’am?” he asked in a raspy voice, the respect in his speech betraying his kindness.

“Do you know of a stallion named Greymane!?” she yelled to overcome the din of a thousand hammers banging on iron.

“Sure do! He owns half the houses here on the street,” he pointed to one of the larger buildings lining the way, “See the big one right there? He’s in there,” the stallion then resumed his smithing, crafting some kind of hook or poker.

“Thank you very much.”

“Wonderfully nice pony, he is,” he assured, beaming, “Anything else?”

“Ummmm…,” Wintermail thought and looked at the various tools set on the smith’s shelves, “How about that hammer?” she pointed at a long and hefty mallet, perfect for a mare of her size.

“Good choice. I’ll take a silver for it.”

Reaching into her purse, the alicorn produced a single silver bit. She then placed it on the table before the smith while he took the hammer and gave it to his customer. The stallion then smiled widely, “You have a splendid day, Love.”

Wintermail could not fight the urge to smile back and in turn gave him a few copper bits in gratitude. Hammer in mouth, the mare placed the implement in her bag. The handle stuck out ponderously, but hopefully this arrangement was only temporary.

Anxiously almost there, the mare spotted the house the smith had pointed out for her. The building was certainly larger than those surrounding it, but still maintained the similar architectural style and construction. The walls were large stones, held by mortar and chalked white to match the overlying theme of the city. The roofs were thatch like most others in Canterlot, the copper of more luxurious edifices being much too expensive.

Clouded and imperfect glass panes sat in the windows, providing refuge from the elements if nothing else. A heavy oaken door set in iron fastenings stood latched closed before her, just above a few stone steps. Summoning her courage, Wintermail ascended the stoop and held out her hoof. Knocking several times, she stood patiently in anticipation for whoever was behind.

She heard the frail hoofsteps of somepony getting closer and closer. “Yes yes I’m coming,” an old and subdued voice called out. A second later and the latch opened with a metallic “clinking” sound. As the door swung inwards, a short and scruffy bluish-grey unicorn crept out. This must be Greymane, as evident by his silver locks that hung down his neck and head, tattered and frayed. For a second he stared forwards, curious as to why a large white form without a head was at his doorstep.

Wintermail realized she was a bit too tall for the doorway. She leaned her neck down to meet the stallion’s gaze. “Excuse me…,” she began demurely, “Are you Mister Greymane?”

He blinked a few times before smiling like a young colt, “Why I am, m’Dear! Oh where are my manners? Please, do come in,” he gestured his hoof into the abode, and Wintermail was obliged to follow.

The interior of the house was a good deal higher than normal, much to her appreciation. She did hit her head on a low rafter, but without a horn she did not have to foolishly pry herself from the timber. This was a bittersweet comfort. Yet in the main chamber she could stand as tall and upright as she wished, the chandelier overhead no less than fifteen feet above the beautifully polished wooden floor.

“Are you hungry, Stranger? Need a warm bed tonight?” the gregarious landlord asked, his voice brimming with concern, “We've been filled up some, but I can set some linens as a bed…”

“No thank you. I came to ask about a loft for rent,” the stallion gave a puzzled look as he studied the mare. She had seen better days, judging by her swollen nose and lip, and the jagged remnant of her horn. “I can pay well in advance,” she produced a bag of coins, and placed it before the elderly pony’s feet.

He levitated out a few gold pieces. The images on them were of various Princes and petty kings. This mare was well-traveled and had acquired a small fortune, whether by means honest or not. He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Follow me,” he uttered, solemn and respectable.

Wintermail did as he bid, keeping her pace slow to avoid tripping over the slower pony. He appeared to be no less than fifty or so, but his movements were full of vigor and strength. Upon his flank was another one of those “cutie marks”: a stylized picture of a house. If his talent apparently was managing homes, then she’d come to the right place.

He led her to a large and old wooden desk, a small gilded box placed on top. Around the box were scrolls and pages with those strange symbols scrawled all over. Behind the table was a bookshelf, stuffed thoroughly with tomes and logs to help this pony manage his affairs. Brass candelabras lit the study up nicely.

He magically grabbed one of the books from the shelf and placed it on the desk with a loud “thud”. He then opened it and turned to the next blank page. Producing a quill and black ink, he readied the pen and placed the nib just above the paper.

“Now, if you want the home, I need your name.”

“My name…?” the alicorn placed a hoof under her chin, thinking for a moment, “Put down ‘Wintermail’. That’s what I've called myself for the last few years.”

“You ain’t gonna go changing on me, are you?”

The mare gave a soft chuckle, “No sir.”

“Excellent. Let’s see…Wiiiiin….teeeeer. Is that one word or two?”

She blinked a few times, “I…I’m not sure―“

“One word; it’ll save space,” he finished writing the name down: either it was very long to do so or he jotted down additional information. “There we are. Now your key…,” he then eyed the gilded box and sent a magic glow around the lock. With a few clanks the lock click opened. Lifting the top up, old Greymane fished through a dozen keys before finding the one he was looking for. Pulling it out, he then personally gave the key to his new tenant with his hoof.

“Do not lose it, or I’ll have you pay for a new one,” Greymane jested as the mare happily accepted the key. She placed it into her bag and waited for any further instruction. The stallion indulged her, “Come with me and I’ll show you where the place is.”

Wintermail followed her new landlord back into the foyer. Her ears turned in on the faint sound of ponies talking and laughing. Down the hall was what looked like a kitchen or dining room where the kind old unicorn was giving hospitality to the homeless and dispossessed. With such a nice stallion providing her residence, Wintermail felt finally her luck was turning around.

At peace, she followed him out the door and further down the street. Ponies from their stalls and carts called out to Greymane, greeting him and gifting him fruits and vegetables. He deferred the presents to his son, claiming he had to look after this tall white mare. Wintermail couldn’t help but feel a soothing calm in her heart.

Before long, they reached a wooden building stilted on large dark logs. A shallower, lower portion completed the foundation. An open area beneath the home would serve as a workshop for whatever the Wintermail wished to do. Greymane wasn’t entirely concerned with what she did with it so long as he received his rent. The unicorn stopped before the door at the bottom and addressed his tenant.

“Well, here you go. There’s not much, if any, furniture. No plumbing, no yard, no nothing special. But she’s as sturdy as they come and it’ll keep you dry. I’ll be back at the end of the month for my money.”

He started off, satisfied at another source of income. “Thank you, my Lord!” Wintermail shouted, trying to replicate the courtesies of nobility.

Greymane giggled, “I’m no Lord, Miss Wintermail, just a very wealthy commoner. My name will do nicely. And if you need anything, my door is always open,” and with that, the stallion disappeared back into the crowd, leaving the alicorn to herself once again.

Retrieving the key from her pack, she inserted the iron into the lock and turned it until the tumblers gave way. Sliding the latch out, she pulled the door open and crept inside. The first room was nearly empty, simple windows illuminating the interior and a small staircase leading up to the rest of the home. Wintermail gingerly placed a hoof on the black board of the first step and put all her weight on that leg. A mare of her size, despite being rather gaunt, still had considerable mass; she was afraid the stairs might collapse out from under her! But thankfully the board held. Encouraged, she cantered up the steps into the main room.

The ceiling stood just comfortably above her, and the room was large enough for her to live without a looming claustrophobia. Off to the side were smaller rooms; all in sorry need of something to fill them. Walking forward, Wintermail came to the large window overlooking the street. From here she could survey the ponies outside and gauge the weather and traffic; not a bad vantage point.

And from the pane she could see the sun; how high it was in the sky. Just a little past midday. There still was much to do and too many hours left to put her errands off until tomorrow. She had a bag of money and a desperate need of amenities and a workstation. Turning away from the window, she unclasped her cloak and slung off her bag. Emptying the contents of her pack, the mare placed every nonessential thing in a corner, hopefully temporarily until she could buy a table or cabinet.

Spices and sweet fruits, soaps and mystical herbs, a canteen half-full of water and small wooden tools; anything she could unburden herself of. She then delicately took that purple egg and found a corner for it by its lonesome, intent on wrapping it warmly in linens and cloths. Next came her sword…

She thought for a second as she undid the strong belt that girt Eónadin around her waist. The tool of the Wanderer would be retired. The straps falling limp down from the scabbard, the sword looked almost alien in front of her. A faint tear trickled from her eye, not necessarily a sad one. “This is really happening,” she thought aloud, reflecting on all her travels.

And whether used or not, that blade of blackened steel had followed her through it all. She felt a powerful connection to this inanimate object. But those days were over. Forcing herself to set the blade down, Wintermail could feel a faint sorrow emanating from the sword. Almost as though it were…no, that was simply nonsense.

She was a new mare; a more peaceful one. A violent end would not be hers…she’d live a long and fruitful life, free from the bloody ways the alicorns had come to know. Yes! And no ancient magical sword should steal that freedom away from her. She embraced that concept, stretching her wide wings out for the first time in what felt like weeks. Maybe someday she could walk down a street bearing herself in full; a nice prospect indeed.

No doubt at least some individual she’d met on her journeys got wise to what she truly was. Evergreen’s mother, the now-deceased Ponevan King, and even that damnable Minotaur were not fooled in the least. But they were few and far between, mitigated hopefully by lack of any overt displays. Most would go on with their lives thinking there were only three races of ponies. This was for the best.

Folding those giant cumbersome wings back against her body, the mare slung her bag back on. It was comfortably much lighter now. Then she put her cloak on and started back down the stairs. Before exiting, she took one last look at the house. Humble, dark, perhaps even ugly but she had grown use to far worse out in the wilderness. A roof over her head and a blazing hearth was a luxury she could delight in.

But right now she had errands to run, things to buy, and places to go. Soon enough this house would become her home. She’d make the furniture herself if need be; lumber was in no short supply. All the drills and hammers and tongs she could ever want were literally a few steps from her door. The stonework for her furnace and the bellows certainly could be found somewhere and carts came hourly with materials.

This might be easier than she thought.

And over the next few days she gathered whatever things she required and established a few rudimentary amenities within her home, sleeping in a proper bed and eating at a proper table. Day by day the loose assortment of bricks and stone behind the loft accreted into a recognizable workshop with various benches and tools for the Wintermail to work her magic.

By night she’d store everything not bolted down in her first floor and continue laboring the next day. By afternoon on the third, she had finished constructing her very own forge, an expression of herself and the old passion she learned from her late father. It was beautiful in its own hard and rugged sort of way, everything exactly as Wintermail wanted it; not a single nail out of place.

At dawn, she emerged from her house and gazed lazily up at the dim blue sky. A hearty breakfast of bread and vegetables had left her feeling energized and ready to truly begin the next day of the rest of her life. She slept well that night and could not wait to begin toiling before a fire.

Here at her forge she had purpose. Here she filled a vital role in the local society of Canterlot. Already some passerby soldiers had noticed her building the shop and ordered a couple swords. Excited to fulfill their requests, the tall white alicorn donned her apron and poured a basket of charcoal into the furnace. Striking flint, she then pressed down on the bellows and watched hypnotically as the coals burned bright orange.

Smiling and wiping a bead of sweat from her brow, she took her tongs and clasped a long ingot of steel. Placing it in the fire, she waited until the metal glowed red-hot before bringing the iron to the anvil. Licking her lips in anticipation, the Wintermail raised her large hammer and eyed the steel, mentally working out what she wanted to craft. Now confident in her designs, the mare swung her hammer down with all her might, a loud din complimenting a flurry of sparks jumping from the metal.

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 3. The Prince of Canterlot

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 3. The Prince of Canterlot

The black night blanketed over the entire city, the warm flames of candles providing the only flickering light. From the clouds above a light snow came to touch the surfaces of roofs and cobblestone roads. Adorning doors and street corners were wreaths, boughs of holly, and bouquets of poinsettias, their leaves as green as an April meadow after a cool rain. Tall pine trees stood imposing, decorated with tassels and ornaments made from wood, glass, and precious metals. Silver bells hung from the branches, ringing softly in the gentle breezes of night.

Ponies trudged along the cold streets, articles of clothing wrapped around them to hopefully banish at least some of the chill. Most activity had stopped for the day, the few left out in the snow so there by choice; tonight nopony was allowed to be without a warm hearth and good company. Even the Town Watch atop the city walls was huddled beside fires, telling stories and making merriment to the chagrin of their officers.

Looking at the dimly-glowing windows, she spotted dark silhouettes laughing and drinking, their raucous enjoyment faint and distant outside. Leaving a trail of shoe-prints in the snow in her wake, the alicorn let loose a steamy breath and continued on the street. She wasn't particularly cold―the brutal winters of her homeland being far worse. On the valley floor drifts were never very deep, while up here in the mountain it was a little more severe. But nothing she couldn't handle. Even so, a roaring fireplace and a hot meal did sound rather appealing.

She had stayed in Canterlot for about one season so far, catching a glimpse of her favorite time of year. The leaves of the trees had turned a very vibrant array of reds and oranges this year, and the Wintermail spent hours one day sitting under the woods a few miles from the city gates. In Equestria, ponies had the strangest traditions: in autumn they held a race through the forest, and the massive shaking of hoof-stomps caused all the leaves to be jostled off their branches. Wintermail knew about the custom, but never remained static long enough to experience it. This year was the first Running of the Leaves she had attended.

Truly an ancient tradition, dating back millennia according to some ponies present there. It rounded the season off nicely for her, and she promptly returned to her furnace to resume her craft. For much of autumn the mare spent her time forging weapons for the City Guard and private customers. Wintermail quickly acquired a reputation for a robust quality in her work, if not the greatest elegance.

Her trade made her a few acquaintances who eventually greeted the pony once every so often. They’d pass by her shop, giving a simple wave and smile and send word to their friends of a tall unicorn who made a solid dagger. Ever thankful for the good word of mouth, Wintermail tried her best to offer hospitality to these passersby, but everypony seemed to always be in a hurry.

Still, as the months whittled by, her fellow tenants and other inhabitants of the district became increasingly friendly with her. Once or twice she’d shared a drink with them at the local tavern, winning some wonderful company. But the Wintermail remained rather reclusive and soft-spoken, never really talking about herself. Years of wandering had instilled a sense of caution and acute paranoia; you never knew what intentions strange ponies held until a knife was lined against your throat.

As if these ponies were going to try something like that! Maybe tonight she’d be able to put those qualms to rest. Greymane, ever the gracious stallion, had invited all his tenants into his home to share a feast of epic proportions. Tonight, in the very dead of winter, the ponies of Equestria celebrated a holiday they called “Hearth’s Warming”. From what everypony had said all month today was a commemoration of harmony, friendship, and goodwill for one another. Old hostilities and hurt feelings were to be placed aside; tonight everypony belonged to one family.

A tinge of nervousness found the mare as she strode through the snow to the mansion of her landlord. He was a fairly busy stallion and could only spare time to see the mare once a month for the rent. They said during his famous Hearth's Warming feasts he sat at a table set with dishes from around the world, served on the finest plates by the most talented cooks in Equestria. They said he entertained lords and ladies, princes, and even kings. At the end, guests would receive prizes of gold and silver.

Such opulence seemed a work of fiction to her, but she smirked anyway. “I suppose I shall find out sooner or later,” she jested, coming up to the front door. Before knocking she took a moment to adjust herself. This was a gathering for respectable ponies, not street rabble or sooty smiths. Wintermail dusted off her legs and shook excess snow from her cloak; presentable enough. At least she was no longer bruised. Her cuts had healed and left very faint scares, with one exception. Even her horn was recovering; the old stub having since fallen off, revealing a brand new sharp one.

It did look a bit odd being so short, however.

Satisfied with her appearance, the mare walked up the steps and knocked on the heavy oaken door. The sound of ponies talking echoed out into the cold still air, bringing life into the dark dormant night. The ambient noise was then overshadowed by the clank of the latch and the creaking of old hinges. The pony behind the door stood dignified and eyed the guest for a moment. The house servant wore a red silken vest adorned with a silver brooch, hammered into the shape of his master’s cutie mark.

“Ah yes, Miss Wintermail is it?” he asked courteously, stepping aside to the let the mare through, “Master Greymane has been awaiting your arrival. Do come in.” The alicorn obliged, coming into the foyer, now filled to bursting with ponies. They were mainly of the lower class, like herself. “To the left you’ll find a spread of the most delicious foods as well as numerous kegs. Take your pick; the Master has taken great care to provide every sort of brew and vintage,” the Majordomo then bowed and disappeared back into the crowd.

Putting on a smile, Wintermail threw herself into the party. For a few hours, she stood by the gigantic wooden table. Every so often she’d take a small loaf of bread or a ruby-red apple and a cup of light beer. Several ponies gave her company, scarfing down plates of food. Some may have been so poor that they had never seen so much to eat. Others were drunkards who quite early into the night flopped down and began shouting inebriated curses.

Even so, most were all in a fantastic mood, tonight being one of the dearest holidays of the year. Carolers slung hooves around one another and sang loudly, often off-key. Burly stallions playfully chased pretty mares, giggling all the way. Smiths, farmers, and workers laughed at the top of their lungs at jokes Wintermail would not repeat.

Mugs clanked on the tables as their owners roared a hearty shanty and took big gulps of hard black ale. Servants were kept busy constantly replacing the platters and tapping new kegs. Every now and then, Wintermail managed to not laugh long enough to notice the Majordomo. He kept grumbling under his breath, complaining about the astronomical cost of this party. He even suggested to himself that a detachment of the City Watch be employed to bring order.

Well meaning, but these ponies were simply enjoying themselves. And when Wintermail had enough merriment for the time being, she stepped into another giant room to check on the noble and wealthy her host was entertaining. Turns out she was not the only pony to have that idea.

Standing within the thresholds and just beyond the Master’s Table, commoners did much the same as in the main room, occasionally taking time to serve a drink or meal to an aristocrat in hopes of currying favor. The upper crust was content with remaining oblivious to them. But in all fairness, the gentry was sufficiently distracted. The table they all sat at was a slab made from no less than ten trees, coated in enamel and gold. In the center was a spire of hundreds of fruits and vegetables, some not even Wintermail had ever seen. Fine silver platters and gravy boats shuffled about. Bejeweled and gilded goblets never seemed to empty with the finest spiced wines.

Most of the elites wore silken and velvet robes, gold and pearls sewn into them. Earrings and tiaras of sapphires, rubies, emeralds…every gem found within the earth completed their ensembles. Some wore elaborate crowns, signifying their status as landed lords. But at the head of the table was an elderly silver stallion, looking a great deal different from when Wintermail had first met him.

He wore the same red vest as his head servant, but this one was adorned with more gems and pearls and gold thread than could be counted. A glistening emerald pendant hung from his neck, a chain of electrum securing it. More emeralds studded his own brooch, again similar to his Majordomo's. He drank from the most beautiful cup Wintermail had ever laid eyes on, and the stallion never seemed to lose his smile.

It was difficult to hear them over the clamor of the other ponies in the room, but one thing she did pick up made her blush a bit. “…And if I had mare like that, you wouldn't ever see me around town, and maybe I’d still be married!” he guffawed and banged his hoof on the table, the nobles and merchants joining in as loud as they could. Many laughed so hard they spilled wine all over their fancy clothes.

Their joy brought a smile to Wintermail’s face. "Nobles may be a bit snobbish and condescending," she thought, "but they still deserved to have fun." Even all the hounds they brought with them barked and yelped happily, gladly taking any offerings of food.

When the alicorn returned back to the general festivities, the moon was already high in the sky and well past midnight. Ponies around were dancing and singing still. Shrugging, the mare took the biggest and tallest mug she could find and filled it to the brim with the hardest ale in the room. Frothing and dark, the drink leaked its foam down the sides. Licking her lips, Wintermail was about to take a drink when a large stallion stopped her. “’Oi! ‘See ya got a big cup! Sure it ain’t too much for ya, li’l mare?” he chided, the ponies around laughing. The stallion took his own mug and filled it, “I bet you’ll be on da ground before ya finish your first glass!”

Wintermail got a devious grin, “You’re on!” And so began the contest. The stallion swigged down his cup, gulping loudly and then messily wiping his mouth. Everypony cheered. Not to be deterred, the tall mare copied his action, letting the last drop fall onto her tongue. “You know…,” she said, smacking her lips. “This isn't quite strong enough.”

A collective “Oooooo!” sounded from the crowd. The stallion frowned and found a servant, “What’s the ‘eaviest brew ya got?”

The servant tried to talk them both out of this foolishness, but neither would have it. He left for the cellar and soon brought up a large barrel. Rolling it into the room, the servant then tapped it and poured a cup for the stallion. All warnings were ignored, and the stallion took a sniff of the drink.

This was an extremely potent drink called Zebrican Honey Wine. The pure scent of alcohol emanated from the foam, stinging the drunkard’s nose. The wine was incredibly sweet, almost sinfully so. But it was also incredibly strong; more than most could handle. Zebras used it in various rituals and rites of passage, and not even they were up to the challenge.

Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, the stallion gulped and tried to remain composed. “I’ve ‘ad worse for breakfast!” he boasted. Hesitating for a moment, the earth pony brought the cup to his mouth and swallowed the whole drink. The mead stung his throat and almost caused him to spit it out, but he forced himself to drink; he would not be bested by this mare.

He slammed down the mug, gasping loudly and almost conceding. Smirking at his opponent, he let her have the keg. She poured her own glass and smelled it, the aroma overpowering yet still sweet, “My, isn't that a pleasant scent? Is this what you’re afraid of?” Giggling Wintermail downed the whole cup in mere seconds. Everypony was shocked and cheered when she filled it again.

The sweetness was enough to drive her insane. The drink was so powerful she felt like she’d been hit in the head; now that was a kick she wanted in a drink. “After you,” she taunted her adversary as she slung a mug to him. The stallion nodded and obliged, drinking it slower this time.

The contest kept going on for a little while longer. Maybe after four or five glasses, the earth pony finally tapped out, declaring, “No more!” He could barely keep his eyes open or a stable stance. Waddling over to the mare, he took her foreleg and raised it high, naming her the winner.

Wintermail laughed and celebrated her victory by finishing her latest cup. The stallion swung his hoof around her neck and pulled the mare in close, “I ain't…ne…never been defeated…now…’ere’s a pony ‘oo’s earned…my respect!” He squeezed so hard he could have choked her. It also didn't help he had become too drunk to stand easily, and was now hanging onto her.

But she found it charming well enough. Chortling, the stallion opened his mouth again. “Da fire of Friendship lives in our ‘earts!” he belted out, singing terribly but with all his might, “C’mon, everypony! Ya know da words!” And all the ponies around joined in the song, the carol perhaps the most famous of them all. The room’s timbers reverberated with noise before the song was finished. But during, one pegasus accidentally spilled another’s drink. The two took to fighting, grappling each other in a headlock.

Some punches were thrown and two snouts undoubtedly broken. Ears were bitten and feathers yanked out. Yet when the dust settled the two stallions eyed each other for a few seconds…and then just laughed and embraced one another as though they had been brothers. The defeated earth pony praised their show of physical prowess and stomped his hooves. “This pony just seems to always be in a good mood―probably the ale,” Wintermail thought.

When the stallion had his fill of drink, he turned to his new-found friend. With slurred words and erratic movements, he asked Wintermail to perform a song, as the winner of the contest. She shied away, assuring him she did not know any carols. “Ya got someffing; out wif it, ya bloody giant!” he urged, the crowd cheering her on. Left with no choice, the mare thought for a few seconds, trying to recall a song―any song.

The crowds anticipatory stares bared down on her mercilessly, and she sighed a relief when the alicorn found a joyful tune. Clearing her throat, Wintermail put down her cup and took a deep breath. The melody she started to hum was very dear to her, an old alicorn ballad her late father had sung to her many nights. A tragic tale of loss and mourning, eventually blossoming into a crescendo of praise and hope. The lyrics were all in that ancient language, and Wintermail sung them with a fierce passion. The ponies around her understood not a single word, but shed tears of happiness all the same.

Amidst the crowd, two ponies in particular caught notice of the singing, and perked up their ears. One stood nearly a full head higher than the rest, and took great care to remain inconspicuous and uninteresting. A lavender unicorn, her mane a sweet light blue color. The mare’s deep violet eyes intently narrowed at the sight of a white pony over by the drink barrels. She stroked her chin as though she’d happened upon something quite important.

The other was a simple pegasus of average height and a rusty red coat. He too found the mare, and admired her mellifluous singing. But the nature of the song was what aroused his interest the most. A cocky smiled curl onto his lips, signifying a mission successful.

Wintermail would never know these two ponies had been at that party, nor would she learn that they took notice of her. And the alicorn would especially never find out these two unrelated individuals perfectly understood the words she had sung.

But when she was finished with her song, Wintermail did realize the reception it got. All the ponies cheered and stomped their hooves. Laughing and whistling, shouts of praise and joy sounded around the room. That earth pony wiped a few tears from his eyes. “I’ve ‘eared the voice of an angel…now I can die ‘appy,” he rose a toast to the white pony, and when he had finished the last sip from his mug, the drunken stallion collapsed to the floor. Wintermail giggled and shook her head as a couple ponies came to carry the sot off to home.

Sunrise was a few hours away when she finally stumbled out of Greymane’s mansion, a belly full of sweet pastries and enough alcohol to kill lesser ponies. Lazy-eyed and poorly coordinated the mare felt her way back to her apartment. She slipped on ice more than once and probably busted her nose, but happily she rose back up and found the door.

Producing her key, she fumbled to open the lock, dropped the key, giggled, and managed to get inside on the third or fourth try. Struggling up her stairs, it was a miracle the mare did not manage to break her neck. At last in her bedroom, Wintermail loomed over her large bed and gave out, flopping heavily onto the mattress. Out cold, she’d sleep well tonight…and suffer on the morrow. But at least she’d have pleasant dreams, putting all her worries to rest.

Blissfully unaware of what exactly she had done in singing that song.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

The next few days progressed very much like before, Wintermail whittling away the hours in her shop. She was growing better at producing a signature flavor to her works, leaving her swords and daggers a little less generic. The rack behind her was filled with over a dozen blades, each possessing a distinctive leaf-like shape. The alicorn thought it made them look elegant and more unique, perhaps convincing a wealthy patron to purchase one.

She kept them well-oiled and well-polished, wanting to see her reflection on the steel at all times. She made more typical blades of course, being cheaper and less personalized, but no less effective at killing. Wintermail chuckled, remarking how many wore elaborate scabbards and swords, maybe forgetting exactly what a bladed weapon was meant to do. Well, it was their money; they can buy whatever gaudy things they like.

Sweating over her fiery forge, Wintermail pounded out a longsword ordered by a gruff officer of the Canterlot Guard. He stipulated a blade inlaid with gold and rich ornamentations on the hilt. She was no jeweler; she hired one across the street to decorate the hilt once she managed to fit it onto the finished steel.

And as she was thinking about that sergeant, the distinctive sound of clanking metal and marching echoed from the cobblestone road. Out the left side of her shop Wintermail saw a troop of about fifteen guards trotting through the ice and slush upon the ground. Their iron sabatons and crested helms rattled with each step, and the spears they wielding sometimes knocked into one another. At the head of the group was its commander, a deep blue unicorn mare who bore scars down her eye and snout.

They wore little else beside a solid steel barding plate over their backs and a coat of chainmail. Soft woolen cloth underneath prevented chaffing. Their helmets covered the tops and sides of their heads, but the face was left exposed. Each also carried a dagger and sword as sidearms. Wintermail smiled when she noticed a scabbard bearing her mark: the very same symbol that adorned her necklace.

Ponies around the road were cheering and tossing fruits and bread to the soldiers in gratitude. Some came up to try and sell their other wares, but the guard was in a hurry. Their stoic commander simply nodded in appreciation and shouted orders to keep up the pace. The Canterlot Guard had been busy the past few weeks, galloping out to deal with the raiders and bandits plaguing the Princedom’s borders.

Whoever they fought was cut down, and whoever they captured was questioned and more often than not executed. The heads of ponies, diamond dogs, even estranged mustangs rotted on pikes over the city walls. Wintermail got a dark sense of catharsis when she looked upon them.

The troop was gone as quickly as they had arrived, off to some location to deal with whatever problems their Prince saw fit. Resuming her craft, Wintermail labored for a few more hours before the next event of the day reared its head. Stepping off the street, a middle-aged stallion of clear noble birth approached the shop. He wore a dark vest, sewn with simple cloth thread and bearing the embroidered coat of arms for Canterlot on his chest. Atop his head was a like-colored velvet cap with an upturned brim.

The unicorn flashed a smile and admired the weapons behind the mare. Wintermail returned his courtesy and shifted her eyes back to the anvil.

“A quaint establishment you have here. I hope you make good business,” he said in a cheery voice.

Yet Wintermail couldn't help but feel a little suspicious. He certainly was an agent of the castle; a prime candidate for corruption. “I make enough. You aren't hoping to receive a cut, are you? It is not wise to threaten a bladesmith.”

“I’ve my own livelihood, Miss. Rest assured; I’ve no designs on your shop,” he scuffed a hoof and brought it up to the smith’s view, “My shoes are rusting right beneath my hooves. It’s the snow―wet this year. Can I bother for a reshoe?”

“There’s a farrier across the street; she’ll get you what you need,” she looked up and studied the stallion, “I’ll tack them if you like: two bits.”

“That’s rather generous of you.”

Wintermail smirked, “I didn't say I was good at it; I use longer tacks than most―might tap your foot.” The mare expected the official to leave and go bother the farrier, but he would not.

Instead the unicorn just stood and watched the white pony hammer away and then place the metal back into the fire. Growing impatient, Wintermail finally set her mallet down and leaned towards the stallion. “Is there something I can help you with?” she asked with just a hint of annoyance slipping through.

“Actually yes. My liege has selected you for a very important task. Here:” he took a scroll from his pocket and placed it on the bench. It was sealed with white wax, marked with the symbol of the city. Her eyes widened. The Prince himself had drafted a letter just for her!

Even so, she still could not read it. Feigning disinterest, she looked back at the official, “Is this roll supposed to mean something to me?”

The stallion laughed softly, “It’s what written inside the roll that matters. May I?” Wintermail nodded and the unicorn levitated a knife off the shelf. Cutting open the seal the pony then returned the knife and unrolled the paper. He cleared his throat and magically held out the note, “’I, Petrafyrm of the House Mountainkeeper, Prince of Canterlot, Viceroy and Regent of the Kingdom of Equestria, Warden of the Sun and Moon, do officially order a dagger specially made for my son and heir, Lord Vale. I hereby grant my loyal retainer, Lord Siresworn, to locate the smith most qualified to accept this task.’ You are that smith.” he then rolled the paper back up and stuffed it into his pocket.

“’Petrafyrm’? Is that what we’re calling the Prince?” Wintermail thought. She however did not speak, instead waiting for this Siresworn to finish. He did not disappoint, “His Princeship has bade me to tell you he wants a dagger of the highest quality metal available, the hilt gilded and set with gems and the scabbard uniquely made for the Heir. Here; I believe this will cover the expenses,” he placed a fat sack of gold bits on the table, the top almost overflowing, “The Heir is a mere colt, so make him feel he has a real sword. Once you have completed this weapon, posthaste you are requested at the castle. Stand before the gate and tell the guards you have the Heir’s weapon. My Liege grants one week.”

“I suppose there’s no hope for refusal,” Wintermail playfully said.

“You just won’t get the money, but this also would not be the last time you see me,” The stallion smiled and bowed, “I trust you can take care of the rest,” he started to leave before he remembered something crucial, “Oh and…if you possess a weapon of your own, a special one with a unique…quality or construction…maybe a family heirloom, the Prince shall be thrilled to see it. He’s a bit of an enthusiast for rare weapons,” he tipped his hat and went on his merry way.

“What sort of game are they playing at?” she asked under her breath when the stallion was gone. Nevertheless, she shifted her efforts to this dagger for some small noble lordling. She couldn’t be too upset; she’d made the biggest sale of her short career. Bringing back the sturdiest and purest ingots from market, she threw them into the fire and waited. “Maybe I’ll make a living yet.”

And she put the money to good use, enlisting the aid of that jeweler to complete the dagger. He commanded a high price for silver and gold and gems of all sorts, but the quality of the finished product was all the better for it. Wintermail completed the longsword along the way, creating a truly impeccable piece. Placing aside the sword, she took a shorter blade from a shelf, well-maintained and shining brilliantly. The tang was of course full, and she pounded the hilt on with a cloth-covered mallet. The jeweler had taken great care to ensure the pin melded seamlessly with the rest of the hilt, and she carefully hammered that into place too.

What emerged from all this labor was an ornamental dagger, constructed for full and brutal combat. It was only sharpened on one side, but to such a fine point a pony could shave the backside of a fly. The hilt was haft of wood, but glossed with white enamel. A meticulous replica of Canterlot’s seal rested on the crossguard, wrought of gold, silver, and electrum. A large amethyst sat in the center. The pommel was set with diamonds and rubies, forming an abstract pattern of great beauty. The alicorn placed it inside the scabbard and admired the work of its sheath.

Similarly adorned with precious metals and stones, Wintermail finally burned her mark into the wood and had the jeweler fill it. The Prince’s son would love his new dagger, no matter how ungrateful he could be.

It had been five days since she received the order, and as soon as the dagger was finished, she ran inside of her home and prepared to set out for the castle. She fetched her saddlebags and placed the dagger inside and then girt up the longsword. It’d be easier to carry around her waist than anywhere else. But then she remembered what that official had asked her to bring. Frowning a bit, she turned to a dresser and opened the top drawer. Among some other items, there was a very long wooden box with a hinged lid. Lifting it up, she stared down at the giant sword she had placed there when she first arrived at Canterlot. Pulling the blade out of the box, she shut the drawer and held the sword for a moment.

A smile of sentiment arose, and she strapped it around her waist. It felt strangely familiar to be wearing to two swords, something she had not done since her old one was shattered. Donning her cloak, she stepped back down the stairs and left through the door, placing anything worth stealing into the room below the house. Locking the door, Wintermail stepped onto the stone road and looked over the tops of buildings to locate the castle.

This was no difficult task, and soon the tall white spires of the mountain keep made itself known. Pleased, the mare headed down the way and passed by the numerous buildings and stalls along the path. Any other day she’d take a moment to sample the produce and speak to the ponies selling them, but right now she had a very important mission. This was her one chance to win over a Prince with her work, and there was a significant part of her that was thrilled to see the castle from the inside.

Unless they took the weapons and shooed her away from the gate; hopefully not.

About half an hour later, after meandering herself around the Canterlot streets, Wintermail came to the gatehouse of the inner city wall. Atop the structure were naturally a cadre of guards, diligently patrolling the wall with their spears and steely glares. Unlike the outer wall, the heavy iron gate of the castle was usually down, even during the day.

The commanding officer spotted the mare far below, standing awestruck and dazed. “Excuse me, Miss!” he shouted, “Have you business within these walls?”

“Yes sir!” she yelled back, “My name is Wintermail. I am a bladesmith, and I have the dagger bidden for Lord Vale. Allow me to enter and present it before his Highness, and I shall be on my way.”

The guard looked down expressionless, and then turned back, presumably to let the mare through. The intimidating iron teeth that hung from the marble maw that was the inner gate cranked up. The portcullis mechanically receded into its home, leaving a large hole for Wintermail to enter. The impressive size of the gate stunned her for a moment before the guard shouted again, urging her to hurry and pass through; he could not keep the gate up all day.

She obliged, and emerged within the next wonder Canterlot Castle had to offer: its lush gardens. Wintermail had heard tales from customers who had accompanied dignitaries and the like into the courtyard. The perfectly-maintained topiaries and lawn shined a verdant green seen nowhere else. The gardeners tended the hedges and flowerbeds with a care few ever dedicated to their craft. Not a single blade of grass or leaf was out of place or noticeable; everything was as it should be.

Stone fountains spouted water all day and night, their calm sounds lending a peaceful ambience secluded from the bustle of the city outside the wall. Unicorns and pegasi and earth ponies were the statues of choice, but other creatures dotted the landscape. Rumors of a winged unicorn were certainly not unfounded. In times of great celebration the Prince would have the entire courtyard decorated and catered by servants.

The Canterlot Gardens were another pride the white city could add to its repertoire; a veritable wonder of Equestria. But unfortunately right now, in the height of winter, the mare saw all the awesome statuary and vegetation blanketed in fresh snow. It was still beautiful, just not…as she had hoped. “Maybe someday…,” she sadly thought, still honored to see it at all.

Trotting along a trail of hoofprints in the snow, Wintermail approached the gate to the castle proper, which was usually raised. The guards remained motionless, and did not stop the alicorn. Keeping a quick pace, the mare stepped into the main hall, the glorious architecture showing itself. Massive marble pillars supported an imposing vaulted ceiling, which held painted murals of clouds and pegasi and what looked like alicorns. The paint had faded somewhat, probably because of its extreme age; few things in the castle were younger than two-thousand years.

Lining the walls were stained glass windows, each depicting events long in the past. Wintermail thought she could not understand what they meant, but then at the far end were the oldest windows. Ancient, pasty, and uneven, the pictures they painted were strangely familiar.

The furthest was a scene of alicorns―no mistaking it. They bowed before Tulicëai, and the next…they offered the white alicorn a crown. And he refused…only to be seated on the throne in the next.

“Lórian Almighty,” she gawked, the memories all flooding back to her. The events of that day replayed in her mind a thousand times, and…even her father’s death made itself agonizingly apparent again. Wintermail stared at that white stallion with the red hair, “Who are you?”

The next image was apparently the construction of Canterlot, cranes lifting up large marble blocks and placing into the fortress. The one after was a siege, a small unicorn outlined in brilliant yellow glass. Perhaps the siege’s commander? The next windows probably carried on the city’s history, of which Wintermail was ignorant.

Breaking into a cold sweat, the mare decided to press on, feeling increasingly uncomfortable within this hall. The corridor eventually bled into a roundabout that branched into different paths, leading to various parts of the castle. But right ahead were the largest doors Wintermail had ever seen. Held in place by shiny steel fastenings, the oaken doors probably required several trees to make. Two guards stood watch on either side―they seemed to come in pairs at every threshold.

The unicorns must have been notified of a white pony coming to meet the Prince today, because without a word they each took a handle in their magic glow and powered the doors opened. These were strong ponies, but even they had a bit of difficulty in moving the wooden monstrosities.

And there it was…the Throne Room. This seat of Canterlot’s presiding sovereign, ever the subject of awe and envy the country over, was a long and lofty white room, the floor a marble so polished and flawless, Wintermail could not see a better reflection in a mirror. Titanic pillars bore the weight of the rest of the castle, their tops ringed with gold patterns. More stained glass windows bathed the throne room in light, iron frames depicting the heavens and earth and beauty of the most abstract form. Armored ponies and princely retainers stood around the chamber, all eyes turning to the newest entrant.

A bit uncomfortable, Wintermail nevertheless proceeded down the deep crimson carpet that stretched from the doors all the way to the large gilded foundation of the throne itself. Brass fittings and painted decorations lined the bottom, and water even flowed from small faucets into a basin on either side of the steps. The first deck possessed two wings, where yet two more guards stood, bearing their spears proudly. The second deck contained wings for advisers of the crown. And up against the wall was the tallest chair perhaps anywhere.

Brass and gold, with iron swirls and lines completing the opulence, the top of the throne was tipped with a twinkling golden star reaching for the heavens. The carpet extended up to the throne, melding with the crimson cushions of the softest velvet. And the pony blessed to sit this powerful chair was a large unicorn stallion. His coat was a pale blue, his mane a medium grey. Violet eyes stared down at Wintermail, and she recoiled at his gaze. Bands of wealth and nobility adorned his legs, a rich satin vest encrusted with stones and pearls displaying the true power of this individual. A velvet red cloak rested on his shoulders, the edge lined by white and black down. A gold chain clasped the drape to him.

Sitting with his hooves in golden bejeweled slippers, the stallion wore a necklace of even greater beauty than Greymane had during Hearth’s Warming. But curiously enough, the very same symbol Wintermail kept around her necklace hung from the unicorn’s as well. His large masculine horn was adorned with a band of gold, and finally atop his head sat a rich gilded steel crown. Metal spires rose from the band like the towers of the city itself, and set before the central medallion was a shining star amethyst as large as a pony’s eye.

Unworthy, awed, overwhelmed, Wintermail dropped to her knees and offered her respect to the Prince of Canterlot.

“We have patiently awaited your arrival,” he spoke, a voice as authoritative as it was kind. He raised a long scepter, another amethyst topping it, “Rise, noble bladesmith,” she could do nothing but obey.

A dull red unicorn stood beside the Prince, whispering into his ear as he nodded. On the other side of him a bright blue colt sat on a small cushion, smiling and simply excited. The Prince gestured a hoof at the colt, convincing him to settle down. He then leaned back and looked intently at the mare, “I am Petrafyrm of the House Mountainkeeper, Prince of Canterlot, Viceroy and Regent of the Kingdom of Equestria, Warden of the Sun and Moon,” he smirked, softening his glare, “My people have taken to calling me ‘Prince Peter’. You have come to present my son’s dagger, I trust.”

Heart beating fiercely, Wintermail bowed her head as quick as she could; she did not wish to waste the Prince’s time, “Yes, Your Majesty!”

“’Lord’; Lord shall suffice,” he then turned to face his son, “Go and receive your weapon.”

The little lordling smiled brightly and trotted down the steps. Soon the tiny colt was staring straight up at Wintermail, “Wow! You’re the tallest pony I’ve ever seen!”

The crowd within the throne room could not help but laugh, including the white mare herself. “I get that a lot,” she said. Expertly she fetched the dagger from her bag without exposing her wings, and then presented it to the Heir. He happily took it and stared at the scabbard before anxiously drawing it.

“Such breathtaking detail,” the Prince said, admiring the ornate hilt.

“I cannot take full credit for this piece, my Lord,” Wintermail bowed again, “My jeweler neighbor prepared the hilt and scabbard. I merely created the bases. But you have my word as an honest smith the blade is of the utmost quality.”

“I shall take special care to thank this jeweler,” the Lord of Canterlot said. Yet while the white mare had retrieved the item, he did notice the long points of two swords hanging down from each of her haunches. “Perhaps you have something else that burdens you…a sword maybe?”

Wintermail’s eyes widened. How aware were these ponies? “Yes, Lord. A longsword for Sergeant Direhoof. He had wished to come by my shop and pick it up once it was complete.”

“Leave it here and I shall ensure he receives it. He is a fine officer, and he’ll no doubt be pleased with your work.”

“Many thanks, my Lord,” she then tried to excuse herself from court, only to be stopped by the Prince’s loud voice.

“Stay; there are things I wish to ask you. Shall you indulge your Prince?”

Stunned, Wintermail wasn't quite sure what to do. “Er…of course. Forgive my rudeness.”

“You've done no wrong, my dear,” he assured before standing up from his throne, “Everypony but my honored guest and councilors shall depart the throne chamber!”

Most of the retainers and guards obliged, but the two standing beside the throne turned to the Prince and objected, “Lord, are we to trust…her with you?”

The Prince shifted back and frowned, “You are to do as I command; Marshal Helmraed will see to my defense. But I feel our smith is too respectable for such a need. Out.”

The guards reluctantly obeyed and exited the chambers as the rest did. The little Lord Vale’s nanny escorted him back to his own room to await lessons with a sword master. About a minute later, only five other ponies remained beside the Prince. One was that unicorn who had originally given Wintermail the order.

Satisfied that only a select few were allow to see what transpired within the Throne Room, the Prince leaned from his chair and looked at the mare. She was rugged, blanketed in a dark cloak. Her pink mane was short and largely messy, but still maintained as best as was expected for a peasant. She used it to cover her right eye and her horn was new-looking, short and thin.

With her full attention, the sovereign resumed his speech, “What is your name, bladesmith?”

Gulping, the mare stood her long neck up and gave her liege a visage of respect, “Wintermail, my Lord, of the North.”

Yet the Prince was clearly frustrated by this answer. He frowned and tightened his gaze, “Shai roneä dhenë meviln?(What is your name?)”

Wintermail was stunned hearing the words of her heritage for the first time in decades. She blinked a few times, every word she tried to speak dying on her tongue. Visibly annoyed, the aged Marshal Helmraed, iron and dull like armor, spoke out. He was stern but not rude, “Your Prince has asked you a question.”

The white mare looked at the earth pony and then back at the Prince, “I am Winter―“

“tam-Valedion. Durno dhenëy rondulno der lé-umbona , lé-mitë nor-Lórian vadeäm. Shai rondulno?(Do not be afraid. Your parents named you in a stream, in the view of Lórian above. What did they call you?)” the Lord of Canterlot interrupted, bearing the full weight of his authority.

Then it hit her; she was tired of running and hiding―the ruse had been seen through. The Prince knew exactly what he was speaking to. The saddest part was however that Wintermail had to think for a moment. What did they call her?

Oh yes. Her name, her true name…no matter what aliases and titles she would go by in a hundred years, this name would forever remain hers. Confident, she stood before the Prince’s seat and declared aloud who this white alicorn was.

“Nikóleva Maiëlindirnasí nor-Solárindilbainuir!” the mare spoke clear and forceful, presenting herself as more than a simple peasant, “Céba meviln shaideni héim-mor mevilë, Calar vysë.(This is who I am, great Prince.)”

The lord could not believe his ears…had he heard it right? His heart nearly skipped a beat and he leaned back with giant eyes. Recomposing himself, the Prince gestured to one of his councilors, “Have my squire fetch my great sword,” one bowed and left. The Prince then returned to his guest, “Remove your cloak, alicorn. Bear yourself proudly.”

Wintermail…or was it Nikóleva, felt different somehow: less concerned for her secrecy, and indeed a bit prideful for the heritage she’d been forced to conceal all this time. She happily unclasped her cloak from around her neck and threw the garment down on the floor. Now nopony in the room could miss the giant sword she girt about her.

Spreading out her wings, Nikóleva stood tall and mighty, a sight that brought a tear to the Prince’s eye. This white warrior looked as the ancient alicorns of old: tall, lean, bearing a massive sword only they could wield. Noble and strong, she seemed every bit the mythical highborn race of legendary power and even greater hubris. Regal, even.

Before long, the Prince’s squire returned with a huge implement, easily one of the largest swords Nikóleva had ever seen. He bore it to the base of the throne, and for the first time since this meeting took place his Princeship stepped down from his chair. Summoning a vigorous violet aura he took hold of the blade, and he drew the mighty great sword from its scabbard.

Nikóleva took a few steps closer to get a better view of the weapon. The hilt was ivory white, haft of some unknown and extinct substance. Lines of inlaid gold and silver slithered and coalesced into delicate shapes and patterns. Amethysts studded the pommel in a star-shaped arrangement, while the crossguard was almost as long as the hilt itself. The two large steel prongs were bisected with a large grey circle, lustrous as any trinket. Set inside that circle was another amethyst, bigger than the crown jewel atop the Prince’s head. And this jewel was cut into the shape of a six-pointed star.

The blade itself was as long as the Prince himself―few ponies could ever comfortably wield it. In fact, it looked like it had been forged for a pony of Nikóleva’s size, as her own sword was. The steel was unique, though; she’d never seen anything like it. Swirls crept up the entire length of the blade, catching the light in a thousand different ways. And strangely enough, Nikoleva could feel a faint magical presence emanating from the steel.

“This is Ailéránen. It has been in my family since before we became Princes of Canterlot…since before there was a Canterlot. I use it for ceremonial purposes and sometimes…executions. It is simply too large for me to use in battle. Ailéránen is forged of a metal that cannot be found in any foundry or shop: Alicorn Steel. You will never find a material better for the crafting of weapons. Unfortunately, nopony alive knows how to make it.”

The Prince returned his giant sword to its sheath and bade his squire leave. He then eyed the richly-decorated hilt of Nikóleva’s sword, “Might I?”

“Of course,” the mare said, and quickly undid the straps. She gave it to the Prince and he happily pulled it from its scabbard.

“Here we have a weapon so similar the two might as well have been forged by the same smith. Elegantly imbued with a passion I feel was lost a long time ago. And what’s on the crossguard here?” he inspected the hilt further, and saw a blazing sun of gold. Shocked, he turned the blade over and found exactly what he expected to: a cool silver moon. Next he took a look at the blade. Black steel, almost too dark to make out the characteristic swirl, yet sure enough it was there.

And most shockingly, ancient symbols had been engraved along the blade’s length, spelling out a famous message. This was it.

“I…I never thought in all my life…in all the days I’ve been seeing old swords…I would have the immense pleasure of…just encountering this one. Eónadin, is it not?” Nikóleva nodded, “How did you acquire this?”

The alicorn tried her best not to look indignant; she did not steal if that is what the Prince wished to imply, “It belonged to my father, and his father before him, and perhaps up to the very beginning of our family, my Lord.”

The Prince shook his head and returned Eónadin to its home. Nikóleva became puzzled as the lord dismissed his councilors and bade the alicorn to follow him. The two walked down the length of carpet and left through the massive doors. Next the Prince led his guest over to another hallway, and further down there was another door.

“I should be very honored to have you stay as my guest. We have an apartment prepared for such company,” the Prince offered.

Nikóleva hesitated, distracted by the thought of actually going deeper into this beautiful castle, “Er…you’re too kind, Lord, but I’ve my own home―“

“Worry not, Nikóleva; I shall dispatch servants to fetch anything you need and ensure nopony steals anything in your absence. Please I insist!”

“Well…,” she thought it over for a moment, “As you will, my Lord.”

The Prince smiled and finally brought the mare before a smaller door. The fastenings and wood were identical to the throne room doors, if a great deal smaller. The Prince then bowed before the tall alicorn, “I must attend to various duties, but I shall see you again come dinner. The Librarian will teach you what you need to know, and we shall discuss more about the future in time,” he rose back up and smiled, “You've done us a great service here; the finest of hospitality will be yours.”

Finished speaking, the Prince left down the hall, and disappeared behind its marble walls. Nikóleva thought for a moment, “Why is this stallion so cryptic?” Shrugging she put a hoof on the handle and gently pulled open the door. Inside was a very tall chamber, every available space along the walls lined with shelves. Each shelf was packed with books, and wheeled ladders hung from the very tops, apparently allowing those not blessed with wings to reach the towering shelves.

The sound of a roaring fire echoed in the room, which was otherwise completely silent. Candles resting on wall fixtures lightly flickered. There were a couple tables and chairs, all stacked with books and scrolls. And in the center of the room, a giant tome wrapped in his magical aura, a very tall pony was reading.

His coat was beige, simple and plain. He heard the door open and he shifted his deep red eyes to the intruder. The stallion possessed the longest horn she’d ever seen, and a flowing light grey mane. Hanging from his lip and chin was a full grey beard. Streaks of darker colors could be found, implying his hair had lightened with age. He wore a simple cloth vest.

More stunningly, however, was the fact her wore a black cord holding the very same symbol Nikóleva and the Prince wore, only it was a thick piece of wood instead of metal. But above all else, this stallion was tall, almost as tall as her, and wore folded wings at his side. He was no mere Tulicë, but an alicorn, through and through. From what little Nikoleva knew about her kind, she knew enough to realized a greying alicorn must have been ancient.

He shut the tome and placed it on a table. He cocked a large bushy eyebrow and studied the mare from head to hoof. The librarian stepped closer and sighed, “I see His Princeship brought me another one.”

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 4. A Soot-Covered Queen

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 4. A Soot-Covered Queen

Cool and calm, the mysterious night endured over the land, its bluish-black shroud enveloping all the land. Distant twinkling of stars and the gaze of the moon caressed the sleeping Earth in a soft silver light, giving reprieve to a world weary from the harsh stare of the sun. Daybreak would see the moon surrendering to her golden twin, resting until she was needed again. Hours remained till then, allowing the Earth to regain its strength for a while yet.

Indeed, in days of old, few would ever be awake at this time. The City Watch’s night shift, ne’er-do-wells, and of course a tall midnight blue princess. The latter ages had enabled far more ponies to remain up, spoiling somewhat the pristine calmness and quiet Her Highness delighted in. Their loud noises overtook the chirps of crickets and their lights blotted out the dimmest and seldom-sung stars. Fortunately aggravated ponies shaken from their sleep tempered the “disturbers of the peace”.

“How ironic,” the mare thought to herself, her starry sapphire mane waving unaided by any wind. She once cursed how quiet and lifeless her night had been; how everypony slumbered during the most beautiful time of day…her precious gift to Equestria. And that led her along a dark path. But now Princess Luna, the last bit of malice sapped from her soul, relished that very same tranquility.

She chuckled to herself, shaking her head, “There’s just no pleasing you, is there?” Perhaps she wanted them to enjoy the night “her way”, however foalish that sounded. But ultimately it did not matter, for her duty was to watch over the night and the Kingdom as it slept. And atop the castle walls, amidst the white crenellations, Princess Luna could observe approaching armies and any disputes in the streets below.

Well of course warfare had changed since her youth, and the police now could handle most problems. But even so, Luna still could walk the length of the walls and just…think. When no pressing matters required her attention, she enjoyed whittling away the hours alone in her thoughts. Whatever she had read in a book or document, or seen in a pony’s dream, she’d come up here and reflect over. Appearing absent-minded at times, Princess Luna’s mind was in fact seldom idle.

Tonight, what grasped her mind with such force was no matter of state or civil service, but her dear older sister. Beside the tall white tower that was the royal apartment, Luna could discern faint silhouettes backlit by flickers candles. Usually it was only a tall alicorn, her smaller winged unicorn companion sitting below the window. But that mare too would from time to time pop up for a moment. Sighing, Luna paused and stared up at the tower. The blue alicorn wondered where and when Celestia’s tale was taking them. She wanted so badly to join in the fun, listening to the stories her sister oh so loved to tell. Alas, her duty was here, watching the night and the dreams it brought.

Still, she remained for a little while longer and thought. When would they get to the part where Taberanyn finally arrived? While Nikóleva wandered about, living out her exciting adventures and exploits, the dark blue mare was living too. The white alicorn had left her and her surrogate father Henarion at their old homestead. Luna was sure Celestia thought all they did was farm in the years of her absence.

Sure enough they did farm; they needed to eat. But exciting things happened to Taberanyn, and she had her own adventures with her caretaker. The old farm was now lost to the decay of time, but the ground was still soaked with blood and sweat, as are other hills and plains and vales. When they met after a lifetime of estrangement, Taberanyn told her sister all of what she saw and did, and Nikóleva reciprocated the action, trying to make up for lost time.

Twilight was hearing Celestia’s story, not that of Princess Luna. Yet the lunar mare hoped the white queen might sprinkle in a bit of her sister’s life here and there. This book Twilight was writing would be all well and good, but Luna was certain somepony reading might stop and wonder: what became of the beautiful Princess of the Night.

She smiled and thought again. They shouldn’t worry too much; there’s a part in that tale where the stories of the two sisters are all but inseparable. And though Princess Luna might not care too much to read how it ends, somepony undoubtedly wished to read that dramatic chronicle of an ancient conflict.

The shadow of Celestia disappeared from the window, prompting the nightly sister to turn back from the tower and resume her walk. Naturally a dispatch or other “urgent” affair would spoil her leisure, and recall her back to the chambers of government. Descending down a marble staircase leading into the fortification, Luna gave one last look to the tower.

“And now, back to work,” she muttered, annoyance spreading on her face.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Enveloping a stack of thick books in his bright red aura, a beige stallion inspected their spines and then spread his full wings. With the vigor of a far younger pony, he flew up to a high shelf and placed one of this books neatly beside is companions. Turning in midair, the alicorn ran a hoof through his smooth beard and looked around the room. The other alicorn in the room looked up and cocked her head, puzzled.

After returning a couple books, the stallion drifted down closer to the floor. He then spoke clearly, still focused on his task, “So…you’re an alicorn, aren’t you?” Nikóleva could only utter a faint sound before being interrupted, “Of course you are; that’s a rhetorical question. Now…,” he set his hooves again on the stony floor and studied the mare once more.

“Let us see what we have here…short pink mane, which would obviously get in the way of your work…white coat of varying shades suggesting regular contact with dirt or grime,” the stallions intrusive peering was beginning to make the white alicorn uncomfortable. “Your horn is not quite as long as a mare of your size would lead to believe…and you cover your right eye with hair, yet it’s perfectly intact.”

Stroking his beard, the stallion finally lit up, as though he’d found the solution to one of the world’s fundamental problems. “Rhódin! Penance for a past misdeed. I must confess your adherence to ancient tradition is commendable, if…incomplete.”

“Do you mind?” Nikóleva asked with her own “rhetorical question”, “I did not come here to be made an object of study.”

“Certainly not, but I find it a wonderful mental exercise to make deductions. For instance: you must be that smith the Prince sent for.”

“You must be a clever stallion.”

The beige pony smiled and gave a soft laugh. “Somewhat, my Dear. Anyway, surely you have some inquiries concerning probably one of the only other alicorns you’ve met beside your family.”

“I suppose I could find some,” Nikóleva began, walking slowly into the room, its vastness making her feel rather small. “I shall start with…who are you?”

“Alicorns receive three names upon their Umbonaronemë, or the ritual bathing in a river. When I was inducted to my current position, I forsook my old name and assumed another. I am called Delbedasir,” he gave a slight bow, holding himself with knightly chivalry.

“Del…Delbasir…Deldeser…” Nikóleva stammered, the pronunciation causing her tongue to become twisted.

“Delbedasir. I know it’s long and awkward to say, so most have just contented themselves with calling me “The Librarian”. And it’s been that way for so long I’m not sure how many even know my name.”

“If it’s all the same, I’ll follow their lead,” Nikóleva said, breaking off from the stallion to explore the room. “Is sitting here and reading books all you do? Sounds rather dull to me.”

“Well, books contain valuable information, information I use to increase my competence in other work. As an alicorn, you might have been exposed to various fragments of our race’s cult. A tad different I think from the traditions of Tulicëai.” The stallion cantered over to the mare and held up her pendant with his magic. Admiring the jewelry, he let it dangle from her neck again. “Wonderful quality that piece is. Mine is so bland and boring; painted wood. But important all the same.”

The Librarian cleared his throat before speaking, “Here, in the castle, lies a very small and hidden chapel devoted to only one divinity: Lórian Vysht. I am this chapel’s curator. On top of that, given my…advanced experience, I have found time to devote my life and studies to various disciplines. These include, but are not limited to, mathematics, physics, metaphysics, geography, life science, literature, linguistics, history, and of course theology. In fact, I’ve written a good portion of these books.”

The white mare eyed a small desk and looked at the book opened on it. A small bottle of ink rested with a quill beside it. Strange characters covered the pages, but the bottom of the right one was still blank. “My latest passion,” the Librarian said, “’A Comparative Analysis of the Languages of the Southern Locales’. Just something I’ve been working on during my leisure.”

Nikóleva took the liberty of gently flipping through the pages, as though somehow she could make herself decipher the writings within. Sighing, she turned from the desk and frowned. “Why did the Prince send me here? I do not wish to sound disrespectful, Librarian, but I’m a smith. I’m afraid a scholar isn’t much use to me,” she said, almost heading back to the door.

The Librarian however gave a wry smile and laughed, “How ignorant you are, child.”

As though she still were a confused filly, Nikóleva narrowed her gaze and huffed, “I’m not a child.”

“You can’t be much more advanced,” he shot, nonchalantly putting objects on the desk back into the drawer. “How old are you?” he then asked bluntly.

“Erm…a gentlecolt never asks a lady―“

“But you aren’t a lady, are you? I mean look at you! You’re probably covered in soot half the time! Are you afraid I won’t believe you?” he raised an eyebrow and glowered, compelling the white alicorn to obey, “Out with it!”

“Fifty-four,” Nikóleva announced coolly, “And my birthday shall come up very soon.”

“I’ll send you a nice basket, little filly. I for one am…now what was it? Oh yes! Two-hundred and ninety-six―seven! So listen to me closely, because I know what I’m talking about.” The Librarian then gestured for the alabaster mare to follow him out of the room and back into the hall. The very old stallion continued down the passageway for a short while before coming to a small door, much smaller than the one that sealed his place of work.

“We’ll chat in a more private location. Mercifully I do not have to climb any flights of stairs; my old bones can be brittle at times,” he said, wobbling his left foreleg. Producing a key, the alicorn unlocked the door and opened the latch. He gave a small bow with his head and bade the white pony to go inside first.

The chamber was quaint, adequately lit by a couple tall windows and torches mounted into the walls. A large wooden desk sat against one wall, finely varnished and decorated with yet more books and quills. A small oil lamp rested atop a stack of stationary, waiting for its master to light it once again. A simple bed faced opposite the desk, the blanket and pillows neatly arranged and undisturbed. Across the room from the door stood a cool stone fireplace, the grate tightly closed and all the tools placed on their rack. A single log sat in the cradle.

As Nikóleva entered the Librarian’s bedroom, a shrill squawk sounded to her left. Perched atop a heavy black iron post was this alicorn’s pet bird. She was stunningly beautiful, with orange-red feathers so vibrant and lively they appeared to be on fire! Nikóleva began staring at the bird, mesmerized. The bird merely continued to screech.

“Philomena!” the Librarian shouted, his voice hoarse with age, “Hush!” The bird complied, folding her wings back against herself.

“What a…marvelous bird,” Nikóleva said, the deep color of Philomena sparkling in her eyes, “Is she…what I think she is? Is she a phoenix? I’ve heard stories about them, but never had the pleasure of actually encountering one.”

“An uncommon breed these days. It’s a funny story actually: when I was just a young stallion I wandered into…,” the stallion cleared his throat again, “Well I shan’t wish to bore you with ancient stories.” Nikóleva raised a hoof and gingerly stroked the phoenix’s head, causing the bird to coo with delight. “I think she likes you. Philomena mostly just makes noise at anypony other than the Prince or me,” he laughed and stroked his beloved bird before giving her a tender kiss.

Leaving the perch, the Librarian stepped over to his fireplace and shivered a bit, “I think it could stand to be a touch warmer in here, don’t you?” the old pony then summoned a glowing magical red aura from his long beige horn and jolted a spark into the fireplace’s log. A bubble then formed around the spark and dissipated, causing the fire to expand faster than Nikóleva had ever seen before. Immediately the room filled with warmth.

“Oh my goodness!” the white mare exclaimed, smiling for an infatuation with fire only she could possess. “How did you do that?”

“Well the fire spell is elementary…if you excuse the pun,” he snickered, a snort in his laugh, “but the real trick is the bubble. I’ve created a vacuum with it, only for a moment, and then the differential in pressure causes air to rush in and fuel the fire. However, if you’re not careful, a cavitation bubble can be very dangerous; not a beginner spell.”

Staring at the flame, Nikóleva just imagined what she could do with such a power. “You’ll have to teach me how to do that,” she said.

“I see this ancient stallion actually can teach a bombastic little mare some new tricks!” the Librarian then laid down a large pillow before the fire, resting his old ragged bones at last. “Now,” he resumed, “I must give my sincerest apologies, Miss, but I’ve completely neglected to take any interest in who you are. What might I call you?”

“Oh well…I’ve gone by the name ‘Wintermail’ for quite a while.”

“’Wintermail’, eh? Hmmmm…wait! I do recall hearing a passing mention about somepony going by that name. Some so-called ‘Wanderer of the North’ who drifted about and did odd-jobs of heroism for coin. Am I to understand that this wanderer and you are one and the same?”

“Yes sir,” the white mare solemnly replied.

The Librarian eyed her for a moment and then smirked, “I’d keep that bit a touch private; the Prince isn’t too keen on mercenaries.”

Nikóleva’s face turned stern, “I am no mercenary! I helped innocent ponies in need…just…food and shelter isn’t free.”

“Hehe I like that attitude. I’m sure you’ve become extremely well-traveled, yes? You must have many riveting tales to spin.”

“Not quite…I don’t think going from place to place and warding off brigands for a few decades would be too interesting; actually becomes rather boring and stale after a while. If anypony were to sing a song or tell a story about it…I’d find it dull and tired,” the mare said kicking a hoof. After her altercation with that minotaur, her spirit wasn’t quite up to reliving those “glory days”.

“There’s probably one or two fantastic bits,” the stallion chuckled and craned his neck up, “but I won’t pressure you right now. The Prince has sent you to me for a reason. We’ve stalled enough; can you read?”

“No,” Nikóleva muttered flatly.

“I see. Not even a little? Some symbols you recognize or words somepony taught you?”

“Not a bit.”

He furrowed his brow and ran a hoof down his thick beard. “Well…I suppose that’s our first step. For starters, I’m going to write your name, and I’ll give you the page to study,” he magically summoned a quill, ink bottle, and a writing mat with paper, “I’ll write it both in Equestrian and Alicorn.”

The Librarian etched a line of text that closely resembled the words Greymane had recorded that first day in Canterlot. Blowing the ink dry, the alicorn dipped his quill again and looked back at his new student. “Your birth name, Dear.”

The mare gulped, unsure what weight her name held. The Prince seemed to be either disturbed or surprised at its mention. “Nikóleva Maiëlindernasí nor-Solárindilbainuir,” she said, again feeling rather proud.

“Alright…Niiiik…ooool…―wait! Your family name…do you know what it means?”

Nikóleva shook her head, somewhat embarrassed, “No sir.”

The Librarian finished writing out the name, and he glanced at it, stunned in disbelief, “Maiëlindir, eh? He’s your father, yes?”

The white alicorn nodded.

“Hmm…where have I heard that name before? Ah that’s right! I met him once perhaps a hundred years ago…my goodness…,” he sighed, looking closely at Nikóleva. “You’re his daughter? Of course you are! You have his face…my my...”

The mare blinked a few times, not sure what she was hearing, “Wait…you knew my father?? How? When? Why?”

“Calm down, Nikóleva. I did not know him well…and it seems he kept a few secrets to himself…anyway, once upon a time, a dark blue stallion and his white lady love came here to Canterlot. They traveled with an orange fellow…bah I forget his name. Those two were young and happy…brought a sense of warmth and purity to my heart,” the Librarian gave a sentimental smile, reflecting upon his own youth oh so many years ago.

Nikóleva could not help but reminisce about her parents and herself when she was very young. Back then her family was whole…perfect. “Yes…beautiful couple,” the stallion continued, “They asked me to wed them, and in this castle’s very chapel they were married. Small world, isn’t it?” he said, seeing the emotion in Nikóleva’s eyes.

“You haven’t had to walk it,” she quipped.

“And I don’t plan to. Tell me, how are they? Have you seen them recently?”

Nikóleva opened her mouth but couldn’t say much. Her eyes became glossy and heavy, sinking to the ground. “Not for a long time…,” she muttered, a single tear dripping from her cheek.

“Oh…my deepest sympathies.” The Librarian then tried to change the subject; an old pony’s time was too scarce to spend in mourning, “Was that sword your father’s?”

“Yes, as it was his father’s and so forth. The Prince knew it by name; I assumed that’s what the symbols along its blade say.”

“Might I see it for a moment? I think it can provide me with some answers,” at Nikoleva’s approval, the stallion summoned his magic and pulled the blade from its scabbard. His reaction was brief, but Nikoleva could see his eyes widen―if only for a fraction of a second. “It says 'Der shaideni maihenilím mindara she foneä fadeämon semlái uira, tarsilion rhílion she nohilion hena bhenë (You who holds cause and duty above all else, remain true and draw my power.)' No doubt the Lord of the Castle pounced on the opportunity to examine this one.”

“Indeed he did, sir…and he expressed surprise when he saw it, and don’t think I didn’t see you too! I know something’s special about my sword―and my name.”

The Librarian smirked and gracefully returned the weapon to its home. He stroked his beard and looked into the fire. “Was it really that obvious?” he began, turning his bright red eyes back to Nikóleva, “I don’t know much about you, nor why you are here. I’d be inclined to think it mere coincidence…but the cleric inside me wishes to believe you were meant to come to Canterlot. About your waist, encumbered by gold and silver and precious stones, rests the black iron of Eónadin’s long blade. Of course you already know its name, but perhaps you’re not aware of exactly what it is. Or who you are.”

Nikoleva cocked an eyebrow and scratched her head, “What are you talking about? Am I not myself? Is this a riddle?”

“No ma’am; there shall be no puzzles or half-truths or vague words. I shall speak the truth, and nothing but. You’ve gone your entire life ignorant of your heritage, but now I shall shed some light on it,” he sighed and stirred the fire before adjusting himself on his pillow, “Through your veins, Nikóleva, flows the ancient blood of Solárindil, the first Alicorn King of Equestria.”

The Librarian allowed his words to sink in. For what felt like several minutes Nikóleva stared at the old pony, doing nothing but occasionally blinking and letting her mouth hang open. “You mean…I…I’m…royalty?”

“Well…that alone is not enough to count you as such,” he chuckled, “Solárindil himself was a chaste stallion, devoted solely to his wife…but a few of his descendants had a penchant for siring illegitimate foals,” he then cleared his throat, returning an air of dignity to the conversation, “No, it’s your retention of the name of the Royal House, and the fact you bear his sword. Eónadin was forged an incredibly long time ago for his ancestor, and he acquired it…well it’s a complex story and I think you’d do best to read it on your own―once I teach you to read, of course.”

“So…,” Nikóleva stammered, still stunned with revelation, “I have right to the throne?”

“Eh…not quite. For that to be the case, there’d have to be a throne to claim. As of the present day, there isn’t. Among the Prince’s pretenses is a claim on the regency of Equestria―a meaningless title in practice. The closest thing we have to a ‘Kingdom’ anymore is a congress of the princedoms that meet astoundingly infrequently. The Prince curiously carries a complete and total devotion to a crown, throne, King, and realm…of which none actually exist.”

“Then my ‘birthright’ and a few bits will get me a mug of ale at the local tavern, yes?” Nikóleva sighed, both relieved and disappointed at the irrelevance of this claim.

“If that; ale is expensive this time of year,” the two laughed, “But, I don’t yet know what the Prince wants to do with you. Did he leave you with any instructions, comments, offers, or something of the sort?”

“Actually, his Lordship did request that I stay here at the castle,” Nikóleva placed a hoof on her chin, looking up at nowhere in particular, “He did not specify for how long.”

The Librarian smiled and fetched the top book on the stack sitting upon the desk. He opened the page and began scribbling on the paper. “Three days is the accepted minimum. To leave a host’s domicile before then is simply rude! Might as well…throw their hospitality in their face!” the stallion chuckled, never looking up from his codex.

Nikóleva stood up, looking eagerly at the Librarian, “Will you teach me how to read and write, and about arithmetic and science and all the strange and wonderful subjects I’ve heard learned ponies speak of? While I’m here, I mean.”

But the old alicorn just clicked his tongue a few times. “I suppose…if I get around to it. There’s a lot on my agenda,” he replied dryly.

Sparkles in her eyes, Nikóleva nevertheless maintained her composure, “Thank you, Master Delbedasir.” She then turned to his window and looked out. From his vantage point the white mare could gaze over the cliffs and see the river and valley down below. Painted with the purest of snow the landscape rested silently under a still grey sky. Breathtaking was the only word she could use to describe it.

There, inside an old cold room within the mountain fortress, Nikóleva felt as though the valley and the lands beyond all became a bit brighter. She did not fully understand or appreciate her heritage, but she did grasp that whoever her ancestor had been, he was a great ruler. Strength was in her blood, and now the world had set aside a small place for her to write her own chapter. Nikóleva, the Wintermail, the Wanderer of the North, was sired from greatness. And as a wide smile slowly crept across her face, for the sake of her forebears, she knew anonymity was not to be her province.

Standing tall and triumphant, as though having returned from a great battle, Nikóleva held her breast full and proud. Filled with unfocused resolve, she giggled softly, “All this time I thought I was nothing more than a mere peasant girl…”

“You still are, for all intents and purposes,” the Librarian quickly said, “But a peasant with gold or an army doesn’t need to worry about ‘bloodlines’. Yet there is something…intangible to be found here.” Nikóleva looked back at him with a quizzical stare, anticipating clarification. He, ever the fan of head games, was not so accommodating. “It’ll all become clear in time, my Dear. Now, run along and play. I have much work to do, and too few hours to do it,” he shooed her out.

“But…I…”

“Go frolic about the castle or something of that sort. None of the Prince’s councilors seem to have any competence in accounting or basic mathematics. I’d love to chat more, but I’m falling behind as it is.”

Recognizing the futility with arguing, Nikóleva simply bowed her head. “I appreciate then the opportunity to have spoken with you. Shall I see you at dinner?” she asked, taking one last chance to pet the perching phoenix.

“I look forward to it, Nikóleva.”

And with that, the alicorn mare unlatched the door, and retreated back into the castle halls, hopefully to find something with which to occupy her time.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Nikóleva did, in fact, run into a couple of servants wandering about the halls a few minutes after she was ejected. They did not have much to say, and neither did she. Yet the two unicorns were without task and offered to show the mare around the castle.

Of course the alicorn agreed, and excited as a little filly she gleefully followed the servants wherever they led her. Canterlot castle, it turned out, was literally built into the mountainside. A labyrinthine complex of hallways, large chambers, and secret passageways coiled into the rock, carved ages ago. The two servants confessed they had no idea how deep the tunnels ran or exactly where they ended.

They had heard stories of the Prince’s secret gem mines miles below the surface, ancient creatures living in the very bowels of the earth, and even terrible demons that gnawed in vain at the roof of Tartarus. When asked whether or not she believed any of these claims, Nikóleva simply shrugged and said, “I’ve seen a lot of strange things in the world.”

Along the tour the white pony was shown the great baths of the castle, heated by an intricate series of pipes and magical fire. In the two-story kitchen, talented cooks and aids were crafting from the finest foods available for tonight’s meal, using stone ovens and flavorful woods. Along the balconies and vistas, pegasi fluttered up and down the length of the tall windows with soapy rags, ensuring the vibrant light of the sun could shine through into the castle chambers unspoiled.

This tour was all Nikólea could hope for, the stunning architecture and quality of construction almost more than she thought possible. From stained-glass windows, to life-like frescos and statuary, to mosaics certainly taking years to complete, it became no wonder to her why Canterlot had the reputation it did. But one feature of the keep still eluded her. The Librarian had mentioned earlier a small chapel devoted to only one divinity. She inquired where the chapel was; perhaps respects were in order.

Unfortunately, both servants merely cocked an eyebrow, glanced at one another, and replied in unison, “I do not know what you are talking about.” A bit disappointed, Nikóleva nevertheless graciously thanked both for showing her around the castle. With all the courtesy endemic to Canterlot’s staff, the servants offered their services anytime they were needed and then disappeared down the halls for the next job.

It was at this time another staff member galloped through the halls, looking quite anxious. Dressed in a fine silken blue vest, the unicorn stallion caught Nikóleva completely by surprise, and he accidentally bumped into the tall mare, causing her to stumble and fall. Immediately he turned around and yanked the poor alicorn off the floor. Brushing her off, the stallion apologized profusely and explained he was running late for dinner.

Nikóleva’s stomach began to growl, and she followed the pony into the dining hall. As the two crept inside, the stallion said his goodbyes and scampered off to aid the rest of the staff. Nikóleva was then left to marvel at the chamber, its décor no less beautiful than the rest of the castle. Rich tapestries and portraits adorned the walls, with giant candelabras filling the spaces in between. Along the length of the room a massive table was draped with a pure white cloth. All across its length the Prince’s courtiers and councilors sat in great wooden chairs, eagerly waiting for when the Lord of Canterlot declared the meal open.

And at the far end of the table, the Prince himself sat in the largest chair. He no longer wore his crown or cloak, probably finding them too cumbersome for dinner. On his right side sat his young son, and his beloved wife on the left. Upon seeing Nikóleva enter, the Prince stood up smiled brightly “Ah Nikóleva! I was just about to send somepony out to find you! We’ve saved a seat for you,” he gestured towards the much larger chair between his son and that old beige alicorn. The Librarian gave the mare a smirk as she took her seat.

It was then that the Prince bade everypony to silently utter a prayer of thanks, and when that was over he proclaimed the meal to have officially begun. The servants brought out silver trays and chalices, the spread rich with golden potatoes, steamed vegetables, the sweetest fruits, and the finest wine Nikóleva had ever tasted. The poor mare was torn between not being greedy with the food and not accepting hospitalities.

The Prince must have noticed this, because not far into the meal he commented how there was enough for everypony. Wonderful. Nikóleva was sure whatever wasn’t eaten would be given to the poor, because she felt that’s just something a stallion like the Prince would do. Should she go with less so they could have some?

Thankfully, the Prince distracted her by asking the mare to tell them all about the “Wintermail”. She preferred to remain silent, but after everypony’s encouragements, she agreed. And so she filled the meal with her stories and tales of Wintermail’s adventures throughout Equestria and beyond. There were of course some sensitive and…private bits she opted to leave out, but for the most part she repeated the same odyssey she had told to countless others who cared enough to ask.

She talked about all the places, peoples, creatures, cultures…all the fantastical and mundane things she’d seen on her journeys. Many courtiers were on the edge of their seats, never having thought about what excitement the world held. Nikóleva was sure a few of them wanted to leave right then and go on their own travels!

But perhaps the most enamored with the stories was a little blue colt. The Lord Vale sat with his eyes glued on the mare, eyes as wide as saucers. The romances of the brave warriors etched in stone around the castle suddenly became things of reality, because the alicorn before him had actually lived them! The colt became full of energy, eliciting a groan from his mother who lamented that tonight he’d never go to sleep.

The Prince himself meanwhile kept a cool and even visage, periodically sipping his cup. Nikóleva observed him from time to time, and he never seemed to lose his calm demeanor. He rarely spoke, and never during one of the mare’s stories, instead preferring to wait and listen to what others had to say. The two could both tell each was reading the other, deciding what kind of pony he or she was. Whether or not the Prince truly approved of the alicorn, however, the blue unicorn’s face never did betray.

Nikóleva’s impression of the Lord of Canterlot was fairly good. He was eloquent when he needed to be, and listened when others had things to say. He was kind and courteous, always volunteering to pass dishes and pitchers to anypony who requested them. The affections he showed to his wife and colt were nothing if not genuine, and never once was a servant berated or yelled at, even if a couple did in truth deserve a stern talking to.

Nikóleva found that he held himself with all the dignity the Princeship required, but at heart was very down-to-earth and humble. If he meant to deceive his court, it had worked astoundingly well on the alicorn.

When dessert had been served and eaten, Nikóleva especially devouring as much cake as was physically possible, the Prince waved a hoof and allowed everypony to excuse themselves for the evening. The Princess and her son were among the first to do so, little Vale needing to wash up for bed. As they picked their teeth and let their food settle, more and more courtiers departed, the Prince’s own councilors soon to follow. The Prince obliged himself to remain until everypony was gone.

The Librarian bade goodnight to his liege and turned to leave. Before his exit, he faced Nikóleva and bowed his head, “Come by tomorrow in the morning and I’ll let you feed Philomena, if it pleases you.” Nikóleva nodded, and the old alicorn left the hall.

Yawning, the white pony pushed her chair back and stood up. “How could I be so rude!” the Prince exclaimed, “One of my staff will show you to your room. Somepony will come by in the morning to call you for breakfast. Sleep well, Nikóleva.”

Remembering her manners, the mare craned her neck down, “You are too kind, my Lord. I cannot thank you enough for this honor.”

The Prince did nothing but smile, and gestured for her to follow the servant who had just arrived. As the mare passed through the double doors, the Prince left in the opposite direction. Quietly under his breath he muttered, “It is the least you deserve, Your Majesty.”

Nikóleva and her guide eventually came to a secluded section of the castle, a simple long hall tucked somewhere within the further cliffside. The moonlight shimmered through the windows upon several small doors, all leading to the various guest apartments within the castle. The servant held out her hoof, motioning towards one of the doors. “Your accommodations, Miss,” she said. As Nikóleva unlatched the lock and crept inside, the servant bowed her head and left.

The alicorn wished the mare pleasant dreams and then shut the door. Inside, dimly lit by flickering candles and a warm fire was a main room with a central table and several cushioned seats. Off to the side were two door frames, one leading to a privy, and the other to a bedroom. Feeling her eyelids becoming heavy, Nikóleva stepped inside the room and admired for a few seconds the canopy bed. Shrouded with luxurious silk curtains, the bed was covered with a thick down comforter. Perfectly-fluffed pillows rested against the headboard, warmly inviting the mare to lie down.

Dropping her sword and bags beside the bed, Nikóleva then climbed in, positively enthralled that it was large enough to accommodate her. Overpowered with divine comfort, the mare could not fight back the urge to rest her head on the pillow, close her eyes,…and…drift off…to sleep.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

A light flurry of snow brushed against the bannister, the icy wind almost painful on his exposed ears. His hot breath puffed into the air before dissipating into the bluish-black sky. A thick red cloak blanketed his shoulders, keeping the rest of him warm, thankfully enough.

The Prince of Canterlot, high up in his personal tower, admired the job he had done with the stars and moon. It wasn’t perfect, but this was to be expected from him. All through his life he was taught to believe everypony possessed a special talent―a place to call their own. Everypony had a part in this great cosmic play. And somepony out there, he knew not exactly who, was meant to arrange the stars into intricate and beautiful patterns; somepony who’s great passion would revolve around the ethereal glory of distance objects suspended within the firmament of creation. And until this pony stepped forward to take their rightful place, the Prince would do the best job he could.

Satisfied with his work, the noble returned back inside his apartment, closing the doors to keep in the warmth. A crackling fire and some candles provided enough light and heat to suffice for the rest of the night. He reviewed some pieces of paper on his desk, arranging them neatly into a stack when he was finished. Next he gazed at an expertly-painted map set along his wall. It was map of Equestria and a few lands beyond, created by only the finest cartographers within the Kingdom. Fantastical animals adorned the margins of the map, while thousands of castles, cities, towns, and villages were individually drawn and labeled. It was a wonderful thing to behold―perfect if not for one small defect: The whole of Equestria had been fractured.

Ever since the fall of Thunderhoof the Valiant and the subsequent collapse of Equestria, it has been the dream of every Prince of Canterlot to rebuild the fallen realm. Not by the sword, and not with themselves as her Kings…but as a duty to her people. The Prince was weaned on tales about the glory of Ancient Equestria, the coming of the Alicorns, and the great marriage between the two. Under the Alicorn dynasty, his country prospered. Law and Justice ruled, and ponies could travel and work unmolested by raiders and bandits.

Every nation on this continent trembled before the might of Equestria and her armies. It was a time when the alicorns could redeem themselves and the Tulicëai come into their own. The wonder that was Equestria was something everypony dreamed of in these dark and disunited times. Nostalgia for this brighter age was a chronic condition for the Prince; every year it become more and more of a fantasy.

Yet today a faint shimmer pierced its way through. Long did the Prince dream to see that map have many of its borders erased. And now the prospect looked a little more promising.

Cracking a smile, the Prince was suddenly shaken from his dreams by a knock. Trotting over to the oak door, his Lordship opened it, revealing a tall beige stallion with a magnificent white beard. He gave a slight bow.

“Delbedasir,” the Prince said, staying by the Librarian’s side in case he fell, “My sincerest apologies! I lost track of time―I meant to meet you at your chambers.”

The Librarian gave a wheezy laugh, “It is quite alright, my Lord. I’m not as frail as I look.”

“You’re not getting any younger. Your services are far too important to me to risk a fall,” the Prince chuckled.

“Don’t fret about me, lad. Today I’ve been feeling a real skip in my step. I feel two-hundred again!”

The Prince grinned and shook his head. Summoning his magic, he poured some hot apple cider into two porcelain cups and delicately set a cinnamon stick into each one. He then offered one of the cups to the Librarian, who took over the burden of holding it.

“A hot cup of cider on a cold night like this is simply…divine. Wouldn’t you agree, Delbedasir?”

“Thank you very much, my Lord. I was feeling a bit thirsty,” the alicorn replied, sipping carefully from the boiling cup. Admiring the sweet and spicy flavor, he then set the cup back on its saucer before clearing his throat, “But you know I’m not one to dwell on pleasantries. How may I be of service to Canterlot?”

The Prince wiped his mouth and set the cider down, “Yes of course. I wish to speak with you about our esteemed guest. What do you think about the alicorn mare?”

Delbedasir took another sip. “Nice girl, no real complaints. Capable of spinning a good tale, I think. Tall, pretty, strong…what more could a stallion want?” he said, his tone too ambiguous to tell whether he was sincere or not.

The Prince turned to the window, a feeling of great happiness overcoming him. “I cannot believe it. Perhaps the sole remaining heir of Solárindil…is alive! And she has veritably fallen right into our laps! Oh thank Lórian above…,” he turned back towards his councilor, tears almost coming from his eyes, “Do you have any idea what this means?”

Eyes half-open and with a emotionless visage, the Librarian simply took another sip, “I know what you want it to mean. But there are considerable pragmatic obstacles. Don’t let your wide-eyed idealism cloud your perception of reality―my Lord.”

The blue unicorn stared into the fire, “But I’ve seen it, in my dreams… Visions of a bright sun…and―and a white warrior charging with a thousand banners beside her! Shouts of praise went to the pony…”

Delbedasir rolled his eyes and smirked, “Are you going to tell me another one your ‘visions from on high’?”

“For a stallion of the cloth, you can be awfully cynical…,” the Prince sighed.

“What can I say, my Lord? I always like to think nothing should go without questioning. But you do have an ability to see what things could be. So Peter, what exactly do you have on your mind?”

“She must become Queen! I can feel it…I can feel the strength within her. She has the capability to reunite our once glorious nation. She will rescue us from this blighted age of poverty and darkness.

Delbedasir shifted his countenance from sarcastic to compassionate. He crept closer to his Lord and dear friend, placing a hoof on his shoulder. “We got a chance to talk with the girl, Peter. She may be the heir to the throne…but she is no queen…,” he fumbled with his words for a moment, “We aren’t even sure if she’s telling the truth or not.”

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

“…I cannot say, my Lord. But as it happens this is not the first time the Exilarch has chanced upon us. Once, a very long time ago, it seems I met her parents. This was before your grandparents were even born. But that stallion never betrayed any indication of his heritage, and Nikóleva appeared utterly ignorant of whom she was. And I even made it clear how useless a claim as hers would be in today’s world.”

The Prince broke into a wide smile, his optimistic disposition once again overtaking his mood, “Then until I see any evidence to the contrary, this Nikóleva is truly of Solárindil’s house, and therefore my lawful liege.”

“I will never understand this devotion you possess…,” the Librarian muttered before acquiring a more professional countenance, “Shall we call upon the Congress?”

“Such an act wouldn’t accomplish much. Nikóleva is unfortunately not somepony any of the Princes or other lords of the realm would follow; she’s in no condition to be presented as the heiress. Not to mention it’s winter, and our food stores are low as it is. We cannot take on a pack of gluttonous nobles.” The Prince shifted his focus to Canterlot, now looking back out his window, “We probably have enough food to last, especially with the gracious charity of ponies like Greymane feeding the less-fortunate. There will be no major starvations, thank Lórian.”

“It is expected by Marshal Helmred that this problem will not happen next year.”

“We can only hope. It’s those damned raiders!” He pointed at various regions on his map, “Nests of diamond dogs in the woods are turning up every day, and mustangs are migrating eastwards, plundering everything in their wake. I’ve even heard tales about…batponies coming down from the mountains. And that’s not even mentioning the Minotaurs!” he lashed out at the region beneath Equestria labeled “Minotaurica”, “Reports are saying one of their chieftains has manage to unite enough of the tribes to call himself ‘King’. It’s but a matter of time; the southern cities and kingdoms could only hold off a unified Minotaur army for so long.”

“We certainly have our work cut out for us,” Delbedasir leaned in closer, lowering his voice, “And there have been…whispers and rumors…of something urging them on. Captives mutter something about a ‘Dark God’.”

The Prince shook his head, his face in pure horror, “No…it cannot be.”

The Librarian licked his lips, “It can only mean Dis―“

“Silence!” the unicorn shot, showing an uncharacteristic rage…or fear, “I will not have that name spoken in my presence.”

“Forgive my brashness, my Lord.”

“No need…,” the Prince sighed, “I apologize for losing my temper. But if all these are true, and indeed they are machinations with intelligent purpose…this will become a very large problem for us all.” As he stared at the map on the wall, an idea suddenly struck the Prince, “But perhaps…we could use this to our advantage.”

“What do you mean, my Lord?”

“How would you evaluate this mare? She needs to be a leader.”

The beige stallion thought for a moment, “Hmmm…well…from what she’s told us about herself, she’s probably a capable fighter―not masterful but considering all her exploits she’s not dead. She’s a smith so rather strong with a steady hoof and an eye for detail. A bit of a polyglot as well; always a good trait for a diplomat. She strikes me as rather honest, honorable, just, but a bit proud at times. She could be playing us a fool, however.”

“What sort of faults did you pick up? A stallion as old as you can read another like a book,” the Prince quipped.

“You are too kind, my Lord,” the alicorn blushed, “But she probably has a bit of a temper; a youthful hot-headedness. I suffered from it quite a bit in my younger days. She possesses immense potential as a warrior, commander, diplomat, leader,…and maybe even ‘Queen’. But for all her talent, she remains unfocused and largely unrealized. I’m not sure she can even perform anything more advanced than rudimentary spells.”

The Prince levitated up a piece of paper and begun jotting down the points his councilor was making. “Excellent! Delbedasir, I’m placing you in charge of her education.”

“But my Lord…wouldn’t this interfere with my other tasks?”

“I will delegate any duties you cannot perform to the utmost to others; the more mundane ones. We have a very important project on our hooves. Teach her to read, teach her a bit of every discipline you involve yourself in. Teach her the holy texts and the histories. I will locate for her a sword master, and enroll her in a position to give her experience. She’ll first learn to follow, then to command,” the Prince put up the finished cups and teapot, “We shall groom her to lead, to be worthy of the throne of Equestria. And we won’t have much time to do it. I do not even know exactly how much, or what happens when we run out.”

He turned back to his Librarian, keeping an imperious look, “We start tomorrow, and we will present of Queen before the Congress when the time comes. Mark my words.”

“Consider them marked, Peter. But this won’t be easy.”

“Nothing worth doing ever is. Now, Delbedasir, you are free to retire for the night.”

The alicorn gave a noticeable yawn, smacking his lips afterwards, “I thought you’d never say that.” He then made his way to the door and took the first step down the stairs.

“If you need any help, Delbedasir, I can―“

“I don’t need any ‘able-bodied’ colts telling me I’m too brittle to go down a staircase!” he laughed and bowed his head, “Good night, Peter.”

The Prince bowed in kind, “Likewise, my friend.”

The faint sound of hoofsteps became more distant as the Prince shut his doors and stepped back towards the balcony. Outside, once again in the moon and starlight, he looked up and closed his eyes. He’d go to sleep in a few minutes, but for the moment he wished to reflect on what door had been opened. A warmth in his heart fought off the chill, and never before had he felt so at peace.

“Thank you…we shall not squander your gift again…,” he said. As he spoke, there was no indication or sign that anything heard his prayer, swallowed into the black of night. But he knew deep down, something did.

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 5. The Ways of the Sword and Quill

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 5. The Ways of the Sword and Quill

“This is ridiculous…,” a tall white alicorn huffed, walking through the ancient and magnanimous halls of Canterlot Castle. Wearing a foolish pout and a crinkled brow, Nikóleva muttered to herself, lamented the grave injustice His Princeship had subjected her to: mandated sword lessons.

For the few days following her momentous stay at Canterlot Castle, the white alicorn did in fact return to her shop to resume her new profession. But every day envoys and councilors were sent from court to treat the mare to meals and discuss various things. Over the course of about a week it had been decided that Nikóleva would travel to the castle once a day after work and receive an education from the Librarian. She was a bit apprehensive at first, fearing how much this commitment would interfere with her craft. But, swallowing her anxiety, Nikóleva humbly accepted the offer and graciously thanked the Prince.

He gave his warm smile and then sat back on his lofty throne. With perfect gravitas he soon gave another command, one that made Nikóleva’s ears droop. She was to do a lot more than simply read some old books. At important affairs of state, festivals, celebrations, and diplomatic meetings Nikóleva was expected to accompany the Prince as part of his retinue. Such a responsibility was quite a bit to take on, but on top of that the white mare was made to take instruction from some swordmaster she’d never met telling her how to fight. Besides, she’d had her fill of the lonely life of a “mercenary”.

Coming up to one of the large rooms within the castle, Nikóleva opened the tall doors and trotted inside to find an almost empty room. Whatever furniture was inside had been placed against the walls, leaving a large open space of tiled floor. Standing within the morning light of the stained-glass windows was an older-looking earth pony, his dull brown coat a bit coarse. Looking on at the mare with an anticipatory expression, the stallion crept forwards, balancing two long wooden training swords on his back. He then waved a hoof over his chest and bowed before the mare.

“Good morning, Miss Nikóleva. I hope you slept well; you’ll need your strength today,” he greeted, a playfully snide smile on his face. He then tossed the mare one of his swords and took the other in his hoof, “First we shall work on your stance.”

Nikóleva smirked in kind and rolled her eyes, “I think there’s been a mistake, Sir…”

“Bretteur, but during our sessions, I shall ask that you refer to me as ‘Master’. Time’s wasting; pick up your sword.”

Nikóleva just looked at the wooden “weapon” lying on the ground, “As I said, I’m not sure these lessons are for me. I’ve been handling a sword for the better part of five decades. So forgive my rudeness, but I have work to do—“

“Then whatever teacher you had must’ve been poor indeed,” the master teased.

The white alicorn’s heart skipped a beat, a deep and personal rage building inside her. She would not let anypony speak ill of her old “teacher”. She took the training sword and immediately slashed at the earth pony. The swordmaster however met her blow with perfect reflexes and used his own sword for leverage to disarm the mare. Nikóleva recoiled in shock…only one other had managed to that to her…

“And I see you’ve locked up; what’s your next move?” he taunted, taking another stance.

Again Nikóleva took her prop and this time opted for a stabbing maneuver. Unfortunately the stallion answered with an upward parry, leaving the mare wide open. He then quickly hit the alicorn hard on the shoulder with the flat of his blade. Nikóleva winced and started rubbing her shoulder.

“My sword only left you with a bruise; had it been made of steel, you’d be dead,” he said matter-of-factly. “The Prince has told me a couple things about you, how you use a blade that cuts through others like paper. Well this quality is of little use if your opponent manages to avoid the edge.”

Beaten into submission, Nikóleva allowed herself to continue listening to Bretteur, but she still kept her fierce glower. The master simply admired the inner fire this mare possessed. “Hehe your great height and strength has served you well, and with a little practice and direction you might make a good fighter. We wouldn’t ever wish to repeat your run-in with that Minotaur.”

Nikóleva’s eyes widened and she stared down at the floor, finally surrendering to her fate. “He told you about that, huh?” she said, remembering the one lunch she’d been able to share with his Princeship that ended in a couple things being discussed. He proved himself to be very trustworthy, and his disposition was too courteous and optimistic to deny.

“With my instruction, perhaps you can make good on that. I’m not your enemy, Miss Nikóleva, and if you just let me, I can show you great things,” the pony said, smiling as he gave her back the sword.

“Thank you for your kindness, Bretteur, but I’ve…decided for myself to put away my sword…for good,” Nikóleva meekly admitted. It had been a difficult thing for her to do, but that way of life had run its course with her.

“With all due respect, I’m not doing this as a kindness; His Princeship personally requested that I instruct you. And as for you, whether you stay out of trouble or not, a fight will come rearing its ugly head; best be prepared. Now are we through feeling sorry for ourselves?” he giggled, cocking an eyebrow.

Nikóleva took a moment to think and reflect upon the swordmaster’s words. She was born of greatness, born to a proud lineage. Her father never would have shirked from such hospitality as the Prince had granted, nor a fight to protect those in need. And certainly neither would this Solárindil. Shaking herself from this creeping and crippling self-doubt, Nikóleva raised her head and gave a firm nod. Taking the training blade, the alicorn readied for her first lesson.

Overjoyed, Bretteur commenced with the session in all eagerness, “Yes! Now first thing’s first; we must learn our stances. Do as I do,” he commanded, moving his feet to the perfect position for quick and deliberate movement.

Nikóleva tried her best to imitate the stance, but Bretteur’s look of dissatisfaction told her it was all wrong. “No no no,” he derided, “Your legs are too far apart; you’ll fall straight down! And bend your knees!” He then swung the wooden sword at the mare, striking her with an audible smack. The mare fell over.

“Ouch! What possessed you to do that!?” Nikóleva shouted, her side aching.

“A static target is a dead target. You should have dodged that, which you could have had your stance not been so terrible! Again!” Bretteur yelled, allowing the mare to recompose herself. He then swung the blade again, this time meeting only air.

The alicorn had actually moved out of the way. “This one does learn, I see,” the earth pony remarked, readying himself for another stance. “You’ll get old drilling these, but you’ll thank me for it.”

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Every week Nikóleva went to those lessons, and every time she returned home she knew a little more about the art of sword fighting. Daily in her leisure time she’d practice her stances and stations, repeating the swings and slashes and thrusts until they passed into memory and then into instinct. Her progress was well noted and admired by Bretteur, and she grew more and more confident in herself. Nikóleva certainly couldn’t defeat him in a duel quite yet, though. Maybe someday.

When spring came, and the snow began to melt and birds returned from their migrations, and the calm sweet breezes once again blew through the quaint meadows in the vale beneath Canterlot, the tall white mare rested lazily by the banks of the river, delighting in the beauty of her new home. Nothing, nothing at all could despoil her joy.

Or so she had thought.

The Prince decided that in late March she would begin her formal schooling. There were objections to this, usually along the lines of, “Why must I while away the fair hours of the day inside a castle, on pretty springs days like this no less?” The Prince would always show his “authoritative face” and glare, replying with cool level-headedness, “This is an opportunity many dream of, and few will ever have.” And Nikóleva begrudgingly accepted this.

The chosen venue of class was, naturally enough, Delbedasir’s library. The ancient alicorn crept into the room, finding his new student admiring the illustrations in all the books messily opened on the tables. He cleared his throat to get the mare’s attention, who hastily closed the books as though she’d stumbled upon some arcane secret. Delbedasir narrow his eyes and glanced at a desk placed before a large slate hanging from the wall. Nikóleva took one look at the seat and scowled, knowing full well it was meant for a pony half her size.

The Librarian chuckled and turned to the board, taking a bit of chalk in his red aura. After a few minutes, the alicorn scrawled out the Equestrian alphabet on the chalkboard.

“Now, the most basic unit of Equestrian writing is of course the ‘letter’,” he began, “Each letter represents a distinct sound in the language, and we can string together the various sounds to create ‘words’. Writing is our primary means of recording and sharing information when personal interactions are either impossible or impractical.”

The Librarian then went over each glyph individually, explaining the sound it represented. He encouraged the white alicorn to duplicate the letter on her own slate, trying her best in the absence of magic. Unfortunately, Nikóleva had neglected to make several letters distinct enough from one another. This lack of attention earned a startling swat on her desk from the Librarian’s measuring stick.

“No no no! You want to be understood. I do not tolerate ambiguities in my students’ writing!” he chastised, thoroughly disappointed, “Again!”

Nikóleva’s protests and pleas for clemency were simply ignored, and the Librarian’s stern commands were all but to be obeyed. She must have rewritten each letter a dozen or so times before the old alicorn gave his tacit nod of approval. But even when satisfied, or as satisfied as a cranky stallion pushing three-hundred could be, Delbedasir continued in his unrelenting drills of academia; a draconian curriculum from which Nikóleva had no reprieve.

As the day progressed, Nikóleva was taught the different sounds each glyph stood for, and soon enough they were stringed into words. Delbedasir told the mare to write her own name, her full name, and she obliged. When that final letter had been etched onto the slate, Nikóleva quietly giggled like a small filly, proud she had completed a task so basic as writing her own name.

Her giddy expression was noticed well by the Librarian, and the mare couldn’t help but feel a slight of warmness when he gave a smirk. Excited and feeling like she’d gotten the hang of this writing business, Nikóleva eagerly awaited whatever exercises her teacher threw at her. He followed through, and she did her best, needing to be corrected less and less the more she practiced. Nikóleva’s writing became more personalized as the lessons went on, evolving into an elegant style the Librarian had first demonstrated.

And somewhere during all these sessions cooped up in a giant library while the Spring whiled away, Nikóleva rediscovered something that had been damaged ever since that fateful meeting with a minotaur; her confidence. Every question she answered correctly, every tool or weapon she’d sell in her shop, every blow she managed to deflect from her swordmaster; they all restored her feelings of self-worth.

Nikóleva could feel herself growing wiser, quicker, stronger. More comfortable in speech, in movement, in work. As she became better at reading, she began asking Delbedasir to borrow some books from the library. He was all too excited to go on and on about the multitude of texts within the room, and Nikóleva often had to come up with an excuse to break off from the old alicorn.

But she’d be eternally grateful to the stallion for introducing her to a whole other world contained in dusty and yellow pages written ages before anypony alive could have met the authors. Whatever the Librarian didn’t have time or care to teach in class Nikóleva could find in some book resting on one of the hundreds of shelves. Ancient battle accounts, recipes for new and exotic dishes, and even a manual for bladesmiths; it was all in there in some form or another.

Standing beside her forge, unoccupied with any other task, Nikóleva would open a book and explore what secrets it held. In addition, her talent with money improved drastically, ensuring nopony ever cheated her in transactions. Gold never became an issue again, and she even grew bold enough to invest her burdensome horde in some projects around Canterlot, in exchange for a cut of the profits, of course.

Nothing could stop the white mare now. Tall, confident, and ready, she took on any challenge that was presented to her. Demanding customers, common thieves, difficult quizzes; she faced these trials and more, remembering who she was and her heritage. She was the daughter of a stallion who’d do no less than his very best; oh if only he could see his little girl now.

It became hard to imagine when she first started her schooling how she whined about the frequency of lessons.

“Why must I come here every day? Everypony needs a break,” she had complained, like a spoiled little filly.

“You’ve been bidden to receive years’ worth of education in a short amount of time. We simply cannot afford any protracted breaks,” the Librarian responded, staring down an aloof alicorn that only wanted to return to her shop. “Now get back to your seat, Nikóleva! You’ve actually done well in your studies, and I cannot in good conscious let you return to the world a fool!” and this, strange as might have sounded to others, was the Librarian’s odd way of giving a complement. Nikóleva couldn’t help but smirk at that behind his back.

He had kept his gruff look as he drew up the next lesson, “If you truly are the blood of the Kings of old, then you should have no problem continuing at this pace. In fact, I daresay you could not do otherwise.” And this struck a long-forgotten and dear chord with her. Suddenly she was transported back to the day her father brought her to the ruins of the Alicorn city and gave her his sword. He saw great promise and ability in his daughter, and now Delbedasir saw that very same potential.

Immediately her attitude changed, and things came to look better than they had in a very long time. From then on, every challenge was an opportunity to prove herself and her will. Why should she let some little setback bring her down?

The Librarian lectured her on matters of theology, something she’d ruminated on very seldom. And during his teachings he listed a series of virtues and values, chief among them six that formed the foundation of friendship. Nikóleva thought about the mare she had been, wandering the wild lands of the Earth, and what sort of character she’d possessed. Arrogant at times, maybe reckless and vainglorious, that mare almost got herself killed.

But Nikóleva would learn from these mistakes, and learn from the good deeds she’d done. The smiling faces and shows of gratitude from ponies she had aided did nothing but warm her heart; was this merely selfish ego-boosting, or the true and pure touch of virtue? Those books she read caused her to raise questions like this.

The pendant that hung from her neck stood for something, a concept she only now began to understand. Virtue, love, courage, faith…did these all drive her actions, or were they the simple realizations of personal wants for affection and praise? Nikóleva did not know, but she decided for herself who she’d grow into should be virtuous and toiling to realize the ideal Delbedasir and those books talked about. Nopony could truly become this perfect individual, but she settled easily with the thought that Lórian above would know her heart.

Thus did Nikóleva set about for herself a new path, a new way of life. But the library was only where she learned about ideas and concepts. The Prince’s throne room, however, was where the true test would be. For intermixed with her lessons and time spent at her shop, Nikóleva was meant to stand as a member of the Prince’s retinue.

But Delbedasir had taught her to find a lesson everywhere, and things could definitely be learned amongst the strange and wonderful characters that found themselves within the Canterlot Throne Room.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Dignitaries, envoys, courtiers, officials, nobles…anypony of any political significance flocked every day into the Throne Room of Canterlot Castle. Armed with pleas for help from their lords, treaties from the various princes of Equestria, or grievances throughout the realm, these ponies certainly kept his Princeship busy. Surrounded by all these nuisances, the Prince still managed to hold himself as a calm, collected, and dignant sovereign, never betraying whatever internal feelings of anger or annoyance he held.

As things stood on this particular day, during the pleasant months of spring, several diplomats sent from the free merchant republics debated amongst themselves and the Prince. Each one wished to secure exclusive rights to the lucrative riverine trade route that fed Canterlot with exotic spices and other goods, while in turn providing those cities with much-needed grain. Manehattan’s Dogaressa had sought for a long time to establish a monopoly over this route, while her greatest rival the First Lord of Trotterdam wished to undermine Manehattan’s every move.

The ruthless politics of these city-states carried with them extremely high stakes, and when the personal fortunes of the merchant lords intertwined with statecraft, wars to maintain this wealth were all too common. Each city or city league held considerable power, their economic might far surpassing whatever strength they could draw from the land, as the feudatories of the Old Kingdom had for the last thousand years. The Prince knew granting rights to one city would effectively make Canterlot dependent on it, so he wisely dismissed the matter entirely. Each emissary contested the motion hotly, to whom all the Prince replied cleverly. No single city could possibly make up the lost revenue booting out the others would cause, and he preferred to maintain his policy of free trade.

“So I decree, by the authority vested in me as Prince of Canterlot, for equal and fair customs all traders, be they members of the republics or otherwise, may sell their wares in this realm,” he proclaimed, pounding his scepter on the base of the throne. The echo compelled the chamber to fall silent, and he motioned to an official.

The official drafted several formal responses to the ponies who had sent these diplomats, each refusing their offers of gold and gifts in exchange for monopolies. The diplomats took the scrolls and all walked out in a huff, glaring at one another. Afforded a moment to breathe, the Prince sulked into his throne.

Off to his right was a tall alicorn, fur as white as snow and a mane colored a lovely shade of pink. The mare was wearing a fine sky blue courtier’s vest, a small iron broach pinned to her chest. Much to the Prince’s frustration, she was leaning against the tall throne, faintly snoring and her eyes closed. Several of the other courtiers were giggling to themselves, amused by such an uncouth pony.

Raising his scepter, the irritated noble lightly bopped the mare on the head. “You fell asleep?! What’s the matter with you?” he chastised, his voice quiet and soft.

“Ouch!” Nikóleva cried, rubbing her head with a hoof before checking for blood, “Was that necessary?”

“As a matter of fact, it was,” the Prince replied, his countenance returning to its former nobility, “Of all the rude things you could possibly do, falling asleep is one of rudest. You’re lucky those dignitaries were too focused on their own affairs to notice you.”

Nikóleva first tried to argue her case, but then drooped her ears when she saw the truth in her liege’s words. “…Forgive me, my Lord. But I must confess all this talk about trade and politics, and indeed all these matters of state…they don’t really capture my attention. I’ve been standing here listening to ponies gripe for hours—if I may be so bold.”

The Prince sighed and remained silent for a moment before replying. “You may,” he said flatly before gaining a slight smirk, “It seems palace life isn’t all getting pampered and waited on. There’s more to the job than sentencing and wars. This is the business side of ruling; what a leader is supposed to do. You’re here to learn what it means to sit on this throne, so that you may take your rightful place as Queen.”

Queen. That word had been uttered to Nikóleva several times, and each time it made her stomach knot up. The Prince was fixated on the idea that the great savior of Equestria had descended upon Canterlot to deliver the Kingdom from its ceaseless age of darkness and confusion. But the alicorn herself didn’t think at all she could fill that role, regardless of her purported heritage.

“My Lord, if I may be frank, it has been a great honor standing beside you in your time of court, but I’m not so sure I belong here…,” the mare confided, trying to avoid eye contact.

With a face that showed neither disappointment nor anger, the Prince turned toward the rest of the court and stood up from his throne. “I shall need time away from all Princely affairs. Tell everypony awaiting an audience…they’ll have to wait a bit longer,” he declared before descending down the throne’s steps, the white alicorn following suit. The courtiers did as they were bid, and the peasant who was next to speak with his Princeship could do little more than simply wait.

The Prince of Canterlot brought the mare to one of the breathtaking balconies around the castle, this one overlooking the valley and pristine waterfalls. Staring out over the verdant hills, he took a deep breath before speaking again.

“Then who shall be our sovereign?” the Prince asked, his voice slow and deliberate.

“My Lord…,” Nikóleva weakly intoned, uncertain if he really desired an answer or not.

“Do you understand why my family and I live within this castle?”

“Um…because it’s safe and luxurious?”

The Prince chuckled, “Well…yes. But that’s not all of it. It’s a symbol of our strength and wealth; it makes ponies feel a sense of security that their rulers are so very well protected,” he teased before shaking his head, “Or that’s just what we nobles tell ourselves so that we feel better about living in grand palaces while many…waste away in the streets…

“Things like my crown and jewels, and the fine silks I wear, and the grand banquets I throw, and the tapestries that hang from the ceiling…all these contribute a sense that the realm is prospering. When ponies see their leader, they like to think that when I’m wealthy and grand, that they too shall be. Sounds rather jaded, doesn’t it? Like I’m living in my towers insulated from the suffering of my people.

“But in truth the matter runs a bit deeper than that. A leader, a true leader, serves as something more than a simple liege you pay taxes and homage to. We are the symbols of our states, our realms…and ponies want to see them calm and strong. They do not wish to feel like their leaders are anxious about something…like it’s all about to fall apart. If the country is strong and peaceful, and the arbiter of justice honest and good, the enterprise of ponies is allowed to blossom and grow. If the leader is craven or unstable, ponies will begin to fear for their families and homes—not a good environment for peace and prosperity.”

Nikóleva looked at the Prince’s face, seeing nothing but a sincere stallion aching over the lives of thousands. “I love my people…I truly do,” he confessed, looking on at several ships traveling up the river, “And all my life I was raised to be a kind, generous, temperate, yet firm Prince. My father used to tell me ‘In all other realms let there be chaos and sin, but here there will be law and order.’ And those words have been the guiding light for me during my tenure. A constant vigilance over corruption and invasion wears a stallion’s strength; mine is not a position for the faint of heart.

“But my Lord, you have ministers and officials to do some of the work for you.”

The Prince grinned widely, as though Nikóleva had discovered a hidden secret, “Exactly. I can delegate to capable ponies, and in turn each task will be done better and quicker. Trust is a large part of leadership…at least for me. But even so, I am still the symbol of Canterlot, the symbol of constancy and mediation. So long as I remain, and so long as I rule as a virtuous stallion, ponies have no reason to fear or worry. When I am gone, and whosoever my successor is takes my place, there will inevitably be a period of distrust or slight panic. But my endeavor is to provide my successor with the necessary knowledge to quell doubt and restore a semblance of stability,” the Prince then turned his head to Nikóleva, “Do you understand?”

The alicorn nodded, “Of course, my Lord. But…how does this all concern me? I understand I’m the so-called ‘heir’, but…well I’m not the right pony…”

The Prince placed a hoof on her shoulder, “It is a complicated matter; bloodlines matter quite a bit in Equestria, and you are the only pony known to carry the heritage of the Last King.”

“But…I wasn’t born a noble or to great wealth. My father was little more than a vagabond who kept a homestead far from any musings of lords or kings. Surely there must be somepony amongst the princes of Equestria that is more deserving of the title—You!”

“Hehehe, I’m afraid not. Though centuries have passed, the prestige of the Alicorn line has not diminished, and though there certainly are better-qualified individuals for the Crown, this matter also has more depth. Yládiril, an alicorn noble, was elected by the Princes to replace his distant relative Vasílion after his slaying. Yládiril was a strong warrior and a just ruler, but unfortunately his blood wasn’t considered of the correct line. Driven by earnest devotion to the main line of Solárindil, or by cynical opportunism, the Princes of the realm broke away from the already shrunken Kingdom, until the country all but fell apart under the weight of invasion and discord.

“Perhaps there is somepony out there who deserves to be King or Queen, but there is the all-too-important factor of the Shénydoral(bloodline), and you have it. Ministers can be appointed to govern the vast kingdom, and generals to wage wars—as they have been trained to, but a Queen is more than a simple administrator. With a Queen, Equestria has somepony to march behind or see as a symbol of their country. The dynasty that stood for two millennia was struck down, and the people lost heart. Yládiril could do little to salvage their hope.”

Lost in thought, Nikóleva slowly stepped to the edge of the balcony, absorbing all the words the Prince had just told her, “I’ve watched you, my Lord…and I must admit I see little of myself in the way you govern; I may have been born to rule, but I was not meant for it.”

“Doubt besets you, as only it should. I’m not going to lie to you, Nikóleva: you have many flaws. You are not perfect, nor are you the Queen my people deserve,” the mare looked up, incredibly confused, “But, I see in you the qualities that would forge a mighty sovereign indeed. There is an inner fire with which you could rally all of Equestria and lead us to a greater future. I have seen many such ponies, all who have traveled down paths of vice and ruthless ambition. But you understand the value of power, and the price of defeat.

“These petty lords all too often grow up without knowing what a life is worth…many see their people simply as…pawns to manipulate and satisfy their own lusts for power. Yet with you, there is a certain purity. You’re not angelic, in fact you can be stubborn, boorish, hot-blooded, and clumsy; especially when you’re drunk.” Nikóleva blushed, unsure whether to be embarrassed or slightly flattered, “But underneath it all beats a good heart; you are a good pony, regardless of whatever mistakes you have made, which in over five decades I imagine is a lot.”

Nikóleva then felt a mixed sense of sadness, joy, and anxiety. She gave a nervous smile before bowing, “I wish to be in some capacity worthy of such an honor.”

But the Prince gently placed his hoof under the alicorn’s chin and raised her long neck, “You are not a Queen yet, but I will do everything in my power as Canterlot’s Prince to ensure you possess all the qualities a ruler must, and endow you with a sense of love for people and country and of adherence to the pillars of good governance. This I swear, with Lórian as my witness, so that when the time comes,”

He himself bowed before the white heir, summoning a violet magical aura. The Prince then lifted his crown of his own head and placed it upon the pink mane of Nikóleva. He then gave her his scepter, cementing the image of a fair ruler, adorned with the regalia fit for the Equestrian sovereign.

“When the crown is placed upon your head and you say your vows of Regal Duty in view of God and Ponies, you will be worthy to be named, and I honored to call you, ‘Our Queen’.”

The Queen-to-be blinked a few times in awe, stunned by the faux ceremony the Prince had just conducted. Even though it was fake and simply served to prove a point, there was no doubt the stallion was treating it as though it were real. The alicorn took off the crown and sighed, having lived out her fantasy but ultimately returning to reality. “I’ve never seen anypony be so loyal to another they've only just meant, my Lord—and a tradespony no less,” Nikóleva giggled, returning the crown and scepter.

“Maybe, but you’re not a total stranger. I however shall continue to be so long as you refer to me by my title. My name is Petrafyrm,” the Prince blushed, “It’s a silly name, an archaic way to say ‘rock steady’. Close associates like to call me Peter, as I’m sure you’ve heard around town and the castle. I prefer you call me this whilst we are not in court.” The Prince, or “Peter”, gave a nod and switched back to his normal stoic visage, “Now, might we return to the Throne Room?”

Nikóleva bowed before her liege, and in a playfully foalish defiance, acquiesced, “As you wish, my Lord.”

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

“’In the Everfree…you…will find a mul…mul…multitude of strange phen…’,” Nikóleva looked up from the page, thoroughly annoyed with the difficulty of the passage Delbedasir had chosen. “What language is this?” she exclaimed pointing her hoof at the script in question, “It’s spelled nothing like how its pronounced!”

The gruff stallion shook his head and muttered something under his breath. “It is spelled that way because when this account on the Everfree Forest was drafted, Equestrian was pronounced that way. A thousand or so years will change a language, even if pains are taken to preserve it. Go on; if you can read this, you can read anything; then you’ll finally be of use to the Prince,” he said sardonically.

“Nikóleva rolled her eyes and sighed, returning back to the paper, “’…pheno…mena that are largely absent…from…the civilized regions of Equestria,’” the mare then paused, a thought popping up in her head. “If this is Equestrian from a thousand years ago, does that mean…our Alicorn language sounded differently from…well whenever we were ‘strong’ or ‘plenty’, as the Prince likes to say?”

Meeting the mare’s gaze with sarcastic eyes, Delbedasir clicked his tongue, “Not quite. I’ve spent the better part of my life down here in Canterlot, but I did grow up far to the north, as of course you did and as most alicorns do. How is it up there by the way? I haven’t seen it…in ages.”

Nikóleva smiled, remembering her old home. Even now, so long estranged from it, she recalled all the wonderful beauties of nature in what Equestrians referred to as the “last unspoiled expanse of land east of the High Mountains”. “Still cold, wet, and wild,” she said, laughing.

And then the Librarian actually cracked a smile, however fleeting it was. “But it was our home. There formed the Alicorn territory, where our kind was meant to grow and hopefully recover. As I’m sure you know, that wasn’t quite the case. There were many dialects of the Alicorn language, even among the immigrants here. King Solárindil’s personal tongue formed the basis for a new version, consolidated in the Alicorn March, resembling but remaining distinct from the language that was spoken at the Royal Alicorn Court.

“It quickly became important for our kind that we not lose our heritage, a language being one of the most visible aspects of it. What resulted was a tongue that persisted in prayer and select conversation and managed to change very little. With the dispersal of the Triple-Kin throughout the land, our speech should have changed, but miraculously it closely resembles the original dialect of the first Alicorns that settled here.”

Nikóleva stared at the page, wondering about those first pioneers, optimistic and hardy, looking for a place to call “home”. Little hints had been dropped in conversation during her time spent at the castle, but the so-called “Heir of Solárindil” knew very little about the race she supposedly was meant to rule.

“What drove them here? The Alicorns, I mean. What became of their original homeland?”

Again the old beige alicorn shook his head, “Oh bless your little heart, you don’t know the story…”

“Story? You told me it was rather complex, and that I could read it once I knew how. I wish to take a break from studies and read about my people.”

“I can’t refuse ‘Her Majesty’,” he teased before placing a hoof under his chin, “Now…where is that book?”

Spreading his long feathery wings, the stallion soared up to the top shelves. Straining his fading memory, Delbedasir soon found the tome he was looking for. Summoning his red aura, he pulled a thick dark brown book out from its place on the shelf. Heaving, he sent the dust that had collected over the years on its cover into the air. “I should really have a maid come in here and clean up a bit…,” he murmured.

Floating down, he set the great codex on Nikóleva’s desk. Along its edges was gold trim, still as shiny and brilliant as the day it was set on the cover. Beautifully painted in silver ink was a stylized figure in the shape of an alicorn, a small jewel forming its eye. In the same ink delicate calligraphy surrounded the image, making intricate abstract designs.

The unbelievable beauty of the tome touched Nikóleva, and she gently placed her hoof on the cover, admiring the work as nothing short of divinely-inspired. And there, glittering underneath the artwork, was the book’s title written in the graceful script of the ancient Alicorn race.

“Ydaruribó nor-Verë Solárindil(The Complete Works of King Solárindil),” she said aloud, letting the title resonate for a few seconds.

“His Majesty was quite the author. In his leisure he enjoyed writing poetry and short tales—you can actually read about it in his memoirs; also in here. But I think what will most interest you is the first section: his account of the Alicorns and their downfall. It is our most complete and reliable primary source on the matter.”

Nikóleva lifted the cover and flipped to the first page. On it was nothing but a small invocation to Lórian, surrounded by an outline of inked vines and flowers. Above the text was a simple reproduction of the same symbol both alicorns wore around their necks. “Amazing that after thousands of years this tome still looks as wonderful as it did the day it was written!” the mare shouted with a filly-like giddiness.

“I’d really hate to ruin your wonderment, but that book looks as good as it does because it’s only about two-hundred years old. A preservation spell works like a charm, but will only stave of age for so long. The original disintegrated long ago, but I’ve made a great effort to transcribe everything exactly as it was before.

The false miracle of the codex’s longevity was a minor disappointment, but Nikóleva could never stop admiring the skill and passion that went into the designs. “I never took you for an artist,” she smirked, turning to the next page.

Delbedasir blushed, clearing his throat, “I take pride in my work,” he then turned back to his gruff and irascible self, “Now read it. I’ve taught you the Alicorn script well enough; you should have little trouble, only a few archaic or uncommon words here and there. Everything you’d want to know about our people is contained in that book.

The Librarian then went off to another part of the room, needing to catch up on all the work the castle staff deferred to him. “If you need anything, ehhhh…don’t bother me,” he flatly said.

Nikóleva just chuckled and placed the tip of her hoof on the first word, more ready than ever to finally have this great story within her reach. Written in bold black ink, the Alicorn calligraphy was perfect and clear, well-suited for a mare who had limited practice reading the language. Starting with a giant and pretentious glyph, Nikóleva began her discovery of an ancient ancestor and his life so long ago:

Nówin eytariléd céba , Alícëai misha coltapiln lé-adana nor-Dulicor. Meviln cadimion nambilnoc rhagdulyréda lé-mór subë.

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 6. The Alicorns' Lament

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 6. The Alicorns' Lament

As I write this, the race of the Alicorns lives at present within the borders of Equestria. It is prudent to remember we hailed from someplace else. I am likely the sole remaining individual of even my kind to be able to remember when we first washed upon the shores of the kingdom of our noble kin. As far to my knowledge, all those original pioneers among us have since passed away, leaving their children to carry on the heritage of our people, a race once bathed in a glory that I fear shall never touch even a far more deserving civilization.

The splendor of all ponykind, the greatest power and prestige the equines of the world would ever attain, is but a memory. Lost amongst the tempestuous sea unnumbered leagues beyond the shore, our ancient home stands as a model of hubris, and a reminder of the folly of unchecked passions. Future generations, both of my kind and not, will likely see our Fall as a crime against ambition and vision, an unjust punishment by a jealous and vengeful God. But in truth the patience of the Greatest Glory above ran for ages undiminished, finally pushed to the breaking point by an impish and arrogant kingdom, as children goad their parents until they brandish the switch.

As I have grown older, I have seen great Equestria grow and prosper. Whether or not this new realm can match or even surpass the strength of the old Alicorn dominion is a question I cannot answer, but I hope you who reads this will hopefully not repeat the mistakes my race once made habit. I have grown to love my new kingdom and its people very dearly, and to see two homes punished would be too much for my heart to bear.

Thus, if it pleases you, oh Reader, I shall now recount the history of my people, the Alicorns, and their time of golden strength and virtue, the silver age that corrupted their hearts, and their eventual descent into chaos and madness. Please, if you delight in the goodness of the Earth, heed well my admonitions, and rightly guide your own people away from the dark path mine treaded upon until they were destroyed.

By the best of my conscience, I promise that to my knowledge and heart all that I shall now write about is the honest truth. If anything I write turns out to be falsehood, then I offer my sincerest apologies. Now with courage, honesty, and a bit of sadness, I shall begin.

According to what I recall from my days of schooling and whatever histories we managed to bring with us, the race of the Alicorns finds its origins millennia ago, when all the world was engulfed in a war waged by a tyrant devoid of virtue and any sense of goodness. Dyan, a fiend from the primordial age, long poisoned the minds of all beings that dwelt on the Earth, driving them to cruelty, greed, deceit, sorrow, betrayal, and worst of all faithlessness and despair.

A century of warfare engulfed the world, ruining whole continents and shattering societies of all kinds. From atop a citadel the accursed Dyan pulled the strings and took sick pleasure in the chaos he spread far and wide. Bonds of fellowship and even those as sacred and unyielding as between a parent and child were rent. A smoldering blackness looked poised to swallow the whole world, and send it into an endless age of discord.

But through it all, a group of ponies remained true and steadfast. Unicorns, Pegasi, and Earth Ponies fought valiantly to resist the encroaching shadow. Their lifespans lengthened by pure willpower and their strength divinely inspired, the ponies matched Dyan blow for blow, frustrating his designs for swift victory. Yet even for all their bravery and vigor, the ponies could only fight Dyan to a standstill.

Raging for a hundred years, the war was finally decided when six magical talismans were picked from a tree planted by the very servants of Lórian itself. Henceforth called the Elements of Harmony, these fruits were each given to the six leaders of the righteous ponies. Reenergized, the ponies pushed ever faster through the armies of Dyan before reaching his very doorstep. Leading one final assault against his fortress, the six bearers of the Elements confronted the Fallen One in personal combat.

For three days the six ponies countered Dyan’s every move, until they finally disarmed him and open his defenses. Summoning the six virtues of the Elements, they stunned Dyan and left him vulnerable to a fatal thrust from the sword of the six’s leader. Weakened and without chance of victory, Dyan was then attacked by the pure power of the Elements, the rawest expression of God’s might as could ever be allowed on Earth.

His body no more, Dyan’s soul was then raptured deep into the bowels of the world, where it was meant to remain for all eternity. Robbed of his greatest power, and permanently detached from his angelic heritage, Dyan would no longer be able to impress his will in the capacity he could during the war. Unfortunately, such a deed required an immense amount of magic, and the Elements consequently were left with but a fraction of their original power.

Still endowed with insurmountable strength, the talismans were kept by their bearers, who then began to bring their kin back home to rebuild their lives. But messengers from above appeared before the First Six, offering them and their people a new place that they could call home. The messengers then rose up a new island, far in the middle of the sea, and Lórian blessed the land with such boundless gifts that the isle’s new inhabitants would never again know want.

Those of the ponies that chose to emigrate were then granted a new body, one with all the strengths of the three races. Both horned and winged, with a mighty endurance and strength and a lifespan thrice that of the others, this new breed of pony came to be called the Alícëai, and the island they were to inhabit Alícor. From the first landings, the six bearers each brought their tribes to settle a different part of the island. In time, wishing to be strong and united, the six tribes convened before the central peak, Cyrdanemensil, and held a congress to name a leader over them.

They chose the pony who had been their leader during the War. History does not record what his name was before or what race he had been, but they called the Alicorn Dyavilir, for he had been the one to deal Dyan the final strike. Elected by all his kin to be their ruler, he then and forever became known as Dyavilir of His Own House, First King of the Alicorns, Sovereign of Alícor, Warden of the Sun and Moon, and Lord of the Tribe and Bearer of the Element of Magic.

And from then on he set his element within his crown, as did the other Lords of the tribes. The Elements would for ages remain simple heirlooms and visual expressions of power. At first, the Elements would only allow themselves to be utilized by members of their respective tribe. Yet as time went on, the Royal Line of Dyavilir intermarried with the blood of each tribe, until eventually Kings found themselves with the ability to summon their great power. It should have remained otherwise.

Dyavilir was a model King, and reigned with the same vigor, courage, and virtue he possessed during the fight with Dyan. He built his capital halfway between Mt. Cyrdanemensil and the coast, naming it Ylánalícë. A calm ruler, he permitted the tribes to decide most matters by themselves, content with leading his own tribe for the most part. Dyavilir lived to be three-hundred years old after ruling for one-hundred and fifty; when he died the Lords elected his son Nicóldabëthe new King. Nicóldabë’s brother, Aralimán, was then appointed the Royal Vicar and a Prince of Alícor.

Aravlimán’s line would eventually lead to my own millennia later. Unfortunately, whatever honors my family held were eventually retracted, leaving us with but a claim to the bloodline of the First King.

King Nicóldabë was already fairly aged by the time he assumed the throne, and as a result did rather little. He codified our laws and formally organized the tribal lands into six regions for ease of governance. He also laid the foundations for another royal city south of Ylánalícë, Lainashynóna, which would serve as his winter capital. Nicóltabo reigned for fifty years before dying aged two-hundred and sixty-three. His daughter Tadémanwa was then elected Queen by the Lords.

For the first three millennia of our history, we were a just and righteous people. Rightly-guided judges and sheriffs kept our cities and towns peaceful and safe. Our land was so fertile and our crops grew so quickly that the only Alicorns who’d starve were the ones who could not be bothered to sow or harvest. Forests could be felled for their timbers, only for the trees to grow back to full height in a season. Miners had only to scratch the surface of hills or mountains to find veins of gold and iron reaching deep into the Earth.

Our cities grew, and our talent with arts and crafts with them. We forged weapons and tools with magic steel, so fine in their make they could never dull nor rust. Ever bigger did we build our furnaces and mills, churning out new product at rates never before dreamed of. As the rest of the world writhed and slowly slipped from the ravages of the War and the barbarism that followed, the Alicorns experienced nothing but prosperity.

Soon, however, what Alícor made became too much, and we built massive ships with dozens of sails to explore new lands and peoples to find markets to absorb our excesses. Ersabeshnion the Navigator, a renowned mariner, led the first expedition east. There he found young tribes and cities emerging back into the bright light of civilized ways. During his dozens of voyages, Ersabeshnion inspired awe and wonder within these indigenous peoples, his great fleet of ships like wooden mountains crafted by none other than gods.

In fact, many of these cultures began to create shrines to the Alicorns and incorporate tales of the tall sea-gods into their local traditions. We smiled and extended a hoof of friendship, in hopes that they’d learn better in the future.

The throngs of races both wondrous and strange gave us exotic items that could not be found in Alícor. In exchange we traded our weapons and tools, our jewelry and fine silks, and anything else Alicorns made that others could not. Ersabeshnion died a hero, wealthy beyond his wildest dreams and having lived to gaze out over the great harbor of Lainashynóna as innumerable vessels pulled in and out.

From these voyages and trades, we discovered what power and wealth the Alicorns could draw from the sea and the lands far past the horizon. But in this brand new age of discovery and promise, the seeds of corruption had already been sown.

Seeing our ships, larger than any that other cultures were able to build, and the quality of Alicorns arms, one tribe of ponies came to us bearing enough precious gifts to fill a palace, begging us for protection from another tribe of raiders. Accepting the tribute, we agreed to lord over these ponies, effectively creating the first of the Alicorn colonies.

It began earnestly enough; some explorers wishing to remain in the new world and build settlements. Trade posts appeared along well-traveled sea lanes, eventually growing to become great cities in their own right. More and more native peoples came asking to join us in hopes of learning the great secrets to our wealth and glory.

And here a new philosophy started to emerge. The Alicorn nobles develop this idea of Dominion over the entire World, believing it to be our God-given right and destiny. It became our duty to disseminate throughout the Earth, spreading our ideals and way of life. The other races of the world, even our own equine kin, were but children that needed to be taught how to live. And indeed though a great many Alicorns increasingly became born in the colonies, it was illegal to intermarry with the locals. The Blood of Alícor was considered the purest and most sacred, and no greater taboo could be committed than to dilute it with the lesser kind.

My how times have changed.

But our goal was honest enough, and we pursued our intent to share with the world the skills of magic and industry we’d been cultivating for millennia. Perhaps the natives were indeed children in our eyes, but we never allowed them to be our equals. Nevertheless, our efforts eventually came to a head over a thousand years before I was born when our sailors decided to travel west.

There they found our old home; the country whence our ancient ancestors hailed. But my heart pronounces sorrow when I confess harmony was all but unknown where once was its cradle. Calendion, son of King Rindildalérë, landed on the distant shore of Equestria, finding not a single realm, but three distinct and loosely organized tribes on the very verge of warring. So great was their discord that icy wendigo spirits had descended from the north.

The clear-sighted among them abated the spirits and rescued a nascent people from total oblivion. Driven by pity and a desire to see his estranged kin prosper, Calendion presented himself before the three leaders of the Unicorns, Pegasi, and Earth Ponies, and offered gifts from Blessed Alícor. He showed them the six virtues of harmony and the value of friendship. Joyful in their newfound bonds of kinship, the ponies agreed to unite into a kingdom of their own, ruled by the Unicorn King. Each race found a new role in this land; the unicorns to govern, the pegasi to defend, and the earth ponies to work.

Calendion called this new Kingdom Tulicor, but the ponies preferred the name Equestria. Content that this young state was ready to stand on its own, Calendion and his crew returned home with Equestrian tribute as cargo.

When Calendion was elected by the Lords as the new King, he forbade any alicorn from traveling to Equestria without their own permission. He had grown fond of the land during his stay there, and rumors even surfaced that he’d had a native lover. This and his habit of sending frequent gifts and aid to the young kingdom did not endear him to the Alicorn elite. They instead wished for him to send an expedition and subjugate Equestria. Alícor for them was a ruler, not a peer.

Threatened with rebellion, King Calendion reluctantly demanded light tribute from the Equestrian sovereign. Seeing us as nothing short of gods, the Tulicëai happily agreed. They carved statues in our likenesses and envisioned their deities to have our form. Appalled by such blasphemies, Calendion tried hard to convince the Equestrians otherwise. He however made little progress.

And unfortunately, overcome by the burdens of leadership, Calendion fell ill and soon died, barely aged one-hundred and thirty. His younger brother, Esandion, then filled his place.

Esandion, though undoubtedly a villain to our kind, was originally not a cruel stallion. He dearly loved his people and longed to further the might of Alícor. He was a smart and brave pony, and possessed an immense talent for governing. Yet there is good reason he should be considered the first of the Lesser Kings.

Adhering to traditional and ancient Alicorn law, the six Lords were to elect a new King. By chance, all kings had been of the Line of Dyavilir, making that family synonymous with royalty. Calendion was a strong ruler, but his seed was weak; he left behind no heir to the throne. Esandion used tricks wicked and fowl to secure his own election, and soon proclaimed that from then unto the end of time, the Throne was now the property of the House of Dyavilir.

The Lords rose up to reverse this grave injustice against so sacred a tradition, but Esandion crushed them all and abolished the old tribes. He also claimed the five other elements from the Lords as spoils and set the six within his new crown. Ruthless and brutally effective, Esandion won the civil war and cemented his power as the new King, claiming himself to be the very Vicar of Lórian and the absolute arbiter of the Alicorn dominion.

But Esandion’s rise to power is yet another sad reminder that our virtue as a race was already fading away.

By this time, the treasure fleets pouring into our harbors swelled the coffers of every Alicorn on the island. We began to forget our original intentions and soon prized only power and gold. Overcome by wealth, those officials left to the colonies soon employed vicious means to extract every last bit of tribute from locals struggling to even feed themselves.

What populations clamored for justice and turned against their Alicorn rulers were swiftly defeated by royal armies far stronger than whatever forces the poor natives could field. Fortresses of iron were built, hosting garrisons charged with keeping the colonies nothing but compliant. Dotting the landscape, they became a grim reminder of a once-benevolent occupier’s tyranny. Esandion grew obsessed with expanding the empire, toppling whatever nations stood before God’s Chosen.

Perhaps Esandion’s greatest sin was the war he waged against an expansive kingdom of jade. Esandion’s architects and engineers summoned all the ingenuity of the Alicorns and constructed dread machines; unholy fusions of industry and magic. That our talents in crafting began so pure, only to be perverted into fueling engines of war should be a tragedy not lost on most.

With their Alicorn warriors armed with steel weapons firing searing magic, Esandion’s armies marched behind his horrific war machines. When the kingdom of jade would not submit, Esandion ordered that every farm, every town, every bastion of resistance, and every pleasant spot of nature was to be destroyed and leveled. As he said, not a blade of grass would sprout once the wrath of Alícor was dealt. And indeed, the kingdom was so devastated, its people so brutally slaughtered and every respite it once possessed removed from the ruin of the Earth, that nothing would grow in the land for ages. Whatever remained of their people crawled from the smoldering wreckage, daring to hope, and rebuilt the realm many years later. But the jade kingdom would forever be but a shadow of its former glory.

Esandion’s personal monument to his vanity and ruthless ambition was duly noted: a blackened stain across the face of the world.

Few dared to challenge the King’s rule afterwards. Esandion spent the last miserable years of his heinous life finding new innocent and naïve peoples to conquer. He died finally four-hundred and thirteen years old, a lifespan far longer than anything a stallion like him deserved.

The Kings to follow Esandion were little better. Consumed as well with expanding their dominion, the further lesser kings lorded over larger and larger domains, further enriching that Glorious Island. The cities of Alícor grew taller and taller, pillared with ivory and marble. Heroes of war and expansion wrought of steel and stone stood throughout the empire. Unimaginable treasures of every item of value under the sun flowed into the royal treasury, enriching everypony, especially the King. Adorned with jewelry more valuable than what most ponies possessed, our so-called leader flaunted his riches with all discourtesy.

Yet in the colonies, the wonder of the Alicorn realm was not felt, nor was the purported mission of enlightenment their overlords professed. Those peoples, so wide-eyed and optimistic, once asked us to share our strength. Now they cursed us whenever our soldiers weren't present. Denied in joining with the enterprise and governance of the Alicorns over their own lands, the natives grew sullen, too disillusioned to resist the ruining of their homes. The Alicorns took more and more from their colonies without giving anything in return, leaving those regions desolate and sapped of value.

It came to pass that Queen Ferenimusindir ascended the throne. Her reign was ill-different from the aggression and exploitation endemic to the series of lesser kings. Yet her actions earned the special place of being the harshest of all, a title well deserved. In those days, but one race stood with the capability to challenge or even usurp the dominance of the Alicorns; the Greater Dragons. Fearsome and ageless giants, they first existed in the secluded and unexplored reaches of the world, but our encroachment further and further into new continents soon brought them to our attention.

Early wars resulted in nothing but stalemate, Alicorn armies unable to overcome the ancient and terrible dragons. Peaces were interrupted by renewed hostilities, only to have the invaders tossed back into the sea. But when Ferenimusindir came to power, the Alicorn dominion could field a force far more destructive than ever before. Vowing to cast down the greater dragons once and for all, the Queen personally led a fleet of one-thousand of the finest warships and an army equipped with the most brutal weapons the Royal Armory produced.

What followed was little more than genocide. The landscape became littered with the blackened skeletons of these dragons, who had fought so valiantly but ultimately in vain. Ferenimusindir herself met the self-styled King of All Dragons and faced him in a duel. Wearing a suit of unbreakable armor and her war helm adorned with the Elements, she unleashed their power upon the King. The first to use the talismans since the War against Dyan, Fernnusindir grossly abused the divine magic locked within them. Stunned and beaten, the King of All Dragons recoiled and begged for mercy, only to be finished off by the unique blade of Dyavilir the Queen wielded. The largest and oldest dragon the world shall ever see was slain, his race driven to the brink of oblivion.

For her bloody and needless campaign, Ferenimusindir was awarded the epithet The Conqueror. Her prize for the destruction of the Greater Dragon kind was all the riches they’d been hoarding since time began. In her grand Royal Court Ferenimusindir placed the immense bones of the Dragon King, and his giant skull above the very throne of Alícor, both as the Queen’s trophy and her symbol of total dominion over all the world.

Returning from her savage campaign, the Queen soon ruled a realm that touched every corner of the Earth. All rival nations and peoples, no matter how ancient or strong, had been swept aside. Now the undisputed hegemon of the world, Alícor’s arms demonstrated to those who’d dare defy the Chosen People what it meant to stand against the Queen.

During the latter part of her reign, millions of souls lived within the border of the Alicorn empire. A thousand nations spoke a thousand tongues as they all toiled under the weight of Ylánalícë. Giant and expansive cities graced the island while the world we claimed and drew our strength from grew black and decayed. Alicorn fleets patrolled every sea lane and Alicorn armies every road and vale. So sure was our dominion that its only threat would come from inside.

Such was the world I was born into, in the three-thousandth seven-hundredth and twenty-first year since the Birth of the Alicorns. My name is Solárindil Maiërómbatalí Aralimánélda. The old tribes were long gone by the time I was granted life, but the Tribe of Magic should be mine, though like the extinguished Royal Line I have blood from all six. King I am named by my second people, the Tulicëai, though I shall discuss this soon enough.

Ynaundion was my sister, my twin in fact. She was older by but a mere moment, but I assure you she never let me forget it. Our parents were nobles, each one sitting on the Assembly of Alicorns, little more than an advisory council for the King by then. A previous King had revoked my family’s traditional title of Prince, severing forever our link to the Royal House. As such, I was of minor birth amongst the nobility, and was made content with an appropriate vocation.

I grew up listening to the romantic tales of our race’s exploits, the conquests and the mission we still fooled ourselves with: that we were civilizing the world and its people. But, isolated and sheltered by the trappings of complacency upon the Island, I believed this lie for a long time. Without even conceiving of the horrors beyond Alícor’s shores, I whiled away my colthood with many of my friends, who I’m sorry to admit, have long since passed. They took to calling me Aracílnë, on behalf of my fiery red mane and beard. Oh how I miss them.

Whenever we’d scrounge together enough money, we’d always go down to the docks of Lainashynóna and purchase some exotic good from places unknown. We’d listen to the stories sailors brought back with them about fantastical creatures and lands so beautiful it was as if the angels themselves sculpted the landscape. I was so enamored by these tales, and I wanted nothing more than to explore and discover even greater things.

When I turned twenty years old, I received my wish. After graduating from an academy, I was made a junior officer in the Royal Army. I fought in several wars, from the lands of the Zebras to the deserts where giants dwelt to those of the Serpent Ponies, creatures more beautiful than anything I had ever seen, and just as cruel. But everywhere we went was given the same fate: destruction.

Of course we justified these atrocities with the grand deceit of doing these poor and underprivileged nations the honor of becoming our disciples. I do not know whether or not war should be used to achieve this end, but I do know we treated them no better as friends than when they had been foes.

It was during the war against a race known as Griffins when I realized our true colors. Far away, across the ocean from Equestria, I led my troops to the best of my ability, and fought through their armies. There, aloft in the sky our two forces clashed. The Griffins outnumbered us, but naturally the Alicorns had them far outmatched. Whole wings of Griffins were set alight by our terrible weapons, and the sky rained down blood and charred bodies. When the smoke had cleared and the Alicorns stood victorious, I had a feeling of doubt and uncertainty. I saw across this blackened scene thousands writhing in pain; was this truly the virtue of our cause?

The soldier’s heart must be heavy, and we all carried on. But my superior, a general named Linesand, ordered that the Griffin capital be razed and its inhabitants all slain. I begged and pleaded with her, saying that warriors have their deaths on battlefields, but others in their beds. Linesand’s face was somber, and I could tell she did not wish to do it. But she confessed Queen Ferenimusindir, leading her own front miles away, wanted to send a message to the Griffins.

This is usually when those I tell my story to like to say that I dropped my sword and helm and flew away, listening to my good conscience. And each time I disappoint them. The truth is I brandished my weapon, silently weeping within, and followed through with my orders. Alicorn discipline was harsh, and I was too cowardly to defy an unjust command. That city was destroyed, and its inhabitants were subjected to all the injustice a conquering army could commit. Never before had I seen such carnage, especially upon a populace that had already surrendered.

When I finally turned fifty years old, my term of service was up and I declined any further commission that the Crown offered me. Disaffected with war and so-called glorious battle, I decided to utilize my right to a seat upon the Assembly. Burning for justice and hating what my people had become, I sought to directly challenge the monarchy’s power. Years went by as I attended sessions and slowly built an anti-royal coalition, all in secret of course.

Ferenimusindir died not long after my discharge from the army, three-and-a-half centuries of age. Her son Ferelor succeeded, a stallion possessing the Queen’s greed and ambition, yet little of her towering intellect. In truth Ferelor was foolish, and found himself a pawn to several powerful factions within the Royal Court. Deceived into thinking he was the true authority of the empire, Ferelor was tricked time and time again into granting duplicitous alicorns great positions of influence.

My intention was not to leverage the weakness of the King; I simply wished to curtail his powers. An army and fleet second to none, with riches unimaginable, provided a temptation too great for most to ignore. Foreign conquest and oppression were all that grew from the seeds the benevolent greater kings of history passed had sowed ages before. As the years rolled on, more and more joined my faction, eventually enlisting the aid of high-ranking officials and military officers.

So empowered, I felt confident to confront the King in private. I begged him to withdraw forces, lighten tribute, enact edicts of equality; anything to preserve the fragile state of the empire. I told him how our subjects were simply biding their time, how soon enough coups and rebellions would rise up, and with us so distracted our dependents would shake off the Alicorn yoke. Broken and fractured, all members of the Supreme Palace, our government, eventually would proclaim a loyalty to one or more scheming factions. I told him I loved my people far too much to endure seeing them destroy one another.

But Ferelor did not listen. Maiëcéïn, Captain of the Most Harmonious Guard, had his own agenda, and the King’s orders to arrest all potential schemers and traitors fit all too well with it. Overnight hundreds of bureaucrats, officers, attendants, and even civilians were taken into custody and given farcical trials. Dozens were sentenced to death and most others were exiled to the furthest colonies we possessed. I was spared for being deemed not a threat Maiëcéïn; I suspect he eventually wished to coup the King and seize power for himself, leaving the Assembly as a symbol of legitimacy.

Maiëcéïn however never got that chance. One agent of the King, naturally loyal to himself, informed Ferelor of his Captain’s treachery. Maiëcéïn’s punishment was to be tied down with heavy lead weights and tossed into the sea.

This was the breaking point for many in my coalition. They had become impatient and frustrated that I had not taken action against a tyrant. I was therefore dismissed as leader by a vote of no confidence and expelled from the assembly under accusations of working with the King. I did what I could but the new leaders turned everypony against me. I don’t know if I should have taken action before then, but my indecisiveness spared me from the fate of the Assembly. They presented Ferelor with a charter guaranteeing several rights to the Assembly and Alicorn citizens and demanded he sign it; he refused. Not long afterwards they gathered a large force from disloyal army units and generals, and camped a few miles from Ylánalícë. Ferelor became furious when he learned of this betrayal, and finally asserted himself as a true King. It would have been admirable if this King were a just and virtuous stallion.

Once more the Elements were summoned and their power channeled to commit yet another black deed. Their pure magical energy cast itself down upon the rebels and made known the true authority of the Throne. Thousands who stood to defend their sacred rights and bring down the tyrant were burned alive, the heat of a thousand suns coursing through their bones until not but ash remained. This one act reminded that the King alone possessed the Elements and could impose his will however much we wanted. All opposition was ceased, creating a crown never more secure since the time of Esandion. Ferelor might have proved he was in control, but he won no friends, unlike Ferenimusindir.

I was found on my estate and brought before the King to answer for my conspiracy. I thought I would've been executed, but he generated this idea that I had been preventing rebellion for so long as I sat on the Assembly. Dismissed as innocent, Ferelor nevertheless declared that I was not allowed to be active in politics. I was so unsure what to think about my sentence, seeing as all those others had been killed and I was left alive. I returned home demoralized and purposeless, while Ferelor continued to rule arbitrarily.

Initially confined to my estate, I was under constant surveillance by royal agents. Somehow I managed to escape undetected, however. I soon came aboard a ship and spent the next century or so traveling, trying to find ways I could help the poor downtrodden races. The Great Mission was dead, but I was still around to cure the ills of the Earth, however small I may be. My sister sent me letters during this time, but I could not write back. I did visit her on occasion, however. Ferelor’s agents had no idea where I was, and he eventually presumed I was dead. Tales of the benevolent but reclusive Aracílnë spread throughout the Dominion, and I became at peace with nature and the subtle touch of God’s wonders. It is during this time I truly found my faith, and did what I could to follow the six virtues.

But of course nothing I did would have stopped the relentless expansion of the Alicorn territories. Ferelor drove ceaselessly the armies and fleet of his Kingdom, seizing what few nations and peoples remained outside of it. Between the endless purges and civil wars defiant provinces ignited, Ferelor both presided over the grandest state of our people and also a crumbling imperium, its resources strained. The King did not care, so long as his glory and power were felt the world over.

When I was nearing two centuries of age, I heard the most disturbing news: Ferelor in his delusional middle age declared he would conquer the heavens themselves. He had run out of wealthy lands to absorb, and so for him in his madness the most logical next conquest was Lórian’s own abode.

When I returned to the Island, I heard rumors that the King wandered through his halls at night, muttering about the Servants of Lórian, the Crióa. He increasingly came to despise the angels, and believe him and the Alicorns were the fairest of all creations. He wanted nothing more than to battle with the Crióa and extend his reach to heaven, immortalizing himself as the greatest King to have ever lived. What disturbed me most was how many cheered him on. Those poor souls annihilated by the Elements so many years ago were perhaps the largest body of virtuous alicorns left; all others were seduced by promises of even greater riches and glory.

I met my sister, who had returned from her tenure as governor of some far-off colony, and discussed much, namely about the King’s planned invasion. We both feared what divine retribution the Alicorns would deserve. Already preparations were being made. Every smith in Alícor was ordered to craft new weapons and armor for the armies Ferelor was conscripting. Forests were stripped bare for their timbers, and each year they grew back less and less quickly. Iron was extracted from the earth in less and less quantities, the endless mines running dry. It was if the land itself were warning against this great folly.

The resources of the Crown won out, unfortunately. Enough materials were assembled for the King’s Grand Armada to be constructed. The full might of Alicorn industry was mustered, and our giant furnaces were fueled with coal and metal, pouring out vast seas of molten steel. Glistening iron ships lined up in the harbors of the island, able to sail unaided by the winds and currents by means of voracious fires down in their bellies. As numerous as the stars, these ships would transport Ferelor army to the skies above.

In my uncertainty and worrying, a dream came to me. I saw a stone in the water, smaller stones surrounding. On top of each was a spire, the tallest on the center stone. They crumbled to pieces, their vibrant glory and sheen disappearing as soon as they had risen above the tides. All that remained when the final spire collapsed into the sea was a lone statue of an Alicorn, weathered and beaten by age and neglect; the statue was of me. A voice spoke quiet words, saying our time was ending, but mine would be preserved elsewhere.

I woke up in a cold sweat, and rushed to the Palace to tell the King. He granted me an audience, and we spoke for hours. I pleaded for him to call off the armament and invasion. Nothing I said meant anything to him, claiming it was our race’s sacred right to be the brightest in the sky. He claimed he saw visions of stars bowing before him and tides receding at his will. He envisioned new worlds to conquer and a throne equal to Lórian itself. Ferelor told me he’d allow nothing to impede his destiny. I stepped back and saw a stallion lost to his own corruption, robbed of all reason and restraint.

I knew then that if the King would not heed my warnings, I’d have to take control myself. I knew not what fate awaited Alícor, but it’d behoove us all to find sanctuary beyond her shores. Gathering my sister and our closest friends, we sent messengers all across the island to convince Alicorns to follow us to a new home. Most declined, even calling us mistaken to think the invasion would result in anything but greater strength for us. Those that did come saw as well as us the corruption and sin that polluted the island.

The old wooden ships were abandoned, and we commandeered them as escape vessels. Assembling in a remote harbor, we repaired them while our agents searched for more alicorns who saw the impending disaster. We managed to gather about twenty-thousand alicorns and fifty ships. Our fleet was finished by the time Ferelor recalled all armies and ships from the colonies and assembled his forces.

Standing at the head of the largest, most powerful vessel ever made, Ferelor took his Elements and broke a lane of water with their magic. This pathway flowed away from the sphere of the Earth, and hopefully to the Gates of Heaven. On the morrow, Ferelor vowed his fleet would set sail for the ripest prize in all creation.

I had to save those Elements; their power however abused would be needed some day. At night I sneaked into the King’s Flagship and found the Elements. Along the way I spotted Eónadin, the Royal Sword, hanging in Ferelor’s personal armory. As swift as the wind I made it back to our ships as my sister was returning from the Palace bearing a single seed from the Tree the Elements had grown from and the Royal Scepter.

Immediately we set sail southwards, unsure which course to take. We simply wanted to put as much water between us and Alícor as possible. Somepony must have found out that we took those items, because the Royal Armada began pulling out of the harbor as we left. Perhaps Ferelor was eager to reach Heaven and find a new sword and elements, and ordered the invasion to begin. I shall never know the reason, nor shall I ever know what became of their fleet once it left the horizon.

Just before daybreak, dark clouds gathered over the Island as we sailed further and further away. The sea turned violent and rain pelted our decks with a relentless fervor. Atop the main mast of my ship, I could just barely see Alícor, our home. Flashes of lightning assaulted its land and tempests and cyclones scourged its coast with reckless abandon. As hours went by and the scene grew fainter, I swear I saw the lights of burning rain fall down from the sky, setting our vast forests on fire and scorching whatever miserable souls we’d left behind. The agonizing screams of a million Alicorns carried on the wind, and the outlines of our giant spired cities crumbled beneath a retribution unmatched in history.

We watched in tears as the island glowed brighter and brighter, the screams and cries only becoming louder and more heartbreaking. All the wars I had faced paled in comparison to what we experienced. It was too distant to see, but we could feel the suffering. The pent up crimes of a thousand years of sin and oppression against those too weak to resist were answered with cold and stinging justice. Quakes shook our ships as they rent the island apart, old mountains collapsing to rubble. Cyrdanemensil’s lofty peak spouted red-hot ash a thousand miles into the sky, the sun forbidden from shining through these blackest clouds.

Finally, a wave towering higher than any building ever masoned by Alicorns rose above the island and crashed upon a broken and defenseless civilization. The very submerged base of Alícor was destroyed, and after the wave had washed over the tattered remains of mortals’ greatest glory, the depraved realm was swept under the sea. The last land that stood above the ocean was attacked by giant falling stars, shaking the sea even more. I watched it all, the destruction of our home, and I can tell you with a sincere heart that nothing has ever caused me greater pain.

The torrents took hold of our vessels, leaving us with little time to mourn. When we finally wrestled control from the waves, the twenty-five ships my sister Ynaundion commanded had been set on an eastward course. She had given me the seed from the Tree, but the Royal Scepter was hers to take to whatever distant land her fleet landed on. I have not seen Ynaundion since, but every night I pray that she found a new home.

My fleet was swept west, eventually leading us to find Equestria. We made landfall and soon found the native Tulicëai. I dreaded that they’d take revenge upon us for our cruelty. By chance or design, however, the heavy hoof of the Alicorns ignored Equestria, ordered in perpetuity to be left alone by King Calendion. They welcomed us, the gods from beyond the horizon, and offered us gifts. So innocent and pure they were, ignorant of what our greed had turns us into. We refused all tribute; we needed it not.

We explained that our home was gone. They asked us what we meant, and we replied that a mariner could sail the seas for his entire life and never find a trace of the island once home to the blessed Triple-Kin. We told the Equestrians those on our ships were all that remained of the Alicorn race. Without our army or King, the alicorn settlers in the old colonies would be at the mercy of all the peoples we abused.

We asked if there was a distant place, empty and wild, where we might make a new home. The Equestrians told us of the country north of their kingdom, the fields untilled and the forests unfelled. But they also told us their line of Kings had ended some time before. The Tulicëai then bowed before me and offered their crown. They said they’d be honored if one so high-born as me would take up the mantle of leadership. We Alicorns had no business ruling anymore, and all I truly wanted was a homestead to raise a family, which I had neglected to start.

Thrice did I refuse, each time expressing the folly of this choice and my desire to live far away from intrigues and the temptation of power. Yet they issued us an ultimatum: either I accept the crown, or my people would need to find a new place to live. I looked out at the Alicorns, a once shining race reduced to a mass of hungry, poor, dirty, and frightened people. I agreed.

So I was crowned King of Equestria, and the Alícëai assigned me the old titles of their ancient Kings: Solárindil of His Own House, King of Equestria and the Alicorns, Warden of the Sun and Moon, and Bearer of the Elements of Harmony. The Tulicëai preferred to call me a native name: Sun Flare. I was one-hundred and ninety-three when I assumed the vacant throne.

After a few expeditions, the Alicorns began settling the wild lands north of the wall the Equestrians had built along a mountain range. This became the Alicorn March, and my people were meant to defend the provinces south from attacks by aggressive tribes. I built my northern and primary capital here, along a nice river, and named it Nairverulin. I also built a large temple to replace the one lost with Alícor. I prayed all day and night within it, begging to accept the responsibility for our transgressions, so long as my people might live in peace in their new home.

I had all our ships burned so that we may never seek the riches beyond Equestria; the temptation was too great. I built a southern fortress in a tall mountain, a marble citadel to defend the province there. All ponies within this realm were to be equal; we alicorns were guests in their country, and to impose our customs, language, and faith upon them would be a grave injustice. They far outnumbered us, but a growing sense of shared identity has emerged over the years. I know we Alicorns will never recover, and never again shine as brightly as we did, but I know the torch has passed to the Tulicëai, and with it they will do great things. When the time comes, the Elements will be there waiting for them. A lone tree from the seed I planted sits in a dark wood known as the Everfree, the six talismans hanging from its branches.

As I write this, I now stand almost five centuries of age, older than any alicorn I’ve heard of. Blessed with long life, or cursed with watching all I love die before me, I cannot be certain. My children are older, my wife deceased. My friends have all passed on, and the ponies whom I traveled with from Alícor are but memories. The candle of my life is wearing down, but the flame continues to flicker. I have regrets and there are many things I wish I had done differently. Even as I sleep I still think about the Fall of the Alicorns, and cannot help but feel had I not been such a coward the island would be here today.

Yet most of all, I wonder about what became of my beloved sister. Ynaundion was more of a leader than I, stronger and more fearless. She would have made a great Queen had we both landed upon this shore. Did she found a kingdom of her own? Did she find another people who granted them refuge as the Tulicëai did for us? Or did she only find oblivion, her fleet broken derelicts leagues beneath the sea? I sincerely hope Ynundion settled peacefully, raised her own family, and found a new drive in life. If she has indeed passed on already, I hope it was in a warm soft bed, surrounded by her numerous loved ones, in a quiet and peacefully sleep.

Reader, you now know what became of the Alicorns, where we came from and how we arrived to your shores. If you should draw any lesson from these pages, I hope it is to avoid the follies and sins of my race. Do not begrudge those Alícëai who grew up far from the island; they should never inherit the misdeeds of their ancestors. But let not the ruinous actions of my people become your own. This country is so blessed with fertile land and earthen riches, and with beauty I have scarcely seen elsewhere. I have done my best in leading it and keeping it on the path of righteousness. Do not allow my successors to pervert the mission of Equestria and eventually condemn it to a fate similar to my first home’s.

I ask this as a King’s plea; I hope whoever reads this recognizes the sincerity in my words, because you would in my face. May Lórian have mercy on us all.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Nikóleva, her eyes slightly misty, looked up from the page. Laid before her was the tragic account one aged and weary stallion told of his…and her people’s abrupt fall. Reading about all they were, all they did…Nikóleva felt a complex mix of sadness and pride. All the power and glory, such as nopony in her time had ever seen or would ever see, were once so endemic to her race’s lives. That the Alicorns brought about their own oblivion was a bitter drink to swallow.

She had half a mind to dismiss that part of the story as slander against those jealous of the wealth and greatness of Alícor…and yet, Solárindil’s words were not those of falsehoods. He saw the destruction of his own home, a sight a weaker pony might be too grief-stricken over to continue. Those who survived would until the end of time be but a shadow of their past. And none can be blamed but themselves.

Though born in a very different time and place, Nikóleva was still an alicorn, a member of this ancient people. Their culture endured, diminished and diluted, but extant. Her kind still clung to a language and faith as purportedly millions of souls once did. And though the alabaster mare could only ever experience this bygone era in books and within her own imagination, Nikóleva could not stop herself from becoming wistful.

Pulling away from the words, the alicorn thought about this ancient world, where she would have had a place and purpose, where she wouldn't have to feel like a stranger. Such an idea sounded nice, where everything was figured out. Yes…the world as it should be, before the Lesser Kings and the Fall of the Alicorns. Solárindil’s melancholy had gotten to her, and now she was wanting to escape to the time before her race traveled down a darker path, before anypony could know the sad fate of what was supposed to be ponykind’s greatest splendor.

Letting out a quiet sigh, Nikóleva turned the page, seeing if there was anything more to the story. Instead, to her surprise, she was greeted by a final sentiment. Written in that same beautiful black calligraphy, one last lament stared straight back at the mare:

“Ynaundion calniln basa bhenëai , shódaniln bor rhal-voneai veröai. Candë tuln nusatilédera, tan-damacilédera mordalim menë . Solámiléd she hondoriléd cempa mitilúsédodë semlon tecoë yenemë bhenë, shaimadel tam-meviln rhón.(Ynaundion occupies my thoughts, distracting me from the duties of Kingship. Try as I might I cannot shake my concern. I hope and pray that I shall see my beloved sister again soon enough, where there is no pain.)”

Her heart skipped a beat. Old but not forgotten memories recharged themselves and viciously emerged from the recesses of her mind. “Sister.” A stallion, a sovereign King ruling a mighty realm, wanted nothing more in his twilight years than to see his sister just one more time. What a travesty that of all the things the historic stallion saw and did, his one true desire was never granted.

Nikóleva remembered she too had a sister. Dark blue, like the sky beset by the glow of the full moon…the very image of their father. Sweet, innocent…until betrayed by her own blood! That night in the snow came back to the mare, when she had abandoned her only sister, her dear baby sister, whom she promised her dying father no harm would come to. What punishment befits such a sin? Was it to never again see her smiling face?

A tear came running down the mare’s cheek, slowly dripping onto the floor. A passing Delbedasir noticed this, knowing well the power of Solárindil’s words.

“All alicorns who read his account have the same reaction,” he said softly, his usual gruff demeanor wholly absent, “Solárindil would die soon afterwards, aged five-hundred years. That final thought was the last thing he ever wrote.”

Nikóleva said nothing, only silently staring off into space. “If you care to read about what he did as King, there are dozens of histories in the library. I’m sure the Prince would like you to study up,” the Librarian said.

The white alicorn closed the massive book and took a moment to recompose herself. Nikóleva sifted her eyes through all the shelves in her field of vision, trying to remember where the histories were. Delbedasir could however see the mare was still affected.

The Librarian flashed a kind and loving smile, “I like to believe the old King got his wish after all,” he warmly muttered before returning to work. Delbedasir never noticed, but Nikóleva smiled back, wiping her tear away with a hoof.

Such a sentiment was small and maybe silly, but more than comforting. Nikóleva could only hope the same might happen with her. She’d spend the rest of the day in that library, reading as much about King “Sun Flare” as she could. Yet for the entire time, and indeed the duration of her life, that simple lament would always stay with her, for better…or worse.

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 7. Reconciliation

3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 7. Reconciliation

The herald’s blaring trumpet sounded forth across the Throne Room, signaling a very special occasion for the city of Canterlot. A host of retainers, personal attendants to the Prince, various aristocrats and knights, and even homely peasants stood on either side of the deep red carpet stretching from the double doors to the pristine Mountain Throne. Sitting tall and straight, a face of tempered solidarity, the light blue stallion who held the title “Prince” patiently awaited today’s honored guest to proceed down the length of the room.

He did not have to wait long, as mere moments after the trumpeting ceased a slim pony stepped forward from the doors, trying her very best to remain composed. In truth the mare was incredibly nervous, knowing a sea of eyes rested on her and probably hoped she’d make a fool of herself. Faint whispers found their way to her ears, relaying gossip that left the mare feeling rather out of place.

Yes, she was incredibly tall, sometimes to her embarrassment. A lifetime of wandering had left the pony ragged and tough, lacking any of the finesse or refinement most of these ponies were accustomed to. An artisan, no matter how honorable or wealthy, would always be a working class mare, unable to fully become part of the nobility. An aristocrat was born and sculpted over a lifetime of instruction and habit; such titles cannot simply be given out.

The Prince knew well of these attitudes, and when alone smirked at them. They seem to have forgotten what made a noble in days of old. Honors and grants of land were never birthrights when Equestria was a strong and united realm; they were earned. Great warriors and heroes, selflessly serving the people of the Kingdom, were most deserving of being called “Lord”. The Prince was aware that virtue lurked in the most unlikely of places, and it was a sad irony how those “common” ponies understood the noblesse oblige better than those who supposedly had been brought up with it.

Today was the day he’d been waiting for, the day he could finally present the alicorn Nikóleva before Canterlot and grant her duties and titles, burden her with responsibilities because…he knew she could handle it. Still a far cry from the Queen they all needed, Nikóleva was nevertheless about to take her first big step towards that wonderful goal.

Shortly after beginning her studies, Nikóleva proved incredibly able with her sword master. Though not yet completing her lessons, the Prince realized time was critical, and she needed to be ready. The alicorn cursed, and complained, and came up with excuses, but persuasive conversations soon convinced Nikóleva to shoulder more and more work. When the mare was not in the library, she was with her sword master. If not being tutored, Nikóleva was being drilled by her sergeant in the Canterlot Guard.

Nikóleva must learn to command, and therefore she must first learn how to obey.

Daily she galloped several miles, and walked several more. Nikóleva was taught to girt her armor quick enough to respond to any attacks on Canterlot. She marched in step, drew her sword on command, and kept her nerves controlled. The vast majority of the Prince’s forces were levies and knights, but the Canterlot Guard was the disciplined core, the small standing force charged with defending the mountain-borne keep at all costs. Weakness and complacency were not allowed.

The Prince ensured Nikóleva understood this clearly. And she then narrowed her eyes and grinned, saying “I shall fall on my sword before your banner be snatched, my Lord.” His Princeship henceforth never doubted her conviction.

Several sorties and expeditions to troublesome tribal regions hardened her further, exposing her to the nature of what the Guard did. Nikóleva was a seasoned warrior, well-acquainted with the harsh realities of bloodshed. But she needed to learn how a unit fought. A small skirmish with a pack of diamond dogs granted her first opportunity to actually lead. To her sergeant’s satisfaction, Nikóleva’s company slew the curs, suffering no casualties other than a shallow cut on her leg; another scar to bear proudly.

Through the summer she continued in the Guard, eventually being made her sergeant’s right-hoof. At the officer’s recommendation, the Prince confided with her that he wanted the alicorn to succeed the old pony-at-arms, who wished to return to his homestead. Giddy as a filly, Nikóleva happily accepted.

And though the Guard wasn’t a body of nobles but rather of paid soldiers, the Prince still felt Nikóleva needed additional standing in the eyes of Equestria’s nobility. The Princes and petty kings would receive better a peer than a simple peasant. Gracious, the mare privately pledged her services to the Prince, as his vassals were obliged to do. The Prince smiled, revealing that a more formal ceremony was necessary for a sovereign to receive an oath of fealty. Nikóleva’s ears drooped.

At this ceremony was where Nikóleva found herself. Dressed in a tailored white dress, the alicorn felt a bit odd. She’d never really worn such a garment, which admittedly wasn’t very practical in the field. But it was comfortable, custom-fitted to her slender physique. Gold silken trims adorned the waist and sleeves, adding enough color without being to overpowering. A series of pearls had been sewn into the breast and drape, glittering in the light. This dress was a gift from the Prince, and he spared no expense. He knew she’d appreciate a more minimalist approach, but with enough flare to impress the elite.

Her white hooves were covered by white-gold slippers, again rather simple but still elegant. Her mane was pulled back by a humble band of cloth, leaving her right eye uncharacteristically exposed. This made her uncomfortable, but it was to be endured. The only part of her usual appearance which remained intact was the beloved pendant she’d worn since she was five years old. An elaborate pendant or collar was customary for wealthy Equestrians, but the Prince understood how much that necklace meant, and wisely let it be.

Two gem-studded earrings completed her jewelry, and the image of a fair maiden. At first many scoffed at this mare, decrying her as disruptive to tradition, but those feelings died as she advanced down the room. Taking a deep breath, Nikóleva calmed her nerves and retained great poise. Soon the whispers weren’t deriding, but instead compliments. Young courtiers stared, admiring the homely beauty of the mare. Tall, slim, with lovely features, Nikóleva managed to inadvertently capture the hearts of unwed colts, enamored with something they’d not seen before; simplicity.

When she realized this, Nikóleva couldn’t help but quietly giggle. She possessed no intentions of taking a husband, but still she thought it flattering. Her horn had grown back, longer and stronger than ever before. Ponies saw it as a sign of good health and power, and stallions of vitality and beauty. Brimming with confidence, Nikóleva reminded herself of who she was, and why she deserved to be here.

When the alicorn of honor came to the foot of Canterlot’s throne, she first looked the Prince in the eye before bowing her neck and kneeling. A young squire she’d chosen to handle her effects soon came beside her, balancing her long and frankly heavy sword on his back. Gently, the emerald colt placed the scabbard on the carpet, and joined his senior in kneeling before the Prince.

Standing up from his throne, the Prince raised his scepter and cleared his throat.

“Ponies of Canterlot, noble dignitaries, and esteemed guests from lands beyond,” he began, keeping a kind gaze, “I am very proud to present Nikóleva, daughter of Maiëlindir, of the Canterlot Guard. For her services she has performed for the realm, for the ponies she has helped to protect, and for the good virtue she has demonstrated,” the stallion then levitated out a large blade held by his own squire. Ailéránen, the heirloom of the Canterlot lords for ages, was positioned over Nikóleva, the flat of the blade pointing down. “I, Prince Petrafyrm of Canterlot, with the power vested in me by my office, hereby grant unto Nikóleva the title of ‘Knight’, with the full rights and privileges such honors entail.”

He then lowered the sword, lightly tapping Nikóleva’s left shoulder before lifting it over her head and tapping the right shoulder. The blade was heavy, but the Prince showed no sign fatigue. “I dub you ‘Dame Wintermail, Knight of Canterlot’,” he declared in a voice worthy of a sovereign. Finishing the siring, the Prince then sheathed his sword. Thanking his squire, he then looked back at his new knight, “Now, please, recite the oath of fealty before your liege, Dame Wintermail.”

Her heart pounding, the fresh knight closed her eyes and recalled the oath. She’d rehearsed the oath a hundred times in preparation for this event, and now it was time. Licking her lips, the mare drew her sword in hoof and presented it before the Prince. “I, Dame Wintermail, Knight of Canterlot, hereby swear to Petrafyrm, Prince of Canterlot, to uphold all laws of the realm and answer its calls for defense, and to protect those in peril. I swear to remain virtuous, and to never lie, cheat, or steal. I swear to uphold conduct worthy and expected of a Knight of Canterlot. I swear to remain faithful to my liege lord until such a time comes as I am released from service or death takes me…,” Nikóleva blinked a couple times, remembering the rest of the oath, “under pain of dishonor and lawful punishment. I swear this in view of Ponies and God.

“I offer my sword as a sign of loyalty,” the Knight said before doing just that.

The Prince took the blade and started speaking once more. “I accept your service, Dame Wintermail, and may your mettle prove steadfast,” he said before making a gesture for the Knight to rise from the floor. Abiding, the newly-christened noble was presented her dark steel weapon. “Take your sword, Dame Wintermail, that you may never fail your duties,” his Lordship said in a proud baritone.

The white alicorn enveloped Eónadin in a magical aura and turned around to face the crowd. Swallowing her anxiety, and forcing her breathing into a slow and steady pace, Dame Wintermail recalled the final part of the ceremony. Steely eyed, the mare silently cleared her throat and summoned a powerful voice, one her enemies might quake to simply listen to. “As my sacred duty, I swear to use my sword for nothing other than for the defense of the Citizens of Canterlot, so long as my body is able. By my dying breath, I shall not let ruin fall upon the people of the Mountain-borne Keep!”

Nikóleva presented herself with such bravado and confidence the ponies who once mocked her fell dead quiet. In an elaborate swerving motion, the Knight retrieved her scabbard and gracefully sheathed the ancient Alicorn blade of Kings. No matter what anypony in the room felt, no matter what they did, she knew who she was: descendant of bygone glory, heiress of a legacy stretching back into the epic vagaries of time, and now a Knight in the personal service of one of the most prestigious rulers in Equestria.

Not too bad for a mere peasant northerner.

She gave a quick glance and smile at her trusted squire, and he returned the gesture, giddy just to be associated with Dame Wintermail. The two then looked back ahead at the attendants in court. Awash with a flash of heat, Wintermail still held her head high. A moment later, one, then two, then several more hooves began to stomp onto the marble floors. Cheering soon erupted, and the tall white alicorn felt whatever resident anxiety she still had melt away. The sight of so many giving her praise and congratulations proved to be nearly overwhelming, and Wintermail let loose a single tear of mirth.

Try as she might, the Knight could not help but allow her mouth to contort into a smile of pure bliss. Here and now, after decades of vagabond existence, in the Alabaster City of Canterlot, Nikóleva had finally found a place where…just possibly…she could belong.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Tat…tat…tat…tat

The rhythmic sound of raindrops pelting the iron helms of a dozen war-ponies was the only sound the Canterlot Guard detachment were making. The autumn rains had softened the ground, and hoofsteps were lost in the muddy mire that the countryside west of Canterlot had become. The group had been tracking a band of Diamond Dogs, as it often did in these times—and they were getting close.

Dame Wintermail, leading at the head of the company, was vigorously eyeing the footprints in the mud. A couple days’ journey had led them here into a rugged region of the Princedom. The trail seemed to run to a rocky bluff not a few hundred yards away. The Knight Commander raised a hoof, and the company stopped immediately. She took a glance back at the other eleven ponies, narrowed her eyes, and nodded.

They knew right away what to do: the four pegasi lifted off, readying their lances for good sport, while the four earth ponies used their superior speed to race off to the side of the cliff to act as the flank. Meanwhile Wintermail would lead the vanguard of three unicorns. This was a classic, but effective maneuver, and it had won more than one skirmish in the past.

Her brilliant white horn flashed with a yellow aura, and the long dark blade of Eónadin was drawn; the fate of the Diamond Dogs was sealed now. Her companions copied the action and advanced to the cliff with a steady march. As it became closer, Wintermail began to see the rocky opening of a cave; the perfect hideout for the damned mongrels. That sudden burst of emotion and the painful memories of her father filled the alicorn with a dark sense of resolve, and in kind Eónadin began to glow brightly.

Wintermail was temporarily caught off guard, as it almost felt like…her sword had…

She shook her thoughts, and steeled herself for butchers work. Stopped several dozen yards from the cliff base, the mare took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“These weeds are choking the life out of our beloved city; let us prune the garden,” the Knight spoke to her soldiers, a cool tone with but a hint of malice.

Mere moments later, the group heard a horn blow from the cave entrance. Wintermail’s eyes narrowed; she had become sick of rain being the only sound today. The din of battle would be a welcomed change.

A small head poked out of the cave, a dull brown dog bearing a recurve bow. Nock, draw, loose, and the arrow began hurtling towards the tallest member of the company: its leader. Wintermail focused, and remembered the many lessons she’d received from the Librarian. He had taught her many spells; many were mundane, others more stupefying, but one in particular was exactly what the situation called for. Calming her nerves, she envisioned what she wanted her magic to do, and focused her energy through her horn.

The arrow slowed down to the speed of a falling leaf. “Too easy,” Wintermail thought as she unfurled her great wings, catapulting herself right at the arrow. One swift motion of her blade and the bisected shaft fell to the ground, robbed of all momentum. Another flash of magic brought the Commander’s brass horn up to her lips. The bellow was understood by all the members of her contingent, and coming from behind the dreary clouds the four pegasi lancers darted towards the cave.

Wintermail thrust her blade into the air before her and began to charge up the cliff. This was a risky move, attacking the high ground, but she was counting on a few tricks. Over ten diamond dogs viciously thrust out of the cave, bearing cruel and savage bludgeoning and bladed weapons. Snarling, they stared down their assailants.

A few recoiled a bit at the sight of the fabled “Maelinblade”. If they had the ability to retreat, Wintermail was sure they would; “Maelin” was the scourge of the Diamond Dogs. But the curs had no place to run, and she had a mission. The first overzealous dog to get near her was slashed in half from shoulder to waist, his corpse falling onto the slick rocks before begin trampled.

The fight had begun. Outnumbered, the Canterlot Guard was far superior in equipment and training. Dog after dog was impaled, beheaded, or eviscerated before the soldiers. But the Diamond Dogs had the high ground, and the weight of all of them descending on the attackers could end poorly on the slippery rocks. Enduring a blow to her steel barding, Wintermail caught the sight of her pegasi swooping into the dogs’ flank, skewering a couple.

One of her pegasi was nicked in the leg. However minor the injury, Wintermail took due vengeance and drove her blade through the dog’s lower jaw and threw him off the cliff. Blood splashed her face, and a blinding battle fury overtook her. So tall and strong, an enraged alicorn was a dangerous thing, as the Diamond Dogs learned brutally. But the vanguard was precipitously positioned near the cliff edge, and without her second trick, they could lose to poor conditions.

The rain began falling even heavier, and Wintermail cursed the weather team of the region. Just then, as if their squad leader had specifically wanted to irk her Knight Commander with the delay, the earth ponies ran out of the trees and crashed into the rear of the dogs, cutting down any cur unfortunate enough to have his back turned.

“Courage, soldiers! Cut them down but one!” Wintermail shouted over the clamor of violence and death. She then bashed Eónadin’s pommel into the nose of a silver-grey dog, an accomplished warrior judging by his facial tattoos. Falling to the ground, the miserable creature was soon subjected to the alicorn’s forehoof crashing into his rib cage, snapping most every bone. A tawny-coated mongrel eager to avenge his comrade was greeted by the dark blade cracking open his skull. A third was head-butted into a rock, his spine snapping on impact.

The slaughter didn’t continue much longer, and as ordered all but one of the dogs had been killed, either by weapons, melee, or falling to their deaths. Seeing no others to kill, Wintermail’s heaves slowed, and she levitated her ancient blade before her eyes. Blood absolutely covered the black steel, and though it could not stain the metal, it would start to smell soon enough. Thankfully she knew a spell to quickly clean the sword. The other unicorns did the same for their comrades.

Almost sick from the aftermath of battle rush, Wintermail took a seat on a small stone. Heart pounding, she looked over her gruesome work. A solemn look captured her face, and she placed a hoof over the pendant she always wore. Muttering a short prayer, she gazed out over the battlefield.

It was simply a mess. Corpses littered the ground, blood trickling into the soft earth and mixing into puddles of rainwater. Disembodied limbs, raw entrails, and the odd severed head began to attract flies. Wintermail swore she saw a couple felled dogs twitching, their final agonizing moments spent helpless in the mud. The alicorn felt her hoof twitching against a rock, a deep solemn breath escaping her lips.

Her horn lit up and the Knight’s warhelm was lifted off her head. Taking it in her hooves, Wintermail stared intently at the blood streak across the brow. Softly stroking the high decorative crest, her spell dispensed with the stains filling the bristles. A good poignant moment passed, and she raised her gaze back to the day’s work.

Nothing short of palpable…what sins ponies commit in the name of their kingdom.

A voice stirred Wintermail from her stupor. Perking her head up, the Knight Commander found it was her lieutenant Stormvane. “Pardon?” the white mare asked, donning her helmet once more.

“We have one fallen, Dame. Sky Mantle, a lancer in my wing. He fought valiantly, but suffered a wound to the chest,” the lavender pegasus said, adopting a professional tone, despite the situation.

Dame Wintermail rose up from her seat and allowed her lieutenant to lead her to the deceased soldier. The nine other members of the company were busy attending to the dead dogs, but immediately gathered into a circle when they saw their commander. There, against the cliff walls before the cave, laid the lifeless body of Sky Mantle

The pegasus had been a powerful flier, unrivaled in the guard. Young, even by the standards of Tulicëai, Sky Mantle still bore a number of scars from his service. Apart from the deep wound in his side, he looked…peaceful. Lying on his back, his wings furled up, the colt held his sword across his chest, like an ancient stone sarcophagus.

Wintermail gathered her magic and took hold of the pony. “He shall be returned to Canterlot and given a proper burial,” the Knight Commander said, beginning to walk back towards their camp, “Lieutenant Stormvane, you and the earth ponies will see to it that the Diamond Dogs are buried as well, and restrain the one we’ve captured. The rest of you lot, plunder their weapons; we can add them to the Guard’s arsenal.”

Her soldiers did exactly as ordered while Wintermail opened her wings and descended down the bluff. The faint sting of a tear pricked at her eye, but the time for weeping could wait.

The rain continued as the alabaster alicorn trekked the couple miles back to where they had camped. After the shouting and screams of battle, the day now seemed painfully silent. When she returned to the several soldiers she left to guard the supplies, the mare stepped towards the cart. Having the attendants clear a place within the vehicle, Wintermail then set down ever so softly the dead youth. She took a tarp and covered Sky Mantle, hoping not to see his poor face until the time came for the funeral.

The other soldiers removed their helmets and bowed their heads. “Somepony,” Wintermail commanded, “Who knows the old prayers, please…”

One stepped forth, a unicorn stallion, and cleared his throat, “Allfather, judge this pony’s heart to be just and true, and may Hellkeep lead him to the ever-lit fields of Heroes and Kings. May eternal glory and bliss be the reward for his sacrifice.”

A collective set of “amens” came from the other ponies, and a moment of quietude later the members of the Guard placed their helmets back on. Wintermail then rummaged through the cart, careful not to disturb her fallen compatriot, and produced a set of iron chains.

Not too long afterwards, Stormvane’s contingent returned, the earth ponies practically dragging the captured dog by his tail. All the while the cur was shouting and shrieking in his native tongue, that ugly grating noise only other Diamond Dogs could make any sense of. Wintermail approached the captive, and the mere sight of her cold stare cause the miserable lad to shrivel. A flash of her long horn and the iron chains were clasped onto the dog’s forepaws. The other end was then locked to a hitch on the cart.

The Dame unsheathed her dagger and aimed it at the dog’s neck. Cringing as the tip just barely kissed his coat, the mongrel’s face twitched in fear.

“Y-y-you’re Maelin!” he stammered, teeth chattering.

“’Maelin’?” Lieutenant Stormvane asked, standing beside her superior.

“That is the name these dogs gave my father. He grew to become their supreme dread, with his enchanted blade Eónadin,” Wintermail narrowed her eyes towards the diamond dog, “But specters that haunt the dreams of your little pups should be far from your mind now.”

A flow of tears streamed from the dog’s eyes. He looked truly pathetic, dirt caking his fur, snot dribbling from his snout…he was still a child forced to live an adult’s life. “Please…I’ll do whatever you want,” he cried, bowing his head in submission.

“We have been clearing out nests of you villains since the springtime. Why do you keep coming?” Wintermail demanded, her voice intoned with stern authority.

The dog’s breaths slowed a bit, “Before I left my village…our Shaman came before the fire pit and share with us what he’d been told. He said a God spoke to him in his dreams…said we were all promised the rich land to the east. He said filth infested it; ponies, and to claim what was ours we’d need to drive them away.”

The dog hiccupped and wiped his snout, “And the Shaman told us if we found any ‘alicorns’, ponies with horns and wings, we must slay them.”

Wintermail pressed the dagger ever so firmer, and glowered at the cur. “Please!” he shrieked, tears beginning anew, “The elders told us we needed to prove ourselves…I’d never fought before…it’s terrible. I just want…to go home…” The poor diamond dog just gazed down at the ground, his body wracking with sobs.

A twinge of pity gripped the Dame’s heart, and she lowered the dagger with a sigh. Gritting her teeth, the mare sheathed the blade. She walked to the head of the cart and began making her way back to the stone road nearby. “Come, we’d better get back to Canterlot—before this dog wets himself,” she hissed.

“What is going to happen…to me?” the dog spoke, the chains around his paws pulled taut by the newly-moving cart.

“You’re our prisoner. You will face justice for disturbing the Prince’s peace. My orders were simply to capture a single dog for questioning.”

Whether relief or dread took hold of the dog, Wintermail didn’t really much care. But did she want him to be put to death? He had probably been just as guilty of pillaging, plundering, and raping as any other member of Diamond Dog raiding bands. Yet wasn’t he obligated by the stronger and older mongrels, and had little choice other than disgrace or death? The alicorn cared not one iota for diamond dogs, but this…pup, for that’s what he was, probably had to grow up far quicker than a youth should have.

The world was good at forcing that choice, and in more ways than one he reminded the mare of herself; that was not a comforting thought.

Regardless, the only thing that mattered now was to bring the captive to his Princeship. Trotting along the cobblestone road, the band of ponies set out for the white city. The royal highways, laid in the heyday of the Kingdom, once connected ever major settlement in the land. Most were overgrown and decayed, but the ones in Canterlot were continuously maintained.

This infrastructure allowed trade to flourish in the Princedom, and made it the richest fief in Equestria. And that plentiful wealth allowed the Prince to pay his guardsponies a generous stipend. Hopefully he could create a plan to stop the influx of dogs into his lands, and trade could continue unmolested. Now that she had hired some ponies to run her shop in her absence, Wintermail needed those trade routes safe to ensure the outlying towns could get their orders!

The mares smirked, and felt the rain let up a bit. The sun broke through a part of the clouds, and soon enough the weather would become clear and pleasant. It was two days’ journey back to Canterlot, as the pony trots; no time to lose.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

All the way, the Guard detachment saw no resistance or brigands. River pirates and roving bandit ponies had been purged from the Princedom’s borders with extreme prejudice. The Prince liked to recount the stories his father had told him, of when he and his retainers personally traveled across the fief and “dispensed justice”, as he called it. Now, the beautiful forests, turned orange in the autumn season, were all that could interest the soldiers. This wasn’t something Wintermail could complain about, and truthfully she and the other soldiers felt they’d had their fill of excitement for a good fortnight. But knowing what she did now, that raiders were interested in conquering their own kingdoms, her rest would in all likelihood be cut short.

Such was the call of duty.

As the threat of attack was ever-present, the Canterlot Guard spent its time effectively. When they weren’t marching a mandatory twenty miles daily, the troops drilled in weapons and formation. Peasant levies worked most of the year, and Knights whiled away their time with poetry and archery, but professional soldiers trained and improved. The most elite military force in Equestria was not allowed to “get soft”.

This was what Dame Wintermail was busy with on a particularly cool afternoon. The chill of winter was very near, and no doubt in the northern wilds of her homeland the first snowfall had occurred. Seeing hot puffs of breath in the air, the alicorn hoped the family she left behind was staying warm and safe.

On her return to Canterlot a few days earlier, Sky Mantle was given a burial place in the Canterlot catacombs within the mountain itself. The service was attended by many members of the guard and his grief-stricken family. The Prince himself was there, said a few kind words, and made a small donation to the affected. In private, with just Wintermail by his side, Peter removed his crown and sighed, not saying anything but a “thank you” to the mare.

Meanwhile, the diamond dog had been placed in a cell for a day. When he was brought into the throne room for judgement, Wintermail and some other members of her company, including Lieutenant Stormvane, gave testimony against him. The Guard had even managed to find one pony who had seen their raids for herself. A small green earth pony tearfully recounted how her home had been set ablaze and her possessions stolen.

It moved her to the point of aching, but Wintermail had seen and heard the same thing so many times it had ceased to shock her anymore.

Having heard the plea from the dog, the Prince called the Dame up to the throne. He commented to his confidant that the accused had committed theft and murder, crimes that warranted death. He expressed hesitance however, for the same reasons as the white alicorn. She whispered into his ear, saying the dog was compelled to act by the expectations of his community. He was guilty, but perhaps he could serve a different purpose.

The Prince agreed, knowing exactly what Wintermail was suggesting. He stood up and raised the scepter. “Young diamond dog,” his voice echoing in the chamber, his gaze commanding respect throughout the court, “Your crimes, by the laws of the Princedom of Canterlot, warrant death.” The poor pup trembled, his mouth quivering. The Prince continued, his stern look never softening, “But, I shall commute your sentence. You are free to go, and I shall grant you a Writ of Protection. A detachment of my guard shall escort you to the border.”

The dog immediately dropped to his knees, “Bless you, your majesty! I shall tell all my people of your—“

The Prince cut him off, his voice too powerful for the sniveling cur, “In exchange, you shall return to your tribe, and tell them no diamond dog shall set foot within my realm. Any attack on my people will be repaid with fire and steel.”

The dog kowtowed before the Prince, and was escorted out of the room. He had been given a day to rest, and a room to stay in until he left the city, guarded by soldiers of course. At the conclusion of court that day Wintermail had asked to speak to his Highness.

“No doubt those curs will take your warning as a challenge,” the Knight voiced, having tried to orchestrate a gambit.

But the Prince was steps ahead of her. He had given her a sly smirk and took a sip of hot tea, “I know. They won’t be able to muster their host before winter, and come the thaw we’ll be ready.” He dismissed the pony-at-arms, and ordered her to beginning drilling the troops the next day.

Now standing out in the mustering grounds within the city, the Knight Commander obliged her liege, and shouted orders at her soldiers. Arranged in a formation, five ranks by four columns, the troops marched to a perfect beat. “Halt!” Wintermail mandated, and the company stopped dead in its tracks. The group was composed of unicorns; military units in Canterlot were ideally organized around race to increase cohesiveness and maximize the impact of each’s abilities.

“Draw!” and each soldier drew their sword with magic. “Advance!” and the twenty marched forth to a line of straw-filled dummies. Her troops a few yards away, Wintermail raised her own blade. “Att—“ her final order was cut off by the intrusive sound of hoofsteps on cobblestone. Turning back, the giant mare could easily see over the fence closing off the training quarter. A collection of several dozen ponies were being led by a few guards.

Refugees; ponies welcomed into the city hoping for protection from raids. Wintermail sighed and shook her head. Come springtime, she’d make it her mission to find every raider in the realm and put them to the sword. Dozens of villages had been affected, and sooner or later the city would not be able to take on anymore ponies.

The mare almost turned her head back to her troops, but something caught her attention. In the cluster of refugees, a single member stood high above the rest. Dwarfing the burly stallion guards, a dark dirty unicorn approached one of them and started shouting. The mare grew curious, and ordered her soldiers to disperse and practice weapons drills. Flapping her huge wings, Wintermail cleared the fence and trotted up to the crowd.

From a distance, the unicorn’s features were difficult to discern. He was male, with a long horn and ruddy coat. She could begin hearing his voice amidst the other ponies, and she smirked at his gruff Northern accent. It reminded her of Poneva and especially Evergreen, though at the time she hadn’t recognized his speech as being “northern”. A moment of nostalgia bit at her before she produced another thought.

What was a northerner doing so far south? Curious…

From what she gleamed, the towering stallion wanted to see the Prince, and was not too keen on waiting or taking “no” for an answer; he’d be in for a rude awakening. Wintermail was preparing to return to her soldiers when the alicorn realized something…that voice sounded awfully familiar.

She spent a few good moments searched the confines of her mind. Who oh who did that voice remind her of? Was it…no…not him either…wait! The realization shocked her to the core, and she stood frozen with a growing trembling welling inside her.

“My God…,” she muttered, involuntarily creeping towards the stallion, barely conscious of her surroundings. The unicorn must’ve seen her approaching, for he interrupted his conversation with the guard to flash a sneer.

“What do you want?” he asked, turning his head back to the guard before immediately snapping to Wintermail. It was unmistakable: he was covered in dirt and his mane messy, but she’d recognize it anywhere. An orange coat, dulled with age, and a brown mane flecked with streaks of grey. Most tellingly the stallion possessed an eye of deep blue, but only the left one; the other was covered with a black patch.

The two stood motionless for what seemed like forever, and a few tears dripped down the mare’s cheeks. Had divine designs brought them here together, and if so was it for good or ill? The stallion stepped out of the throng, and kept staring at the mare, who still stood motionless as a statue.

A foot apart, the two never broke their gaze. He raised a hoof and reached for Wintermail, but stopped partway. “Nikóleva…?”

The white alicorn blinked a few times before producing a crooked smile, “Henarion?”

With the full weight of a giant pony, the orange alicorn threw himself on top of the white one, and crushed his forelegs around her with all the might he could muster. Shaking, the stallion wiped some tears on the mare’s pristine coat. He then grabbed her head and kissed her on the cheek.

Still holding her face, Henarion’s countenance transformed into a grimace. Raising a hoof, the stallion swung it at her. “The hell’s the matter with you!” he shouted, his voice breaking.

Nikóleva rubbed her cheek, gnashing her teeth, “Owww…you’re wearing shoes…” Immediately some of the guard drew weapons and rushed to apprehend their superior’s assailant. The Knight stopped them with a hoof, “It’s alright; I deserved that…”

“Yea you did!” Henarion shot, regaining his composure, “Thirty-six years! Thirty-six years you’ve been…wandering about doing Lórian knows what, while I’ve been tending to your sister! I promised your father I’d protect his children, and then you—“

“I know!” Nikóleva interrupted, hanging her head low, “I am so…so sorry. I…don’t really know what to say.”

Henarion raised an eyebrow and then sighed, “Well the important thing is you’re safe. And it seems you’ve done pretty well for yourself,” he remarked, gesturing at the vest she wore with a small broach indicating some sort of status. Henarion didn’t know what exactly.

“Indeed I have. I’ve found service here with the Prince of Canterlot,” she smiled.

“Perhaps you’ve been tamed; you even talk like a Southerner,” and there was the cantankerous old stallion she remembered. His northern accent really was very pronounced; had she once talked like that?

“What are you doing here? In the city I mean.”

“I wish to speak with the Prince. My homestead suffers attacks every month or so. We drive them off but I’m interested in a more…long lasting solution.”

Nikóleva gave a puzzled look, “I’m afraid his Highness would not be able to send an expedition northwards past the mountains—“

“We don’t live there no more. Dogs made it dangerous, had to leave. Moved onto some empty land half a day’s journey from here.”

Nikóleva’s ears perked up; had…her sister traveled south with him? Was she…so near as well? “Well if you’d like an audience, I can arrange that. In fact,” she continued, a nice idea coming into her head,” you can be my guest, and stay in the castle for a time.”

Henarion snickered, “Yeah, like I’d want to live like some stuffy aristocrat. You’ve gone soft.”

Nikóleva’s gazed narrowed, and a field of magic gathered around Eónadin’s hilt. “Never.”

The stallion grinned, “I can just see your father scowling at me, turning down hospitality.” He brought a fetlock up to where his right eye had been and rubbed it. It still gave him trouble from time to time, especially in wet weather. Nikóleva winced, wondering how strongly he still held that against her. “Very well. Then I’m heading back to my home; gather a few things. Come with, I think there’s somepony who’d like to see you.”

The mare knew exactly whom he spoke of, and she took an involuntary step backwards, stammering, “I…I…I’m not sure…perhaps it’d be best if I waited in the city…I have duties.” Henarion narrowed his good eye, the look having an otherworldly-hold on Nikóleva. “Alright,” she acquiesced.

A flick of his head and the orange stallion turned to the direction of the gate. Dame Wintermail ordered one of the guards to notify the Prince she’d be taking leave for a little while. He’d be annoyed, but she boldly decided to deal with that when the time came.

Her status as an officer in the Canterlot Guard gave her a number of benefits, chief among them quick and easy access through the city gate. Most guards knew her face, and all she had to do was call out to the gatekeepers to pass through. At a brisk pace the pair set forth down the road, Henarion leading the way.

And while following the stallion, Nikóleva noticed something: he didn’t have his awkward gait. All the time she’d known him, he had that limp. She questioned him about it, and Henarion explained that a few years after she left, the pain subsided. By now it was gone altogether, and he could now actually gallop! When asked why he thought it happened, he chuckled and remarked, “Probably you who was giving me bad joints.”

The trip lasted until sunset, and the countryside was gorgeous. Having come from the west the other day, Nikóleva got to enjoy a journey a little north, up into the hills and valley. The shallow gorges were absolutely breathtaking, the orange and yellow forests lit up by the glow of the sun-setting sky. Sometimes Nikóleva was so busy she didn’t get a chance to enjoy the scenery, and walking out here in the open wilderness reminded her just how much she adored the season.

The two didn’t speak much, besides the odd comment about the sights here and there. Henarion was really hoping to surprise the mare with what he had at his homestead. A lot had changed in the thirty years of estrangement, and there was so much to catch up on, but it could wait until after they got to the house and sat down for a good country meal.

As the sun sat low, clouds lit up a vibrant orange, the ground beginning to wash over with a nightly blue, Nikóleva saw atop a lone hill a small stone hovel. It reminded her very much, uncomfortably so, of the cottage she had grown up in. Stone and mortar walls were arrange in a rectangular shape, with a small outcropping off to the side. A steep thatched roof for shedding the impending snows sat atop. Around the house a low wooden fence rested, and tree stumps dotted the cleared area. A storage shed and barn house, built with the same techniques, stood off to the left.

From their vantage point, Nikóleva swore she saw a small face in the window. A moment later the door opened and out came a small colt, colored blue with an aqua mane. As he approached, running headlong, Nikóleva noticed he possessed both wings and a horn. The little feathered appendages were still too small to do more than flutter about, but he flared them out with electric excitement.

“Papa!!” he screamed, the smile on his face stretch from ear to ear. Five feet away he leapt up in air into Henarion’s embrace, causing the old stallion to roll back. He cradled the colt in his forelegs, kissing him. The young alicorn giggled, nuzzling who Nikóleva now realized was his father.

After the two calmed down, the colt bounced off onto the ground and looked up at the white alicorn who had been standing silent off to the side in thought. He came up to her feet and gazed up, eyes bugged out. For what would not be the last time, the colt marveled at the towering mare and held his mouth agape.

“My son, Eldowas,” Henarion said, picking himself up off the grass.

“Pleased to meet you, Eldowas,” the mare craned her neck and smiled, caressing his mane with her hoof, “My name is Nikóleva.”

The colt beamed, and did a little dance around her legs. Nikóleva then brought her head back up and turned to Henarion. “Who’s his mother? Is it…Taber—“

Henarion made no attempt to hide the look of absolute disgust on his face, “What? Of course not! Heavens no! My wife is inside, probably preparing dinner. She expected me to not return until tomorrow; I hope it don’t upset her that she now’s got two more ponies to feed.”

The stallion then nudged his son forwards, “Eldowas, go inside and tell your mother I’m home. And bring Aunt Taby out. Tell her there’s somepony to meet her.” The colt did as he was told, sprinting all the way.

“’Aunt’?” Nikóleva grinned, raising an eyebrow.

“An old stallion like me traveling with a young pretty mare like your sister? Ponies start to ask questions. Was easier to tell them I was her uncle, and easier for Eldowas to call her Aunt.”

Just then a pit formed in Nikóleva’s stomach. This was really happening; any moment now her sister, the mare she’d failed, she’d hurt, would come through that door. Shaking with anxiety, thoughts swarmed in her mind. Her breaths quickened, and she began stepping backwards.

“Perhaps…this was a mistake…,” she squeaked out, “I’ll just wait in Canterlot.”

But hoof stopped her from going any further. Henarion said nothing, only looked strongly at the mare. His expression was stern, but with a warm undertone to it. She remembered that expression from her youth, one that said “You can do this.”

It didn’t make her feel any better.

But running away was no longer an option, as just then the door opened. The spry colt hopped out, standing beside the door as a taller, darker blue alicorn emerged. Nikóleva remarked the other mare; she hadn’t changed much at all. Still that beautiful shade of midnight blue, a periwinkle mane cut short and kept neat. Her figure was thin and pleasant.

Eldowas pointed a hoof at the white mare, and Henarion walked towards the home, whispering something into the dark alicorn’s ear before taking his son with him back into the cottage.

Nikóleva’s sister approached. It was her, actually her! It had been such a long time, and almost every night she had a dream about her, about all the horrors she made her endure. Not a day passed without a sigh of regret, or the longing to see her baby sister once more. But she knew that couldn’t happen. She would only hurt little Taby again, and Nikóleva felt it best to just let it be.

She broke into a sweat, and her left forehoof began shaking so much she had to hold it down with the other. A nervous shivering echoed through her being, and the lump in her throat was unbearable. Her sister was closing the distance, and all the while Nikóleva was trying to think of something to say, anything at all.

Ten feet away, the blue alicorn’s eyes scanned the alabaster mare before her, an undecipherable look dominating her visage. Nikóleva knew it! She hated her, and would probably thrust a dagger into her chest! Or worse yet yell and scream, hurling quite correct accusations of being a terrible sister and a failure. She should have never come here; Nikóleva didn’t deserve to stand in the presence of such a sweet and innocent pony, when she’d committed grave sins in her life of wandering.

Moments passed and still Nikóleva had nothing to say. What could she say to make her only sister not hate her? She had left her to the mercy of those diamond dogs, and then abandoned her family. She should have returned sooner—no, she should not have come in the first place! She should have just ignored Henarion and continued on letting them think she was dead. They’d be better off.

Her mind ablaze, Nikóleva still watched her sister, trying to read something from her. The blue pony stepped forward again, slowly as if she were approaching a feral dog. Nikóleva was ready to suffer a beating, or a horn into her neck. Gritting her teeth and squinting her eyes, she steeled herself for just retribution, the due punishments for—

A force impacted the white alicorn. A pair of lips pressed against her cheek, and forelegs wrapped across her chest. The blue mare, her sister Taberanyn, nuzzled into that white coat and cried. She hiccuped and wiped her eyes on the fur. It was an ugly sob, but one of pure joy and relief. Through her spasms bouts of laughter erupted. Taberanyn was happier now than ever before in her life: she had her sister back, after all this time.

Nikóleva was so overwhelmed by emotion, so charged by the anxieties she given herself, that she could do nothing but respond in kind. Standing motionless for a good moment, her eyes burned now as her own tears mixed with Taby’s. She kissed her forehead and cradled her sister, like she use to when she was just a tiny foal.

Finally, the Wanderer of the North was home.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

The ever-present ambiance of scribbling suddenly stopped, and the purple mare who’d been producing it brought a hoof up to her misty eyes. What she had just heard Celestia recount sent a warm glow into her heart, and Twilight was oh so eager to learn what happened next.

Already Celestia’s story had been full of laughter and tears, life and death. Some hundred pages had been filled in her book, and these were simply notes! Twilight couldn’t wait until the Princess was done with her tale, because afterwards Twilight could compile it into an actual book. It’d be a best seller for sure!

A lone, deep yawn escaped the smaller pony’s mouth, and she rubbed her eyes again. Stay awake!

The white pony, Princess Celestia, had taken a moment’s pause after saying the last part of her narrative. Standing silently in front of the window, she studied her reflection whilst sipping from a cup of tea. How old was she? Eleven—twelve centuries…right? Or close to it; she stopped counting after the first five or so. She didn’t look a day over one-hundred and fifty. However long it might be, life was still finite; one needed to use it wisely.

Her student’s yawn brought her back to the present. Levitating up a napkin, she wiped her mouth and set the teacup and saucer onto a table. A glance at the clock caused the white mare to widen her eyes. It was late.

Celestia saw Twilight’s expression, and produced a small giggle, “You won’t like this, but it’s high time you went off to bed.” Celestia gave off her own yawn, purposely exaggerated and theatrical.

Twilight’s face fell, but she could probably agree with that. Closing her book and capping the ink bottle, the purple mare put away her things into her bag and stood up, walking to the door. On the way she too took a look at the clock, “Perhaps we have been at this a while…seems like I’ve spent an eternity in here—not that I minded!”

Celestia blushed softly, flashing a nervous grin, “My apologies; I have a tendency to drone on sometimes. This is as much for me as it is for you.” Ever polite, the white alicorn opened the door, “Tomorrow I’ll begin a whole new chapter to the story, filled with feats of daring, romance, and treachery!” Her horn glowed, creating a spectacle of small lights, resembling those on the marquis to a Manehattan stage show.

Twilight Sparkle rolled her eyes, heading out of the room, “I think you’d best get some sleep, Princess.”

“Very well, Mother,” Celestia mocked, craning her neck down to punctuate her bratty retort. Immediately she returned to her normal gravitas, “Good night, Princess Twilight.”

The purple mare just yawned and smiled back, the door closed behind her.

Celestia stood by herself for a moment, deciding she wasn’t quite tired enough to go to sleep. The events she’d just recounted popped back into her mind, and she thought about her dear sister and all the times she’d wronged her.

An idea generated in her head, and she sifted through her mental catalog of spells. Which one was it…oh yes! Focusing on the magic, Celestia let her magical senses emanate through the castle. It was an incredibly advanced spelled; something most never even knew about, let alone utilized effectively. A few seconds later she found her target.

Then, threading a pathway through the fabric of creation itself, she strained her mental faculties to conduct telepathy. At last her considerable efforts paid off.

“Luna! Are you currently busy? Would you perhaps…like to go dine someplace in the city? My treat.”

A time of silence passed before she received her reply, “…You could have just sent a letter…”

“I didn’t…want Twilight to sense it. This will be a…’sister’ activity.” Celestia thoughts were becoming labored and a tad clouded, “Ahh…I have a headache now.”

The white alicorn could feel her sister rolling her eyes and sighing. Again a few seconds later Luna’s thoughts came to Celestia’s mind, “I’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

End of "In the Shadow of Giants"

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 1. After All These Years

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 1. After All These Years

It was exciting, and also a bit eerie, to be traveling this deep into Canterlot Castle. Over the centuries Celestia had ordered continuous maintenance and additions to the grand fortress, and as a consequence the older, lower chambers had become steadily underused. They were still cleaned and repaired from time to time, but few besides the staff ever had reason to venture down to those hidden bowels.

A magnificent atrium had been constructed along the outer edge, furnished with luxurious apartments to house honored guests of the Crown. Top-notch room service and breathtaking vistas always impressed, and emissaries left Equestria with a grand sense of awe.

But those functions were once served by a collection of rooms further below. Sitting within the “neck” of the Castle, beneath the battlements and courtyards, on the foundations jutting from the mountainside, were the old apartments. To Twilight it was clear this area was largely ignored: most of the Castle had electric lights quaintly shaped like elegant torches to light the halls at night; the lower corridors had crude cage lights and exposed wiring.

The corridors were narrow and gloomy, somewhat damp, and frankly unsettling. From deep down here, nopony could hear another scream. A dark thought entered Twilight’s mind: in days of old did the Princess conduct tortures down here? …Did she still?

The purple winged unicorn waved a hoof, knowing better after a moment to ponder. She’d been following Celestia down the steps and hallways not to be subjected to hot irons or the rack, but instead because the Solar Princess had something very special she wanted to show her protégé.

“Are we there?” Twilight asked, her voice laced with an annoying bite.

“We’ll be there when we get there,” Celestia responded in a mocking tone, flashing a smile; it was all good fun. A little further down the corridor and the tall alicorn stopped, “Here we go.”

Two wooden doors stood, closed and latched. Celestia magically opened the two and stepped aside to allow Twilight within the newly-discovered room. The smaller mare crept inside, taking in the walls adorned with statues and ancient frescoes. They mainly depicted Alicorns and other creatures of myth and legend. A few pews sat in two columns, one each on either side of the pathway. At the far end of the room was a gilded altar, decorated with rich marble carvings.

Spiced candles were lit by Celestia’s magic, and she levitated a bundle of incense from a nearby table and placed them in a stand. Flicking them to life, a stream of smoke crept high into the air.

Twilight noticed the small size of the room; it couldn’t be able to comfortably hold more than ten ponies. Yet, the height of the chamber was impressive, able to house a pony as giant as Celestia, horn and all.

The Princess in question was removing her regalia while Twilight studied the art within. The alicorn dipped her hooves in a font of water and bowed her head before the altar. Upon closer inspection, Twilight noticed the very same symbol carved into the altar as the one that hung around Celestia’s neck.

Faith was a funny thing in modern Equestria, and the Goddesses of the Sun and Moon didn’t demand any sort of worship or sacrifices—just taxes. Ancient idols of Gods and their temples were now heritage sights; relics of Equestria’s history instead of its living culture. Twilight didn’t realize at first but this room was a temple of some sort.

And Celestia was performing her own service; how much would that disturb the preconceptions of millions if it became widely known?

When Celestia was finished muttering something to herself, she stood back up and gathered her regalia in a magical embrace. The solar diarch noticed Twilight’s concentrated face and smiled.

“This is my private Chapel. I like to come down here when I feel stressed or lost or…just eager for a moment to myself. I try to come once a day, but that doesn’t always work out,” she said, studying the room just as Twilight was.

The purple mare approached the altar and raised a hoof to touch the sculptures, but Celestia gently pushed her student’s foreleg down. Twilight gave her mentor another confused look. “Legend says that the first marble block cut from the quarry for the castle was made into this altar, and this chapel was the first part carved into the mountain,” Celestia shared, knowing Twilight could always appreciate some history.

“That would put it…what? A few thousand years?” the younger mare asked.

“Four thousand, roughly.”

“Ah. Seems like only yesterday, doesn’t it?” Twilight deadpanned.

Celestia just gave a sardonic smirk, “I'm not that old.” The two shared a giggle and turned back towards the doors. Shutting them, Celestia latched them up and started down further into the hallway. “There’s still one more thing I’d like to show you,” she said, leading the way.

A few doors down Celestia opened one to reveal another room, a suite this time. Inside was a small living room, a fireplace and couch, along with some tables, a cabinet, stove, and sink. Off to the left was another door, presumably leading to the bedroom. Celestia flicked a light switch and stepped over to the fireplace. Igniting the logs sitting there, the Princess then used a simple cavitation spell to get the fire going. Satisfied with her work, she plopped down on the couch and set her levitated regalia onto a nearby side table, neatly arranging them.

“Take a look out the window,” Celestia said, retrieving two teacups and a kettle from the cabinet. Filling the kettle with water, she placed it on the stove. Not wanting to wait for the water to boil, she flashed her horn and immediately the kettle began to whistle. Pouring two cups, she retrieved a couple teabags and steeped them in the water.

Twilight meanwhile walked to the window and unlatched the glass panes. Opening them, she stood motionless for a time admiring the sight. Out this window, beyond the lights of the city at nighttime, Twilight could gaze down at the valley below the mountain. Little bright dots shined within the homes lining the riverside, and the pale moonlight reflected on the rippling water’s surface. It was simply beautiful, and when Twilight had her fill, she closed the window and turned back to Celestia, who gave her one of the teacups.

“This is my old room. When I first served the Prince of Canterlot, this was where I stayed. I spent many nights just staring out that window; very…meditative,” Celestia said, sipping from her cup. Immediately she set it down and put two scoops of sugar in.

Twilight did the same, “So you’ve kept this room available ever since?”

Celestia nodded, “Yes, it’s part of my retreat. When I’m not able to go to my country estate and relax, I can come here. This area of the castle is like my private residence.”

“The entire castle is your private residence,” Twilight quipped.

“Mmm…not quite. The castle technically belongs to the State. I use to receive a fifth of all crown finances for my personal use a long time ago,” Celestia began, gesturing her hoof into the air, “But new ideas about the purpose and practice of government convinced a faction in Parliament to requisition that. In exchange I was given a permanent lease on my tower apartment and the rooms down here to do whatever I want with.”

“Losing that much revenue doesn’t seem like a fair trade for a few sections of the Castle,” Twilight muttered with a raised eyebrow, stirring her tea before taking a drink.

“Perhaps not, but it was a good public relations move. Nopony wants to see their taxes go to maintaining my lavish lifestyle; I know I wouldn’t,” the white Princess winked, “And besides, I haven’t hurt for money in a thousand years.”

“Oh no?” Twilight’s response was calmed and subdued, almost incredulous.

“I’ve made a number of…wise investments. And I always pick up the check,” Celestia smirked.

“Like you did last night?” Twilight narrowed her eyes and stared down the alicorn, still drinking her tea.

“You found out about that?” Celestia’s ears dropped, wincing in embarrassment.

“Mhm…”

The alabaster mare started rubbing the back of her head, “I suppose wherever the Princess goes isn’t private for long… I was…wistful after telling you the story last night. I thought it’d be nice to spend some time with my sister.”

Twilight continued to narrow her eyes, and then a few moments later grinned a devious toothy smile. “I was only having fun. I completely understand; I don’t have a sister, but Cadance is the next best pony.”

A look of confusion and shock captured Celestia’s face before she began laughing, “That was alright, but you still have a lot to learn about messing with ponies.” The two chuckled together, and after a moment of silence, Celestia unfurled her great wings and smiled warmly down at her student, “I’m pleased to see you’re learning a very important lesson about being a leader: we may be paragons that others look up to, but ultimately we are still only ponies, and ponies need a little relaxation from time to time.”

Then the Solar Princess cleared her throat, “Which brings me to our purpose here.” Twilight set down her cup and levitated out her book and writing utensils. Seeing she had flipped to the appropriate page, Celestia continued, “The next portion of our story concerns two ponies, very much like those living in the city. They were guilty of the same vices and insecurities as millions of others, perfectly flawed as mortal creatures are.”

Celestia changed her voice from light and friendly to something more theatrical. Now she spoke with a proud bravado, “But history has remembered the two sisters as otherworldly saviors, guardians of the forces of nature and eternal exemplars of power, virtue and might. Through the ages the tale of their rise to power has been transformed into a grand myth of ancient titans clashing for dominance, until the Sun and Moon brought light through the shroud of darkness and chaos.”

Twilight silently giggled to herself and shook her head as she wrote, but said nothing; let the Princess have her fun.

“For this is the tale…of the Twin Goddesses!”

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Nikóleva spent a long while embracing her sister, and when they finally broke off, the sky had gotten dark. The two enjoyed a pleasant look at a silver moonrise before Taberanyn spoke to Nikóleva for the first time in thirty years.

“Dinner is almost ready; we don’t want it to get cold,” her voice was still as kind and sweet as Nikóleva remembered, and not a hint of malice filled it. And she too had that northern quality to her speech.

The elder mare blinked a couple times and smiled, feeling a rumbling in her belly. She allowed her sister to lead her into the house. At the front door the white alicorn noticed on either side of the entranceway were a couple baskets of soil, wilted remains of flowers resting atop the dirt.

“Henarion’s wife enjoys flowers,” Taby said, holding the door open, “In the spring she likes to cut bouquets; she says their fragrance promotes ‘good health’.”

Nikóleva stepped through the threshold, “I imagine Henarion scoffs and grumbles at that,”

Taberanyn followed in, shutting the door, “Not as much as you might think.”

The white pony giggled softly to herself, and paused to take in the home. Cozily lit by a number of candles and the roaring fire, the cottage’s interior was filled with quaint furniture; some made of oak, others walnut and chestnut. Doubtless Henarion and her own sister had been busy building all this, and done not too shabby a job. Somepony had even knitted little drapes for the tables.

Taberanyn adjourned to the next room from which a pleasant humming had been sounding. Henarion was in front of the fire, speaking with his son, who looked at his father with awestruck eyes. The old stallion noticed his guest, and invited her to sit on one of the couches.

Ungirting her sword and resting it against the wall, Nikóleva plopped down with an exhaustive promptness. It was so nice to sit on a piece of furniture actually designed for somepony of her size. Too many times hosts had invited her into their homes, and not to be ungrateful for their hospitality, but truthfully the houses were often too low and the seats to small.

But Henarion was obviously an alicorn, and his home had been built with that in mind. Her bones and muscles were dense, and there were a couple times she actually broke something she intended to sit on.

Perhaps she should stop just dropping onto them?

Nikóleva rolled her eyes and simply appreciated the sturdiness of her current seat. Eldowas, the excitable little foal, immediately hopped next to her and looked up, that curious glint in his eye.

“Is she the pony, Papa? Is she the one you told me about?” Henarion nodded, staring into the fire. Eldowas turned back to his father and inspected his face, “So she’s the one who gave you that?” he asked as he pointed to his father’s missing eye.

Again he nodded, but this time he faced Nikóleva and gave her a cold glower. The mare shrunk sheepishly in her place. Henarion then craned down to his son, “You should have seen it the first couple weeks; had to get your aunt to help me drain the pus.” His gaze went back to Nikóleva, “That’s why you wear your mane like that, isn’t it?”

“Rhódin,” the mare replied, unable to meet Henarion’s good eye.

The gruff alicorn then grinned, “She didn’t give it to me; we were in a fight together a long time ago. Ain’t matter much no more; I think she’s made up for it now.”

Henarion summoned some magic to untie the eyepatch and placed it on a table. After cracking his neck, the stallion’s ears perked up at a wonderfully melodious voice coming from the other room. It wasn’t Taberanyn’s though.

“Dinner is ready; everypony come to the table!” it was clearly a mare; quite motherly too.

The three ponies by the fireplace obliged, and each found a chair at the large dining table between the couches and kitchen. A glass vase sat in the center, and Nikóleva surmised that when in bloom, flowers would probably be sitting in it. For right now, though, it was empty.

Taberanyn came out first, levitating a couple plates of vegetables and potatoes. She set them down on the table and took a seat next to her sister. Eldowas was eagerly shaking in his chair, licking his lips, “Hurry up, Mama!”

“Eldowas,” Henarion ordered, his voice once again familiarly stern, “Be patient. You’re mother has been working hard on dinner; you can wait a moment more.”

The colt stilled himself, “Yes, Papa.”

That lovely voice came out again, “Coming, Sweetling!”

Nikóleva heard hoofsteps, and found herself with a growing sense of satisfaction. Soon she’d get the chance to meet Henarion’s wife, the mare who decided she wanted to put up with his bitter attitude for the rest of her life. What poor alicorn—

Nikóleva made no attempt to hide her shock and confusion. A pale pink pegasus emerged from the kitchen threshold. Her mane was light shade of purple, and she was pretty—too pretty for a dirty ancient creature like Henarion. Upon her flank was one of those marks Tulicëai possessed; an image of a small cluster of flowers, naturally.

She had a bowl of oats balanced on her back, and as she approached the seat next to her husband, she unfurled a wing and slid the bowl onto the table. It was an elegant motion, one Nikóleva was sure ponies without magic practiced quite a bit.

Henarion and his wife and son joined hooves, Taberanyn following. Nikóleva was invited by her sister to join. Taking the gesture, Nikóleva sat patiently as Henarion began to speak, “Great Lórian almighty, we thank you for this meal your good Earth has given us. And thank you eternally for bringing Nikóleva back to us.”

The white alicorn smiled widely and wiped her eye. The ponies around the table started fetching their desired food, Nikóleva waiting until everypony had their first helping. Henarion took one bite of a collage of green vegetables and smacked his lips.

“Mmm Primrose, you’ve outdone yourself with this one, Dear.”

The pegasus mare just blushed, and continued eating. After a few swallows, she looked up at Nikóleva, “Is she Taby’s sister? The pony we’ve heard stories about?”

“Ay, she’s the ‘Wintermail’,” Henarion said, his tone a little mocking.

Nikóleva stopped eating for a moment, “You’ve heard about me—Wintermail?”

“Oh yes!” Primrose said, her smile beaming, “Ponies all across Equestria have in some way or another. And I would have never guessed it’d be Taby’s own sister!” The pegasus flared out her wings in excitement; well it was clear where Eldowas got his energy.

“I’m flattered,” Nikóleva responded, shrinking a bit, “But I’m not involved in wandering anymore.”

“And what do you do?” this time it was Taberanyn’s turn to speak.

Nikóleva swallowed and cleared her throat. “I am a Knight pledged in service to the Prince of Canterlot. Dame Wintermail, Knight Commander in the Canterlot Guard,” she announced, knowing a mare of her station ought to proudly declare her loyalties and duties.

“You’re a knight?” Primrose said, her face once again exuberant.

“Like in the stories?” Eldowas chimed in, fore-hooves on the table, trying to stretch himself towards Nikóleva, “Do you save damsels in distress and slay dragons?”

Seeing a youth so full of life and so excited about all the wonders of the world…it reawakened something inside the tall white pony. To think after all the horrors she’s been witness to, a pony could still not fear the unknown, and crave to discover all the miracles of Lórian’s own world—Nikóleva fell into a fit of giggles, Eldowas and the others mimicking the infectious behavior.

She had in fact done those things, and so much more, just not as a knight. “Something along those lines,” Nikóleva finally answered, her laughter subsiding as she returned to her meal.

Henarion spoke to his wife, “She’s goings to get me an audience with the Prince. Maybe now we can get rid of those damned dogs”

Primrose’s countenance immediately grew cold, “Language, Henarion.”

The oldest pony in the room almost choked on his food, and dropped his ears, “Yes ma’am.” His good eye shifted to Eldowas, “tamh-Mherdilion árac tenë máhoniln der gasubemë tuln sima.(Don’t let your mother hear you talking like that.)”

“Vaur, Liaf(Yes, Father.)”

Nikóleva very much admired that the old Alicorn tongue was being passed down to a younger member. Primrose however didn’t seem to enjoy not being able to understand.

“Cadapilímera canda bhinala taë-hónacilím sima,(You might be getting into more trouble by doing that,)” Taberanyn joined in, wearing a smug little grin for her “Uncle”.

“Eldowas barcetiltinoc ydoral venë,(Eldowas should be shown his heritage,)” Nikóleva added, stirring a couple pieces of her steamed broccoli.

“I agree, but there a time and place,” Henarion admitted, and placed a hoof on his wife’s. The two shared a loving gaze and she went back to her cheerful demeanor.

A few moments of quiet passed before Nikóleva broke it, “I never imagined Henarion to be one for marriage and a family; he’s always struck me as too sour.” Taberanyn cracked up to the point where she had to cover her mouth; Henarion just rolled his eye.

“We left the north when the dogs became too aggressive. Your sister and I did what alicorns do best; wander. Did that for quite a while, helped out little towns here and there. One day we save a village from some bandits, and a filly comes out and asks if she can tag along for a ways.”

The orange stallion paused, taking a few more bites, “I tell her to stay put; it’s too dangerous out in the wilds. Then your sister tells me to let her join us; says it’ll nice to have somepony near her age to talk to for once. I wasn’t good enough.” He then smiled, “I make sure to thank Taberanyn for that every day.” The dark blue mare blushed and shyly went back to her food.

Primrose then picked up the story, “We journeyed around a few years, and by the end of it Henarion and I were married. We homesteaded some acres of empty land in the Princedom and built a house. Three years ago Eldowas was born, and we couldn't be happier—Diamond Dogs besides.”

Nikóleva simply studied the two ponies. Henarion and Primrose were an odd match, but she’s been around long enough to know that their love was genuine. He’d endured a harsh existence, and had to take care of one ungrateful filly; he deserved at least something in life.

But then the alabaster alicorn thought a bit longer, and she remembered Evergreen: her first love. There were other…dalliances in her days of adventuring, but there had only been one Evergreen. He was kind, generous, and always eager to help. She recalled that day out in the snow when he invited her into his home, and a year later when they’d shared a kiss.

She remembered too, not so long ago, seeing him old and withered. Dying before her very eyes, Evergreen’s state was painful reminder of what she was, and what it meant.

Nikóleva had read books about her race, and knew alicorns could expect to live between three and four-hundred years. If her arithmetic was correct—and the Librarian’s constant canings made sure of that—Henarion was around one-hundred and ninety. Primrose was young, and still full of vitality, but even the healthiest and most vibrant Tulicëai expired in less than a century.

Everypony saw Nikóleva’s smile fade, an expression of uncertainty and frustration setting in. She wondered if Henarion understood all this. Surely he must have…

“Nikól, how did you manage a place in the Guard?” Taberanyn asked, poking her sister with a hoof.

“Hmm?” the white pony wracked her mind to figure out what was just said. Maybe Delbedasir was on to something when he said she needed to learn to focus better… “Oh yes! Actually…this is related to something I’d like to ask you, Henarion, if you would be so kind.”

The stallion raised his eyebrow and sipped from his cup of water.

“I have learned that I am the Exilarch of the Alicorns,” Nikóleva announced, causing Henarion to slam down his cup and burst into a fit of coughing. His wife patted him on the back a couple times before he calmed down. Nikóleva waited for him to stop being in such a state of distress, “A stallion—an alicorn—in service of Canterlot told me. He said our father traveled there before, and that he wed our parents.”

Henarion furrowed his brow and searched his memories for the stallion in question. His eye widened with the realization, “Beige pony, big long beard; seemed impatient like he always had someplace more important to be.”

Nikóleva smirked, “That’s him. He’s my teacher, and he taught me to read. Showed me a book written by Solárindil. I learned about us, the alicorns.”

“’Solárindil’, like our family name?” Taberanyn inquired, scrunching her face into a puzzled expression.

The elder sister smiled softly, “Yes. He was a King of Equestria; our ancestor.”

Now it Taberanyn’s turn to raise an incredulous eyebrow, “Oh really? And where is our castle?”

Her sister took a breath to retort, but instead sighed, dropping her eyes, “There is no castle, there is no crown, and there is no kingdom.”

Taberanyn rolled her eyes, “I suppose some dull-witted stallion might be impressed, Nikól, but—“

“It’s true,” Henarion admitted, “You two are descended from royalty, and your father was the Exilarch.” He saw Taby’s lost look, “The leader…of sorts, of all the alicorns in Equestria. It doesn’t matter much in this age; nothing comes with it besides a fancy title and that sword you put over there,” he pointed at Eónadin resting against the wall.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you getting caught up in the games and scheming of these lords; seems like it happened anyway with you, Nikóleva.”

Taberanyn let loose a quiet chuckle, “Looks like you and I are more special than we thought, Sister. But what does it have to do with the guard?”

“I can’t be sure. The Prince feels that because of my bloodline I can help reunify the Kingdom. I’m not sure how he intends to do that, but honestly I’m simply happy to serve as a knight.”

“Even that’s too much,” Henarion shot, his voice laced with that familiar bitterness, “You’re better off staying out of all those politics. Us alicorns are big enough targets as it is, let alone ones going ‘round saying they’re the rightful Queen.”

Nikóleva’s face grew deadly serious right then, “I swore a sacred oath to the Prince; I will not leave,” she calmed down a bit, “I’ve done that enough.”

Henarion glared with his good eye, “And I swore an oath to your father, and your grandfather, that I’d keep you two safe. My bloodline comes from the Captain of Vasílion’s personal bodyguard, and my ancestors have protected yours ever since. And I won’t be the one who breaks faith,” he too let his demeanor drop, “It’s terrible enough I let your father die.”

“I told you never to say that!” Taberanyn shouted, a fiery rage engulfing her, seemingly from nowhere. She slammed her hooves on the table, and stood up to stare down Henarion.

The home became deathly silent, the other ponies with stunned confusion on their faces. Taberanyn bared her teeth and heaved deliberately, but when she caught sight of little Eldowas shrinking in his seat, wrapping his own foreleg around his mother’s, her anger and hurt evaporated away like morning dew. To see a colt usually so joyous and energetic in a state of terror…the dark blue alicorn swiftly returned to her seat, unable to meet anypony else’s eyes.

Nikóleva gazed a few moments at her sister; what had happened during all this time? The Taby she knew would never produce such an outburst. The white mare placed a hoof on her sister’s shoulder, and gave her a loving smile. Taberanyn glimpsed the gesture and soon returned it.

The Wanderer of the North did not yet know it, but her sister had borne witness to a number of terrible things, of which one of the most haunting was seeing Henarion at his lowest.

The orange stallion cleared his throat once he ascertained that his son wasn’t distressed anymore. “Taberanyn is right: we’re not here for my own self-pity. You’re over fifty, Nikóleva, you’re a grown mare. I can’t stop you from doing anything anymore than I could when Maiëlindir was your age,” Henarion conceded, smugly grinning and crossing his forelegs, “I suppose being stubborn’s in your ‘Royal Blood’.”

Nikóleva digested his words, and tried to figure out what her father might say about all this Canterlot business. She looked up at Henarion, and couldn’t help but giggle; his words sounded even more mocking in that rustic northern accent. Finally, after taking another bite of her dinner, she took a quick look over the table’s other occupants, “Thank you.”

The rest of the meal was rather free from any more grave instances. Eldowas was first to set the trend, asking Nikóleva about what being a knight was like. The mare indulged him, and like she had so many times before, she enraptured a wide-eyed youth with her stories of epic and perilous deeds. Taberanyn too got involved, and deciding she didn’t want her sister to steal all the fame and glory shared a few of her adventures.

Taberanyn and Henarion’s journeys had taken them through the hills and vales and forests of Equestria, encountering many odd creatures. The two had seen curious “bat-ponies”, encountered and fought hydras and even the rare bunyip. Taby told one instance when she’d actually sparred against a dragon, came to a draw, and shared a drink.

It was no Greater Dragon, but Nikóleva conceded that her sister wasn’t so meek anymore. In fact, the elder mare was honestly shocked to learn that Taberanyn had grown up into a fairly capable combatant. When asked where her weapon was, Taberanyn replied it was in the shed; a simple logging axe.

Nikóleva smirked; of course it was.

But she couldn’t help but feel uneasy at this revelation. Alicorns were effectively thrust into a rough life of violence and bloodshed, and some argued that her race were natural-born warriors. Their history and heritage she had learned certainly suggested as much; Nikóleva didn’t have to like it, though.

The most distressing matter, however, was that in some ways Nikóleva no longer recognized her own sister. So much time had passed, and so much had changed…no, it would fine…there’d be plenty of time to catch up. The two sisters had centuries more to make new memories. Nikóleva would make sure they’d never be parted again.

The evening wore on, and the mirth died down some. A few cups of light draft beer had calmed down the adults for now. Nikóleva was eager to challenge Henarion to a drinking contest, but decided against it. If the old stallion even managed to survive that ordeal against the giant white mare, such an activity would be very irresponsible.

For in the morning Nikóleva—Dame Wintermail would need to lead Henarion and his family to Canterlot. There the Prince certainly wanted to meet them, and they’d stay as her own guests. When she told Primrose and Eldowas, they were positively ecstatic. Henarion didn’t like it much, but he yielded to the high spirits of his two dear treasures.

Soon everypony adjourned from the table. Nikóleva thanked Primrose for the meal, and offered to help with the dishes. A short washing later and everypony went off to bed. The two sisters shared a hug, and Taberanyn offered the pink-maned pony her own bed to sleep in, but Nikóleva insisted on staying on the couch; she’d slept on far worse before.

She was exhausted from the day, physically and emotionally. Today had been a dream come true, almost unreal. As she lay by the dying fire, Nikóleva peaked out the window and stared up at the moon. Eyes heavy and fading from consciousness, the alicorn remembered a word of wisdom her dear father once gave, “Trust Lórian, and all will be provided; we simply need to pick the fruit from the tree.” As of late a number of trees had shown themselves, and the most recent had produced perhaps the sweetest fruit of all.

The mare craned her neck down and curled up on the perfectly-sized couch. Draping her massive wing across her body for that heavenly sense of coziness, she slipped into the most calming, blissful sleep of her life.

Nikóleva now had a family again, and she’d never let go of it.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

“I did not believe for a moment that in my lifetime I’d meet an Heir of Solárindil,” Prince Petrafyrm began, eyes fixed on the two alicorns in his private tower, “And here I stand before two.”

Taberanyn bowed before the Prince, while Nikóleva stood next to her sister, clad in her Knight’s armor. The Ruler of Canterlot then turned his attention to his sworn bannerpony, “You did not tell me you had a sister. Frankly, Dame Wintermail, I am disappointed.”

The Knight’s expression plummeted. She bowed her own neck and looked at the floor, “I ask forgiveness, my Liege. There were…circumstances preventing me—“

“I will not scold you like a foal. There are far more important matters to discuss.” His attention shifted towards the blue mare. He gently brought a hoof under her chin and led her face back up. “Taberanyn, isn’t it?” he asked with a patient and calm smile.

Taby had a difficult time making eye contact, and took a moment to respond. She licked her lips before speaking up, “Yes my…Lord. I…it is a wonderful honor…”

The sovereign rolled his eyes and smirked, “Of course it’s ‘an honor to meet me’. Ponies simply adore meeting nobles. The charm wears off once you meet enough of them; many are spoiled, indolent things. But I digress: Taberanyn,” he extended his hoof, returning to that stately visage his Princeship had perfected, “I would like to extended an offer to you.”

Henarion had been standing off in the room’s sitting area, speaking quietly with his wife. He had been spending the time admiring the rich paintings and sculptures in the chamber, but the mere idea of the Prince “leeching” his tendrils into Taberanyn as he did with Nikóleva—he jumped up and sternly walked towards the Lord.

“What sort of ‘offer’?” the orange alicorn intoned.

Despite being shorter than the full grown alicorn, the Prince could not be intimidated. He flashed a deathly stare from his purple eyes and stood defiant. His expression softened once he saw Henarion recoil ever so slightly. “A chance to study under the most prolific and respected scholar in all of Canterlot. And of course to be instructed in the art of combat by the finest weapons master I can recruit.”

He raised a hoof and pointed at Taberanyn, “She would live here in the castle, with her sister. They are Royalty, and deserve to receive a grand education. Poor Nikóleva could not even read when I met her.”

Henarion continued to glare, “Books ain’t going to feed us or keep the dogs away. Besides I need her help tending to my land; how else am I supposed to pay your taxes.” Henarion’s final words were laced with a vicious kind of sardonicism.

“The harvest season is over, is it not?” the Prince retorted. Henarion grimaced, but relented and nodded. “What else is there to do once the snow falls?”

“Fix what was broken in the summer by those damned dogs, which my Liege was supposed to protect me from.”

The Prince raised an eyebrow, “I recall you, Henarion. You came to my court several years before and I believe I granted you that land. In exchange I expected your services to the realm in times of need. To deny somepony in your home the chance to serve, why that’d be breaking faith, would it not?”

Henarion clenched his teeth, “Is that a threat?”

“Certainly not; merely an observation,” the Prince coolly spoke, levitating up a teacup to sip from.

“That’s a shame…,” Henarion muttered before a light knock on his head caused him to find his senses once more. He turned his head to see that Primrose was standing beside, looking very displeased.

“You forget your manners!” she berated.

Henarion then saw Nikóleva glowering at him as well, understanding that she took her vows to the Prince quite seriously. He sighed, “I apologize, your Highness. I’m…concerned for Taberanyn’s safety…but,” he paused, remembering the years he’d spent with the blue mare—seeing how much she’d grown, “You didn’t ask me.”

The four other ponies faced Taberanyn. She tensed up, and groaned a bit before speaking, “I am not sure…what I want.”

“Please, take all the time you need,” the Prince then sat down on one of the couches and continued drinking his beverage.

Taberanyn took a moment and crept towards one of the windows. High in the white tower she could see the glory of Canterlot, the surrounding alabaster wall and its battlements. The billowing banners reminded her of the epics she’d heard being recited by traveling minstrels. Now, with the knowledge that she possessed “royal” blood, it became exciting to imagine herself in songs and tales of her own. Would she get an Equestrian name like her sister had? What would it be?

But then she remembered Henarion, and his home and family. She’d been with him so long…and there was much work to do; she could not simply abandon them. She belonged on a plot of land, sowing and harvesting. Wasn’t that the station of an alicorn: perpetual anonymity?

Nikóleva slowly advanced beside her sister, and joined Taby in looking out the window. The blue mare’s teal eye glanced to her sister’s magenta one, “What do you think?”

Nikóleva took a deep breath, a heavy expression on her face, “I’m so sorry that I left you...I want to make it up to you. I have duties here; I am sworn to the Prince and his people. But you and I belong together.” Turning from the window, Nikóleva resumed speaking to the other ponies in the room, “It was not chance that you found me, Henarion; there was a purpose for it.”

Henarion’s eyes shifted about as he contemplated the idea.

The white alicorn the met her sister’s eyes, “I believe…there’s something to all this. We are meant for something greater than the simple vagabond life. Perhaps one day there might be a ruler of Equestria again, and perhaps we might be alive to see it, but I…,” she took one more look at the Prince, his expression full of pride for her, “Know we have a part to play in that.”

Nikóleva offered her hoof to Taberanyn, “Can you accept my apology, and join me?

The midnight blue alicorn silently consulted Henarion, who smiled and nodded slightly. Looking back at her sister, Taberanyn bumped Nikóleva’s hoof. “Fine, but I want a nice title—and a bejeweled sword like you,” she laughed, grabbing her sister for a hug.

“I think something could be arranged,” the Prince chortled, “I cannot thank you enough, Taberanyn. You will receive the finest training available. But for now,” he said levitating a silver tray and removed the lid, “Would anypony care for a tart and a hot drink?”

Primrose happily accepted the gesture, and retrieved two confections. She gave the second to her husband, and Henarion gruffly took a bite. “There still remains the matter of those Diamond Dogs,” he reminded.

The Prince poured everypony a cup of tea and set the pot down, “Certainly. I promise you, Henarion, everything will be dealt with once the thaw comes.” He sat down and silently enjoyed the idle conversation starting up by the others. A heavenly sense of warmth glowed in his chest, and not simply from the tea!

When he’d heard Wintermail had left her post yesterday, he wasn’t terrible thrilled about it; there was work the Guard needed to do. But when she’d returned this morning and introduced him to her sister…it was almost overwhelming. His prayers had been answered, and like his trusted Knight had said it was all for a reason. Taberanyn seemed kind and capable, and if she was anything like her sister then the Prince had nothing to fear and everything to expect.

This day had been so perfect; little Lord Vale had taken well to his new friend Eldowas. Right now they were probably playing colt’s games in the courtyard, like pretending to be knights. Henarion was rigid and bitter, but the Prince could hardly blame him after over a century of eking out a difficult living. His wife, on the other hoof, was downright pleasant company.

Holding himself with noble dignitas, he refilled his cup and placed some sugar in it. All the pieces were coming together very nicely, and if the Diamond Dogs played right into his hooves—and they would most certainly do so—then he’d be well poised to begin the next phase of his endeavors.

For in spring, with two royal alicorns in his service, the time would finally be right to call for the first time in over a hundred years a congress of Equestria’s Lords.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

The harsh wind billowed across the vast prairie, the first stings of winter’s chill in the air. Here, on the western limits of civilized ponies lied the bulwark against the fierce tribes beyond Equestria. The Kingdom of Mareposa for centuries stood steadfast in the work to contain the mustang hordes and Minotaur chiefdoms, preventing their overflow into the wealthy realms in the east.

The kingdom grew from a fortress built upon the steppe, on a river that breathed life into the vast farmland once cultivated in the western leys of Equestria. When Thunderhoof the Valiant was killed, and the pony-lands fractured apart, Goldsoetha, the Warden of the Plains, took up her sword and fought the mustang warlord Ögedi and won. The legend tells how she broke the warlord’s own blade and severed his head. Goldsoetha then threw it before his blood-sworn companions, and the mustangs fled in terror at the death of their greatest champion.

From then, Goldsoetha was crowned by her ponies “Queen of Mareposa, Defendress of the West”. The realm grew in time, to rival even the rich cities and the glittering princedoms to the east. But that was centuries before, and since then Mareposa has declined. The borders became insecure, the harvests weaker and weaker. The brutal winters became longer and more terrible. The augers told of a great evil working its fell magic in the mountains; many disregarded this as superstition.

And even then, despite Mareposa no longer being supreme on the plain, the great fortress still stood ever-impregnable. A great encircling wall topped with dozens of battlements kept watch over the countryside for miles around. The Mareposan Honor Guard was trained to take no prisoners, and fall upon their great pikes should the Kingdom ever be threatened. Defeated mustangs and minotaurs could expect their disembodied heads to mount the crenelations of the walls, and captured warchiefs were often skinned alive and displayed before the gates.

Mareposan ways were terrifying and cruel, matching nicely with their homeland, and their enemies. Some in the privileged, decadent east chided that the uncivilized primitives had rubbed off on them; hard words for such soft ponies.

The mettle of the western bastion would be tested soon enough. The Honor Guard assembled atop the walls, battle-ready and watching the assembled host of savages from across the south and west. Perhaps tens of thousands of minotaurs and mustangs stood outside, snarling and brandishing their cruel weapons.

The city had raised its levy of citizens and every available building and block was filled with the militia. Leading the defense was King Crimson Blitz himself, dressed in the plain armor any red-blooded Mareposan would take pride in.

He was a strong stallion, a bright red unicorn with an earth pony’s physique. This was standard for the mixed yet robust blood of the Mareposans. Bright green eyes narrowed down at the raised banners of the enemy, the standard of that new Minotaur King who had united the disparate tribes. They endeavored to invade Equestria—but to do so they’d have to first smash through Mareposa, and not once had this happened in over a thousand years.

His horns lit up, and from his scabbard he drew the great ancestral sword of Queen Goldsoetha. Purportedly a gift from the mythical alicorns, it was bladed with primordial steel, the metal itself having been forged in fire and magic. Unable to rust or dull, the weapon was one of the last to be made of the legendary material, its secret long lost and its makers long gone.

It once had an alicorn name, but Goldsoetha preferred to call it “Hordebreaker”. Its mottled steel shone in the sunlight, and its bejeweled hilt flashed across the army of Mareposa. He’d made his speech, his people roused; now was the time for deeds. He heard a trumpet sound in the horde below, and the force advanced.

Interspersed through the Minotaur-Mustang host were large grey beasts. Crimson Blitz had never seen or heard of such creatures, ugly things with long noses and big ears. White tusks jutted from their heads, and atop the animals were wooden saddles holding their zebra handlers.

He raised his sword, and called out, “Archers!” Seconds later a deluge of projectiles zipped through the air, blanketing a great part of the horde. Hundreds went down instantly, but this was but a drop in the sea of thousands. The war-beasts seemed to have armor on, and the arrows left them unfazed. More waves of arrows, and more minotaurs and mustangs were claimed, but it wasn’t enough.

No matter; the King did not expect so easy a victory. The foe brought ladders to the walls, and began to set them against the stone. Warriors from atop the battlements began pouring boiling oil down on them. The shrieks of agony were horrifying, and from his vantage point Crimson Blitz could see strips of their flesh slithering off. Some gave mercy to their burned comrades with a sword.

But so close to the walls the invaders were easier targets for the archers, and many fell from the ladders by arrows and thrown stones. Those that ascended were speared by the Honor Guard, and one ladder was even pushed backwards, falling onto a contingent of minotaurs.

After some time, the lumbering giant beasts made it to the walls, and began beating the gates. One was hit by oil, and letting loose a haunting cry, rearing up before falling down on dozens of warriors. Another was spooked, and began running amok across the field. Presumably one of its handlers managed to put the beast down, for it fell dead a short time later.

His people fought bravely, but in the end there were too many. Some minotaurs made it up the walls, and their superior size and strength proved too much against the poorly-armed defenders. One gatehouse fell an hour into the engagement. The King tried to send members of his Guard to pry other places up, but it was to no avail.

One of the war-beasts broke open the heavy gate, and in rushed a flood of mustangs. The nomads, armed with their metal-wool caps and curved sabers, wreaked havoc on the Mareposan levies. They galloped through and cut down any in their pathway. The King saw the carnage, and knew the outer city was lost. He raised Hordebreaker and called out, “Fall back! To the Keep!”

As he ran down the ramparts to lead his host back to the inner fortress, his attending Captain of the Honor Guard gave one final nod and gathered the elite pikeponies. In a steadfast phalanx formation, the ponies maneuvered to contained the invaders, allowing the lighter militias to retreat.

Hundreds upon hundreds of mustangs and minotaurs were viciously gored by the wall of pikes, and even one of the grey war-monsters was skewered through, its death knell a blaring trumpet of pain. But in the end the multitudinous hordes could simply win by attrition. The Honor Guard slew a dozen foes for every one of their numbers, but it only delayed the inevitable. Once the phalanx was flanked, it fell apart. The Guardsponies fought to the death, as valiantly as any hero in the ancient epics. The God Lionheart would have been proud, but they still died.

King Crimson Blitz hurried the last of his warriors into the inner keep, and stood atop the fortress. More war-beasts barreled onward, and as they had at the outer fortifications smashed through, the same savage horde bursting in like roaring water through a broken dam. Minotaur bands and mustang herds alone could not have done this, but the minotaurs had their own King and the mustangs a Great Warchief. Such unity had never existed before in either’s ranks.

The King understood well; once Mareposa had fallen, they’d march on the rest of Equestria, and lay waste to it. Perhaps the Age of Ponies was nearing its end…better to face it ever defiant and courageous. He looked at his remaining soldiers, so many now dead and trampled over. They’d enslave the mares and foals, and kill the stallions; not one pony wielding a weapon would survive the day.

The enemy flowed into the fortress courtyard, and engaged the Mareposans. The King raised Hordebreaker one last time, and charged headlong into the fray. He impaled one mustang with his horn, another’s head cleaved off by his ancient blade. Dozens were felled by the unleashed fury of Mareposa’s sovereign, and he’d even fought and killed a Minotaur champion.

His muscles were wearing down though, and soon he utilized magic to continue his rampage. A bright green bolt was directed at a random mustang, and moments later he was engulfed in a cloud of fire, burning to cinders seconds later. The screams were horrible, but the King spared neither pity nor remorse.

A hundred foes must have been slain by Crimson Blitz, but eventually his magic ran low. His head throbbing, he couldn’t focus on his battle-spell, and heaved in exhaustion. The knights and militia ponies around him were tired too, and put up little resistance as more and more savages advanced. One large minotaur, adorned with tattoos and scars, and even a pony’s skull slung across his chest, spat some foul language at his subordinates, and they rushed the King.

He summoned his remaining strength and channeled his magic into Hordebreaker. Glowing with the intensity of the sun, Crimson Blitz cut down the approaching minotaurs. Yet with every swing his mind and body became a little more spent, and eventually the glow subsided. His horn fizzled and Hordebreaker was dropped from his aura. The minotaur champion picked up the blade and smiled, shouting more commands in his language.

The creatures grabbed the King’s legs and drug him towards one of the city’s temples. Fading from consciousness, his eyes widen in horror as one of the last war-beasts left alive reared up and smashed down one of the temple’s walls. Mustangs galloped through the breach and smashed the carved statues of the Gods.

Lionheart’s stone head rolled to Crimson Blitz, and he took one long look as they put him upon the temple’s altar. Held down by four strong minotaurs, the not-yet defeated sovereign gathered his remaining power and unleashed his fire spell one last time. All four were incinerated, and he utilized his reinvigorated magic to steal his blade back from the champion. One final uppercut opened the Minotaur’s torso, and his putrid entrails slithered out.

As he turned to kill the others in the vicinity, a shroud of purple aura captured his limbs. Thrashing, gritting his teeth, he soon found the magic coming from a few mustang shamans, their eyes glowing a sickly green and trailing that same purple haze. How could this have been possible? Earth ponies cannot use magic!

It didn’t matter: he was slammed back upon the altar. Unable to move—even breathe—he writhed in his failure. Crimson Blitz could not save his kingdom, his city, nor his people…

One of the shamans then developed bloody red cracks on his face, and started to shriek in agony. Blood trickled from the cracks, and his skin aged rapidly. Dropping to the ground, the green glow subsided from his lifeless eyes.

The king was still restrained, and a Minotaur acolyte approached and brandished a shiny black dagger. Hovering it over Crimson Blitz’s heart, he plunged it down, ignoring the King’s cries. With one swift motion his still-beating heart was cut out, and the acolyte uttered a dark and fell incantation.

Once a proud and just warrior-King, Crimson Blitz was now a sacrifice to a dark god. The last sensation he was cursed to endure was his blood being drawn from his pores by black magic. He closed his eyes, praying that Allfather would judge him virtuous, and for a place amongst Lionheart’s Ethereal Host.

The trails of blood moved down the altar, and filled the circular design on the temple’s exposed floor. As the King’s body crumbled to dust leaving nothing but bone, the blood started to glow bright blue, and a ring of light shot up into the air. The present minotaurs and mustangs joined in the wicked chant of the acolyte, and the shamans directed their blood magic to the ring.

Steeling themselves through the pounding aches in their heads, the shamans heard only one thing; an indication that their work had begun successfully.

Echoing through the city and across the plain, to the chill of every creature, was a single malicious laugh.

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 3. The Battle of Windhock Vale

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 3. The Battle of Windhock Vale

A hundred soldiers stood on either side of the throughway, lined up in perfect intervals, completely motionless like armor-clad statues. They all wore crested helms and held a pike in a forehoof, every tenth one’s crest red and a blue banner adorning their pike’s shaft. The Canterlot Guard was unsurpassed in discipline and training in all of Equestria, direct descendants of the bygone professional army of the ancient Kingdom. They were trained in a variety of weapons, but today on this cloudy early morning they’d form an impenetrable wall of pikes. The Guard would be the van, engaging the enemy formations and providing a base for Canterlot’s battle lines.

Petrafyrm of Canterlot, donned in steel barding, trotted down the pathway formed by his soldiers, his retinue in tow. Traveling in his Princeship’s wake was his loyal squire, Brigandine, a young cream-colored unicorn. Completing the entourage were ten members of the Guard, all wearing special gold-trimmed armor and a blue surcoat, the shoulder adorned with the heraldic six-pointed violet star. These ten were the elite personal bodyguards of his Princeship, sworn to defend the life of their sovereign.

Stoic and tall, the Prince proceeded towards the light-colored command tent on the other end of walkway. Never flashing any emotion, internally he was quite proud of himself. Three weeks he was allotted to prepare, and he and his ministers managed to call together eight thousand peasants, knights, and guardsponies. Then they had to assembled them, outfit them with weapons where applicable, and train them. Not only that, but it was winter, and extra food supplies and warm clothing had to be procured so the poor souls wouldn’t freeze on the march.

There were many problems, especially with nobles not wanting to offer their own banners to the cause, but somehow Prince Peter had formed up an army and now stood within its camp. It had been perhaps thirty years since all the levies of the Realm had been mustered, but thank Lórian it was successful. The positions were set, and all the troops in formations across the battlefield; all that remained was a short meeting with his military staff and commanders.

Once he and his entourage closed within a dozen feet of the command tent, The Prince stopped his pace and turned around, studying the assemblage of officers and soldiers for today’s work. His scouts returned word that the Diamond Dog forces were advancing down the road, and they’d be here very soon. Through no inconsiderable effort pegasi had managed to gather enough clouds to create a light fog through the shallow valley. Visibility was low, and the clouds were encumbered with snow.

He smiled, remembering how his father had once counseled him to utilize the terrain and conditions as much as one’s soldiers. Here in this small strip of land nestled between two ranges of hills known as Windhock Vale the dogs would be funneled right where he wanted them to.

Two guards beside the opening of the large tent stepped aside to allow the Prince in, leaving his retinue behind. It was spacious, held up by numerous wooden poles and lit by an assortment of brass candelabras mounted on quick-folding tables. Off to one corner was the Prince’s space, occupied by an empty cot and a small desk. On top was a masterfully-carved mahogany box in which was kept the Ruler’s correspondences.

Earlier this morning its contents had been strewn about the desk, but right now the box was locked up and the space tidied up. To the other side of the tent was a large table, a few chairs placed around its perimeter. Occupying the chairs, if they could find one, were about a dozen ponies. The Prince trotted down the middle of the tent, passing by his bannerponies. At the closest end were the five Counts he’d appointed to the position of commander. They all bowed their heads as he approached, and the sovereign gave a slight nod in recognition.

Marshal Helmraed was next, hovering rather than standing next to Petrafyrm’s chair. The dark blue pegasus was a little on the aged side, and he was more than likely adjusting himself for the multitude of flying he’d be doing this day. On the other side of the Prince’s seat was Captain Gendarmette, her purple-crest helm sitting on the space before her. These seven ponies took all the available seats, leaving four others to stand against the tent wall.

Three alicorns, a rare but inspiring sight for his troops, and a young emerald earth pony squire pitiably dwarfed in front were motionless, focusing their eyes on the Prince. The shortest alicorn was a mare, midnight blue much like his marshal, clad in standard mail barding covered in steel plating. Against her hip she girt a battle-axe, a less elegant but more forceful weapon.

Taller was a dull orange stallion, one-eyed, and always wearing an expression of irritation mixed with suspicion. Would it have killed the pony to smile? Well…considering the circumstances of his long life it was to be expected. He also wore the standard mail-plating combination, and wielded a common longsword—a true pity that the blood-sworn guardian of the Royal Alicorn House did not possess a magical blade of his own.

The largest pony in the tent, most certainly feeling rather cramped within, stood behind the other three. Against her knight’s armor rested Eónadin, a weapon unique in all of history. Dame Wintermail’s expression was solemn, and the Prince matched her stare with one of his own.

But inside he was as giddy as a little colt. All his life he’d been reared up on stories of the ancient alicorns, their great glory and tragedy. What a sight they must have been, assembled in the full regalia of battle, wielding their magical weapons. Prince Peter couldn’t help but enjoy the fact that he’d brought that sight back in a small way; certainly made the headache-inducing armor fittings worth it.

Now was not the time for that, however. Clearing his throat, the blue unicorn stallion didn’t bother taking his seat; he would not need it long. All in attendance were stone-faced, almost looking petrified with reverence. He slowly rotated his head, surveying his companions. Never letting up his hard countenance, he waited a respectable time before speaking.

“The order of battle is set; your officers are waiting. You all know the maneuvers. I want pegasus couriers in frequent communication with me,” he coolly intoned. A collective affirmation of “Yes, my Lord” came from the seven military ponies. The Prince then narrowed his gaze at the four others standing by the wall, “Dame Wintermail, you of course will fight in the van with the Guard. Time for your squire to ‘earn his wings’.”

The emerald colt Veroche let out a grin, then glanced up at his Knight. Wintermail gave a quick motion with her eyes, and the earth pony regained a semblance of propriety, bowing to his sovereign. “I should hope to do my duty for Canterlot,” Veroche spoke, eliciting a graceful nod from the Prince.

“And…Taberanyn, my Liege?” the tall white Knight asked, sparing a glance at her sister.

The Prince looked at the youngest alicorn, noticing how clearly she wanted to recoil at his attention. Her sister’s stare kept her in place, hopefully to face duty with resolve and composure. He watched her stand nervously awaiting the orders.

He waited though, gauging her body language. When he noticed her visible anxiety disappear, the Prince smirked, “Taberanyn, you and Henarion shall fight with the Marshal in the flank. I hope your wings are limbered for exercise; they will certainly meet their quota for today.”

Her spirit sank, and she did not even attempt to hide her disappointment. “Your majesty,” she voiced to the acute shock of the other ponies, “I was under the impression that…we’d be assigned to fight beside Dame…, “she paused; what did they call her sister again? “Wintermail.”

“Your sister is a member of the Canterlot Guard, and is therefore expected to lead her troops. You however are needed elsewhere. You are a strong flyer, and the pegasus maneuvers will prove absolutely critical in the outcome of this battle.”

Henarion spotted the look of sympathy of Nikóleva’s face, and took one step forwards, “She’ll be perfectly safe in my care, though I ain’t done much flying in a while.”

The Prince could not help but give a soft chuckle, “I think that will come back right away.” He cantered to the more open space on the left side of the tent, clearing his throat once more, “Now, if that settles any questions, you are all dismissed to your stations. The dogs are on the march, and the van must be ready to halt their advance.”

The occupants pushed out their chairs and began funneling out to their respective postings. The Prince then gave a small nod to his squire Brigandine. “One more thing, Taberanyn,” he called out, prompting the alicorn to turn back and approach with a puzzled look. Her sister and guardian both gave the same face and followed slowly behind.

Wintermail commanded Veroche to run off and inform her unit that there’d be a slight delay. The Prince’s squire Brigandine meanwhile magically opened a trunk placed on one of the tent’s sides. Inside were a number of effects, the first of which was the Prince’s beautifully-adorned warhelm. He placed it on the table and awaited the next concerned object.

Brigandine next pulled out from the trunk a sword, freshly polished. It was a magic sword, and did not require oiling or sharpening, but it could still become dirty. It was his immense great sword, the one he’d shown to Wintermail the day they’d first met about a year ago. Taking it in his magic, the Prince trotted to Taberanyn and craned his neck down.

“Take it,” he said—almost requested, and after a moment’s hesitation she obliged. Once in her embrace, she mentally felt its weight, and noted that even for its great size relative for the Prince, it seemed to perfectly suite her own frame. The blue unicorn raised his neck and grinned. He gestured a hoof and nodded, causing Taberanyn widen her eyes in realization.

Focusing her magical channeling, she drew the blade from its scabbard, examining the details. Beautifully-gilded and ornamented, the amethyst studding captured and reflected the light in a hundred different ways. The central amethyst star dominating the crossguard mixed well with the yellow metal around it, and Taberanyn gaped in awe at the expert artisanship.

The mottled steel was enchanting and mysterious, and Taberanyn only broke off her admiration when she realized the Prince simply…gave her what was perhaps his most precious possession!

Her expression told him everything, “This is Ailéránen, the ancestral blade of House Mountainkeeper. This was a gift from King Shénemidra to my alicorn ancestor, appointed the protector of Ylánalícë, a fortress in the Alicorn homeland.” Taberanyn was however captured with immense stupefaction, knew next to nothing of alicorn history, and therefore paid little attention to what the Prince was saying.

The Prince captured the weapon in his violet aura and sheathed Ailéránen. “Its steel is woven with a lattice of magic, forged by means long forgotten; there is nothing stronger,” he tried to give it back, but Taberanyn slowly began shaking her head.

“I…cannot accept this…” she stammered, feeling the weight of her peasant background as never before. This was a noble’s weapon, worth more than perhaps whole kingdoms.

But his Princeship was aggressive in the gesture, sparking a spell to induce her magical grasp. Once it rested in a pale blue aura, the Prince backed away from Ailéránen and smiled.

“But I cannot wield it.” He watched her slowly curl a fetlock around the hilt, closing her eyes to feel the magic that coursed through the metal. “You can tap into an alicorn sword, utilize its infused magic as your own.”

Surrendering to the gift, the midnight mare then telekinetically clasped its straps around her waist and let the blade hang comfortably tight about her. “How could I…ever…,”

The Ruler of Canterlot raised a hoof to interrupt, “I simply ask that you bring it back,” he leaned in with a devilish grin, “And make sure it has a story to tell.”

Taberanyn emerged with a resolute visage, clearly brimming with confidence. She glanced to her sister and her “uncle”, and then turned around out of the tent. Their strides were swift and purposeful, and the Prince heard a distinctive unfurling of wings and a lifting-off flap. Brigandine then pulled from the trunk a sword, a beautifully-crafted yet ultimately mundane weapon the Prince strapped to himself.

A magical embrace took hold of the warhelm placed on the table, and the Prince donned it, careful to slide his long horn through the top. It was an ornamented piece, a gold trim along the edges, with a less-bejeweled replica of his gilded spired diadem riveted to the helmet’s crown. Anymore precious materials would have robbed it of practicality; it was meant for battle after all.

His squire in tow, the Prince at last stepped out of the tent and rejoined his elite bodyguard. In the foggy distance he caught the slightest glimpse of Taberanyn and Henarion soaring to the flank along the north ridge. Battle nerves were setting in, but experience and training gave him a means to calm them; his troops did not need an agitated leader.

His pace sped up to a light gallop, and within a short while he was at the head of the main battle line, just behind the Canterlot Guard. Here were more common soldiers, levies drawn from the Princedom’s peasants and militias. Organized into formations of spears, archers, and swords, they all stood as still as the scant few weeks of training allowed. Most were in the prime of their lives, but a few were either too young or too old for this sort of work.

The Prince silently cursed in the winter chill; these dogs forced his hoof, and he would show them the error of their ways. The sound of his hoofsteps muffled in the snow layer, he slowed his motion to a trot, going up and down the immediate formation in front of him.

His horn flashed, and his throat felt nice and full. A voice-amplification spell would do wonders here. Spotting a number of Canterlot’s and its fiefs’ banners flowing in the wind, he took a deep breath and approached the troops.

“A warm fire, pleasurable company, and stiff drinks, Ay that sounds worlds better than standing in winter’s bitter sting!” a great number of soldiers shouted in agreement. The Prince waited for it to calm down before continuing, “But you all know why we’re here! Diamond Dogs come into our homes, despoiling our families and livelihoods! They must be stopped, and you all answered the call! I see in each of you a hero, for you came not for gold or glory, but because it was right!”

Soldiers were now beating their weapons together, creating great clamor, “And as we stand here in this frigid Windhock Vale, champions shall rise, and legends shall be born! If you should fall, a place amongst the Ethereal Host is yours by right! And if you return home, let none dare say that you were a coward, that you cared not for others, that you would not turn your backs on friendship and duty! We will fight, and the dogs will be stopped here! For my fate is yours, and I intend to see tomorrow!”

The flood of cheering was deafening, and the Prince reared up on two legs, drawing his blade, “But enough talk!” he bellowed, his magical spell rumbling the surrounding ground. He was inspired by his own speech, pulsing with vigor and an overwhelming urged to meet steel with these damned invaders, “I’m cold, and some good fighting ought to fix that!”

He swung down his blade, yelling out the order to march forward. His troops now would follow him to Tartarus and back, and he would be right at the head braving those black fires.

Prince Petrafyrm stepped in pace with the advancing main line, steeling himself for the butchery to come. No prayer had been said to the ancient god of his ancestors; it was not needed. Lórian Almighty had given the Prince well enough; now was the time for mortal’s work.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Dame Wintermail, Knight Commander of the First Battalion of the Canterlot Guard, walked from the Prince’s command tent, alongside her sister and “uncle”. The three stopped ten feet from the tent’s opening and paused, sharing a few familial glances that all communicated a succinct “Good luck”. The white and blue alicorns stood a foot apart from one another, and then shared an embrace. Nikóleva kissed her sister’s cheek, whispering into her ear, “I love you.”

Taberanyn backed up and simply smiled, allowing Henarion to embrace his troublesome but ultimately beloved white ward. He smirked as best as the old stallion knew how. Nikóleva for a moment saw the weight of his long existence in his one blue eye, and the little scars lining his face. The youthful luster from his mane and coat was draining more each year, but through it all he never shirked in his protection.

“I don’t know how your father’d feel,” he began in that rustic northern patois, “He never much cared for knights…but I’m proud of you.”

Nikóleva didn’t say anything at first, but merely stared at the two alicorns in front of her. Her magenta eyes turned back to her sister, “Be careful, Taby.”

Henarion nodded, placing a hoof on the blue mare. He then jerked his head off to the side, prompting the two to unfurl their wide wingspan. A mighty gust of air and the pair leapt off the ground. Henarion hovered a moment, and then curled his large orange wings before flinging them out in a classic stretch. Nikóleva stifled a giggle; he wasn’t joking about being out of practice.

Nikóleva watched them soar off to the assigned flank, then turned her attention to the assembled Guard soldiers by the tent. No doubt they’d just watched the heartwarming display moments ago, but now she was Dame Wintermail, and their commander. She paced deliberately down the line, ensuring the soldiers regained their legendary composure and discipline. One poor fellow, a young teal earth pony, happened to be out of formation: half a foot forward from the line. Wintermail threw a glare even colder than the frigid air at him, and he effectively slid back into formation. The white alicorn didn’t know ponies could even move that fast.

Pikes held high, armor shining, and legs perfectly still, the hundred pony-at-arms were ready to deploy. “First Guard Company, join the van!” she ordered, voice devoid of anything other than authority. The hundred-soldier unit wasted no time in assembling into a marching formation heading towards their destination.

Not much later the hundred soldiers joined with their battalion. Wintermail opened her wings and flew over to her commanding position within the space between the first and second companies in her battalion, the most prestigious and senior unit in the Guard. Her squire was waiting in the spot, dressed in his armor and wearing a Tulicë-sized short sword.

Next a lavender pegasus coaxed nicely to her commander’s right side, wearing the same battle-ready expression. Wintermail glanced down at her Lieutenant, never breaking her countenance, “Anything to report?”

“No, Dame. The company captains have their orders. A wall of pikes; effective, if a bit dull I think.” Lieutenant Stormvane remarked, sounding almost disappointed.

Wintermail mustered an incredible amount of willpower to not smile, “I have a feeling you’ll get the fight you crave.”

“And a hard cider and stallion to go with it?” Stormvane quipped without missing a beat.

This time the Knight’s self-restraint failed her, “Not before your Commander,” she giggled. The dour pegasus smirked in kind, still staring off into the foggy distance.

The Canterlot Guard waited, its line stretching across the field between the sides of two rocky ridges. The terrain was so good for defense it wasn’t fair. The hills weren’t terribly high, but they were jagged and rough, and extended north and southwards a respectable distance; there was a reason the road had been built in Windhock Vale.

Wintermail busied herself by gazing up the hillsides, seeing clusters of naked oak and beech trees. Some had icicles hanging from their bare branches, others patches of light snow. Here, the calm before the storm was especially silent. The only noise the alicorn picked up was the wind, blowing clouds of snow across the valley floor.

It was troubling; nothing to distract her mind from wandering to her sister. Wintermail had put up no dissent when Taberanyn and Henarion were assigned to the flank half a mile north—she thought better of questioning His Princeship. And she had no doubt Henarion would protect her sister with his life. Yet…as the older sister, it made her uncomfortable that in the time before a battle began Wintermail would not be able to look after little Taby.

If anything were to happen—No!...no this was their place. Alicorns are warriors…and royal blood demanded they defend their ponies. Wintermail adopted a sardonic smirk; maybe if she kept referencing her royal heritage she’d start to actually believe she was worthy of it.

Taberanyn would be fine; Henarion and the Marshal would ensure that. But…a little “peace of mind” would do well to keep the mare focused. Magically she pulled out her silver pendant from under her mail barding and placed her hoof over it. Closing her eyes, she began to speak, “Oséo dharet…valediléd. Bacánupilion shaicidangh nghata mahenilímódë héim-mor she midailénilion Taberanyn.(God on high…I’m afraid. Forsake whatever blessings you have for me and watch over Taberanyn.)”

She replaced the pendant and ignored the puzzled looks her Lieutenant and Squire both gave.

A voice in the distance attracted the three’s attention, and a moment later they recognized it as the Prince’s; that vocal-amplification carried rather well! He said some inspiring words to the main line of levies and Knights, and Wintermail regarded the raucous cheering and stomping of hooves. Then her ears caught the order to march, and she glanced to her right to view Captain’s Gendarmette’s position.

Being so tall, though often making her clumsy and conspicuous, served her well here, the alabaster alicorn able to spot her superior raising a blade and giving the order.

Dame Wintermail summoned her yellow aura and drew Eónadin. Black mottled steel in the air, the silver moon and golden sun hilt adornments fully visible to her soldiers, the mare responded to Gendarmette’s command, “Deploy pikes; forward march!”

At full step the three battalions of the Canterlot Guard formed their moving wall of spears and advanced through the valley. Wintermail marched in between her first two companies, having to refrain from her usual massive strides to keep pace. A hundred feet further, and the mare heard a distinctive sound bellow from the fog.

The Diamond Dogs.

As the vanguard moved further, a dark mass of swarming shapes became ever clearer. Intelligence suggested that the dogs knew that Canterlot’s forces were somewhere nearby, but Wintermail doubted any of them knew the Prince was so close. If they had sense, and the knight wasn’t too sure about that, the dogs would have been moving in formation rather than the long marching columns.

The fog wasn’t terribly thick, so visibility was at a hundred yards or so. The diamond dog horde became bigger, and soon the rumbling of their charging and clamor of their shouts erupted from the white mist. Wintermail narrowed her gaze and spotted members amongst them as they emerged from the white blankness. All in drab coats of grey, brown, or tan, these curs brandished their traditional assortment of weapons like clubs, axes, and maces.

They were a savage bunch, and none of their martial arts comprised the elegant tools of war or graceful technique that ponies’ did. They probably didn’t have any smiths of their own, stealing their weapons. No art, no craft, no discipline; just simple brutality and fervor.

Wintermail wanted very much to fly into the horde and unleash an alicorn’s fury, but that would disrupt the organization of the Guard, and throw into jeopardy its role. “Halt,” Captain Gendarmette could be heard saying in the distance, and Wintermail repeated the order. The pike formation stopped at a mere notice, and steeled themselves for the initial charge.

A dark moment of humor found the white Knight when the first diamond dog “ranks”, if one could pretend their loose organization were composed of actual lines, finally noticed the pikes. They all slowed down and hesitated, but the momentum of their comrade behind forced their actions.

It wasn’t fair. The wall of pikes was dense, the first three ranks deploying their weapons with those behind ready to fill in for fallen compatriots. Wintermail hung back behind the fourth rank of her first company, and just watched the initial slaughter.

Those dogs on the front were more than likely either over-eager youths hungry for glory, or more experienced raiders hungry for more glory. Wicked war-cries bellowed from their decaying mouths as they leapt up in a futile attempt to clear the spear wall. The first dog Wintermail spotted utilizing this tactic was impaled by no less than three pikes, the highest one right in his eye-socket. The Guard soldiers retracted their weapons and let the corpse slump onto the snow-covered ground.

His comrades paid no mind, and trampled the deprave thing until his bones were crushed and fur caked in blood. Wintermail struggled to hide her revulsion, and Stormvane was not much more successful, but poor Veroche looked like he might have vomited.

“It’ll become easier,” Dame Wintermail reassured. The earth pony squire wrapped his hoof ever tighter around his weapon, silently hoping to the Gods that the enemy could not penetrate the formation.

But alas, some managed to avoid the spears, the smallest and nimblest of the dogs. A pikepony was caught in close-quarters combat, and earned a blow to the head from a curs’ iron mace. Wintermail watched in horror as the stallion’s helmet was caved inwards, crushing his skull. He elicited a gurgled wail of agony as he fell before the mongrel.

Fortunately, another pikepony opted to drop her spear and draw a sword, slashing open the dogs nose. The soldiers then performed an uppercut into the bloody jaw, knocking him back across the spear wall. Then with perfect discipline the Guardspony retrieved her pike and resumed position.

“Hold the line! Tie them down!” Wintermail shouted, knowing full well the fortitude of the Guard was paramount in the success of this battle. Her soldiers did not disappoint; dozens upon dozens of dogs were falling, the gory show of impalement on display for all to see. Literal heaps of bodies formed in front of the pike wall, and sure enough the revolting but familiar stench of battle graced Wintermail’s nostrils: blood, bile, and voided bowels.

Her squire was shaking, as green a pony as they come. “Steady yourself, colt; this is what they sing about in songs and weave in tapestries.”

Veroche calmed his breathing and swallowed the lump in his throat. He recalled his sword-fighting forms and assumed a wide-legged stance. “Forgive me…Dame,” he struggled to speak, the din of war overwhelming his normally soft voice, “Are we to simply stand here while they charge at us? Shouldn’t we attempt to advance?”

Wintermail smiled, but Veroche couldn’t see it due to her helm’s cheek-guards. She was about to respond when an overzealous dog managed through the pike wall and glared straight at the Knight Commander.

“There’s always one,” the alicorn intoned, readying her sword.

He charged, shield to protect his vitals and studded-mace raised up. A dark brown specimen, with gnarled teeth protruding with an unsightly under-bite, the dog’s yellow eyes burned with ambition. If he slew Maelin, if he claimed her magical sword, he’d be a hero amongst his people, perhaps even immortalized.

Wintermail felt a surge of passion, and apparently this caused Eónadin to glow in its enigmatic fashion. The knight was beginning to feel bored without any action. The canine ran full speed to her, ululating with a malicious and fierce sneer. Five feet from the Dame, he bent his knees and leapt up to meet the tall pony on more equal terms.

The mace was aimed straight for her head, and he was going to cave it in with all the force he could muster. Time slowed down as he traveled through the air, target in his sights. He twitched his right arm to begin the swing, rearing it back to gain some momentum.

A slash went out, accompanied by a wetness and the sound of splintering wood. Pieces of the would-be assailant fell to the ground, his body cleaved in half about midway up his rib cage. A bisected shield rolled on the snow before falling down. Horrifically the barely-alive dog’s upper portion writhed for a few seconds, entrails oozing out. Wintermail had cut through his shield and bones like they were a painter’s canvas. She tilted Eónadin’s blade downwards, and exacted a mercy kill by thrusting the dark steel into his face and out the back of his skull.

Veroche reacted with nothing but absolute disgust, but Wintermail retained her stoic visage, magically cleaning the blood and gore from her weapon.

Another hundred dogs were killed by the spears, the initial attacking cluster now thinned to roughly half of its starting numbers. The Prince had estimates that perhaps twelve-thousand comprised this force, and Wintermail surmised that another wave would soon follow up the first.

The remnants of the first diamond dog line then retreated, the sound of the second wave’s horn blowing in the distance. Not long afterwards a horde thousands strong filled the gaps left by the withdrawing first swarm, possessing no more discipline or cohesion than their predecessors.

It was at that moment that snow began to fall and the wind picked up. Then the earth began to rumble. Wintermail could not see far enough through the worsened conditions to tell what caused it, but she reasoned correctly: the flank had engaged.

Earth pony knights most definitely led the charge, lances lowered into the unsuspecting dogs. Hundreds must have been killed instantly from the mere shock of the charge, and many more from being trampled or skewered. The pegasi, after triggering the weather, could then be seen raining down with lances, some miserable curs being impaled and carried upwards to be dropped a hundred feet below.

The Guard meanwhile continued to fight valiantly, holding off the incoming foes as best as they could. Nothing could match the Canterlot Guard soldier for soldier, but after fighting for so longer her soldiers were becoming tired, and if they continued the pike wall could falter.

A common tactic was to switch out exhausted units for fresher reserves, admittedly like the dogs had done. But to swap disciplined, professional pikeponies for the main line of levies could lead to a collapse of the center. In addition, the hills to Wintermail’s left were rough terrain, but they weren’t impassable. Diamond Dog could have been climbing the ridges at that very moment, preparing to execute a flanking as Canterlot had.

If their superior numbers hit the green main line, or the rear of the vanguard, this battle would be done.

The front ranks of the vanguard were taking heavy losses now, burlier and more veteran dogs assailing the formations. Of her own four companies she could make out no less than twenty good, brave soldiers killed or maimed. Bashed-in skulls, impaled chests, crushed chests…the injuries were as varied as they were horrific. One poor soldier was hooked in the belly with a battle axe, and the responsible dog flung her into the mass of mongrels to be torn limb from limb. Another was mauled to death as one diamond dog reverted to primal instinct, going straight for his face and breaking his snout in bestial teeth.

Wintermail cut down any dogs that got close to her, but she was a commander, and as much as she wanted to soar to the place of fiercest fighting and unleash her fury, the Guard was to hold the line.

But then, Captain Gendarmette, heretofore lost amongst the chaos, was heard with the aid of a voice spell, “Attacking retreat!”

The order was clear, and Wintermail repeated it before separating a mongrel’s head from his shoulders. The Guard, in perfect rhythm, began stepping backwards, their pikes still held forward. This was an incredibly difficult maneuver, one they could not maintain for long. Wintermail was confused, as she noticed the ridge ending not far behind, without which they’d lose their natural protection.

But clamor on her left revealed the method to the madness. Just barely visible in the fog and snow, the main line was seen engaging the detachment of dogs sent to exploit the ridge.

Gendarmette then shouted another command, “Hold the line!” And making good on their reputation, the Guard once again maintained the nigh-impenetrable wall.

Wintermail, flush with excitement let out a massive cheer and swung down her blade again, “Give them hell! Let them go no further!”

A powerful itch gnawed at the alicorn, and repressed energy rushed to the top and erupted. She unfurled her wings and flew forward into the gap between the first two companies. Rushing to the unprotected open, she readied her magic and orchestrated a deadly dancing with Eónadin, easily able to cut through whatever resistance presented itself. One felled enemy became two, then ten, soon perhaps five dozen dogs were claimed by the awakened alicorn.

In her frenzy, Wintermail did not notice the center companies of the Guard withdrawing deeper into the lines, causing the Canterlot formations to bow outwards. Levies and knights from the main battle line came in to fill any gaps. The pony forces bolstered up, the true spectacle could now begin.

The flank on the south ridge was winning, and soon they descend down the slope to smash the dogs as the pegasus-earth pony flank had. Wintermail paused, the red from her vision draining some. The main fight had started; ferocity and inspiration would win the day now.

The overpowering Knight prepared to reenter the fray, but paused when a thought wormed its way into her mind. The Prince had said something about alicorn swords and their magic. She wondered…

Wintermail had always treated Eónadin like a normal weapon, a mundane construct of steel; Eónadin was anything but. Ailéránen apparently possessed “infused” magic…perhaps Eónadin did as well.

Sensing magic wasn’t a difficult technique, but one had to clear their mind and focus. Wintermail wrapped a hoof around the hilt and closed her eyes, careful to remain in the body of the Guard. At first nothing, then a few flashes of power, then…a surge of energy unlike anything else save the experience she had with alicorn magic.

That magic could be utilized by her, and channeled through the blade. Wintermail thought back to the Librarian’s lectures on magical manipulation and pondered. What was a powerful force, something to inspire troops and strike fear into the hearts of her foes?

Moments passed, and the answer hit her with full. She recalled one of her favorite displays of energy and life. Visualizing it in her mind’s eye, focusing Eónadin’s magic, she was caught off guard when she felt…what was almost like a thought, alien to her mind, communicate: “At once”.

And it happened at once. A bright white glow burst from Eónadin’s black steel, and the blade’s length lit up with magic fire. Wintermail’s horn pulsed so fervently with magical energy it almost hurt, drops of pure magic spraying forth. Her eyes glowed with massive power, her full internal stores being channeled in conjunction with Eónadin’s infused quantity.

The ponies all around her recoiled, terrified at this newly-awakened entity. Some even went so far as to mutter things about the Gods. To them, a new pony goddess had graced their battlefield with unmatched power.

Focusing her magic singularly into her blade, Wintermail silently congratulated herself on performing a new technique, one she’d be damn sure to perfect and utilize again. She opened her wings and darted into combat, singeing instantly three awe-struck dogs into a pile of cinders. Slashing, parrying, spinning, and flying she made short work of even more diamond dogs than before. Walls of fire were unleashed as she swung her blade, the immolated victims letting out cries of agony before ceasing to exist. When targets were too far away, she imagined a beam of pure fire shooting forth, and the vision was obliged.

“For the Prince!” she yelled with a chorus of other ethereal voices, raising her flaming sword high, herself hovering twenty feet above, “For Canterlot! For Equestria! Forward!”

The most sincere, energetic screams erupted from her soldiers and the other Canterlot levies. The Diamond Dogs in the vicinity did not stand a chance, especially when a supercharged alicorn, fully enraged and energized swooped overhead, easily dispatching any that came across her.

She lost count how many fell to her new technique, but the battlefield became a mess of speckled black and white power, ash mixed with snow. The fiery sword proved to be short-lived, though to the Wintermail it felt so much longer. But her magical energy was running out, and the flames soon became weaker and cooler, merely burning diamond dogs instead of incinerating them.

The alicorn Knight threw one more fire blast, a pitifully small and impotent one that a diamond dog war champion managed to block with his shield. Tired but still with some fight left, Wintermail floated close to the ground and dropped onto the blood-soaked snow, raising her blade for renewed sport.

But magical exhaustion was sinking in, and she felt a sullen aching in her horn. Five diamond dogs closed in, and Wintermail’s magic was too weakened to manipulate Eónadin. She tried to take it in her fetlock, but her limbs were heavy as lead and her muscles slowly numbing.

Her ponies in arms rushed on either side, engaging with vicious resolve the incoming dogs. Levies wielded repurposed farming tools; flails and billhooks wreaked havoc on unsuspecting victims. Heads were hooked and chunks torn out, and one dog’s chest was caved in by a swung hammer. But all the while the ponies around the weakened alicorn shouted one thing.

“Wintermail! To the Wintermail!” they called, swarming around her and never letting a mongrel so much as glance at their new hero.

She grit her teeth, noticing far behind dogs attempting to retreat. Pushing herself to her limit, the Knight Commander took her sword once more and pointed forwards, “Come on! We’ve got the bastards on the run!” Her voice was laced with anticipation, the mare quite prepared to slay each and every one of the curs.

As ponies rushed off to match the dogs, her own path was blocked by a Diamond Dog Champion, his bluish-grey body adorned with scars. He dragged a club studded with iron spikes along the ground, then raised it up and ran straight towards Wintermail. His mouth curled into an evil smile, and the alicorn heaved, still very weak from her powerful display.

But she would not fall on this battlefield,; there was just enough left in her to cow this arrogant cur. She readied her stance and prepared Eónadin for a parry and riposte. He closed within five feet, and swung his club, almost certain to strike the alicorn.

The club dropped to the ground, swatted out of the air by Wintermail. The champion froze in place, a shard of iron emerging from his chest. Veroche stood behind him, having driven his sword to the hilt into the diamond dog. The squire retracted his blade and stood as his face contorted into an uncomfortable mixture of pride and horror.

Wintermail sighed and sheathed Eónadin. She approached her squire and placed a hoof on his shoulder, “The Prince will hear about this.” The two shared a laugh, but Wintermail lost her footing and leaned on the youth.

“Dame, I’m afraid…I cannot…carry you,” he grunted as the massive alicorn was very nearly crushing him.

Lieutenant Stormvane saw her commander in distress, and flew over to her side. She was halted by another brave dog with a death wish. He swung into the air and attempted to cleave off the lavender mare’s wing, but she rolled too quickly, catching his leg with her sword. The dog down on one knee, Stormvane thrust her blade upwards into his mouth, lodging the blade deep into his brain.

Her butchery finished, Stormvane galloped and pushed her weight into Wintermail for support. “Are you injured?” the Lieutenant asked, visually scanning her commander for any wounds.

“No…thank you, Stormvane…I’m simply…a little tired,” Wintermail stammered, a burning flaring up in her limbs, “I’ve never felt like this…it’s not exhaustion…but as though…” The Knight couldn’t concentrate her mental faculties quite enough to finish the thought. Within the past year she had only begun to explore the depths of her magical abilities. She had summoned a field of flames so hot its victims left no bodies to bury. Wintermail for a moment imagined what might happen if she did manage to master the so-called Alicorn Magic Delbedasir had exposed her to…should mortals even possess that measure of power?

But she was still learning to tap into and control her inherent unicorn magic, and the experience left her in a state ever closer to dosing off. “You can afford to rest now, Dame Wintermail,” Lieutenant Stormvane spoke, leading the Knight back to the rear lines. “The day is ours!”

The alicorn slowly turned her head back and noticed the cloud cover was clearing out, and in the newly-visible distance thousands of diamond dogs were broken into a state of disarray. The flanks had closed in and surrounded, cutting down the fleeing mongrels.

Chanting formed around the white mare, and dozens of her soldiers raised their weapons in unison, “Wintermail! All Hail the Fiery Goddess! Wintermail Flamecaster!”

Flamecaster, was it? The mare smiled; she’d earned a nickname in battle, like all the fierce warriors of history. The goddess appellation didn’t endear itself to her, and Wintermail didn’t feel terribly deserving of such praise. What had she done besides maintain the rigidity of her troops? Only near the end did she play an active role in fighting.

Perhaps she was underestimating just how big an impression magical fire-dancing made.

Iron willed she fought off the creeping drowsiness, and endured the slight burning sensation in her horn from the exhaustion. Raising her sword for the last time today, Wintermail bade for Stormvane to stop for a moment. She let out a howl of victory, and immediately some of the soldiers and levies rushed over and used their combined strength to hoist the alicorn up. They continued chanting “Wintermail, Wintermail Flamecaster,” and Stormvane swooped up and followed her commander.

The Knight fought off the urge to fall asleep, and narrowed her eyes at the army’s camp not too far away; soon she’d be able rest. Dead tired, stomach upset, burning pains in her limbs, and a creepy delirium—Nikóleva did not feel well.

Just a little further…the follow up to the battle and subsequent events could wait. The thought of a well-deserved sleep was sweet indeed, and so occupied with it she drowned out the sounds of her admirers.

And Dame Wintermail, not to mention most of her current entourage, did not notice a midnight blue alicorn standing in Windhock Vale, her own smaller set of companions howling her name.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Taberanyn, direct descendant of the Royal House of Solárindil, as of yet in possession of no honors or titles, stood atop the north ridges overlooking the battlefield. The low-lying clouds blocked any vista of Canterlot’s main body of troops. A cruel gust of wind blew across the bare hilltop; it stung Taberanyn’s ears, and she shivered in her place amongst thousands of earth ponies and pegasi.

Beside her stood Henarion, looking rather presentable for once in his armor. If he felt cold from the winter chill he gave no indication, but Taberanyn could tell from his face he was just as nervous as her. He flashed his horn and pulled a flask from his sword belt. Uncorking it he took a deep swig before offering some to his younger ward.

She took it in her magic, but stared for a moment at the container. “It’s just cheap liquor; it’ll take the edge off.” Taberanyn brought the flask to her lips and gulped some down, cringing at the slight burning in her throat. She hooved it back to Henarion and wiped her mouth with a fetlock. The orange stallion chuckled as he put away the flask, “I feel sorry for your sister; Guard soldiers aren’t allowed to drink on duty. I heard she’s got a reputation…heard she drank a whole keg of ale without passing out.”

Taberanyn returned a laugh, staring off at the blank white expanse this high up, “If you listen in the right places you’ll hear all sorts of nonsense like that about Nikól.”

“I dunno; your Father wasn’t too different.”

The mention of her late father caused the blue mare’s teal eyes to drop to the ground. Her brow furrowed in thought; Taberanyn remembered his fate, and then recalled where her sister had been placed. “She’ll be fine, right?”

Henarion paused a moment, turning his face to meet Taby’s. He gently cradled a hoof on her cheek and brought her gaze up to meet his own. “We just got her back,” she continued, shifting her eyes around.

Losing her sister…that was a horror Taberanyn did not want to entertain. She’d be fine…she was a trained soldier! She’d probably slay a hundred foes without taking so much as a scratch! The blue pony’s duty rested here in the flank, and she needed to focus on her part. After a little while staring off lost in thought, she did feel a little better—probably the work of the liquor.

“Form up!” an old pegasus stallion shouted, emerging from the crowd of ponies on this hilltop. He hovered between two poles topped with Canterlot’s banners, watching the levies and knights gain some semblance of order and discipline. Henarion and Taberanyn stood in the first pegasus squadron, still grounded but ready to take off at a notice.

Taberanyn heard faint whispers from those behind her, things along the line of “gods” and “divine favor”. She gave Henarion a look, and he sneered.

“You ain’t covering your wings; get used to it.” He was right; she’d been wearing a cloak in the winter, obscuring her full feather appendages—now they were in full display. Alicorn must have truly been as rare and surprising as she’d been lead to believe.

Marshal Helmraed’s voice regained the blue mare’s attention, “Down there the Diamond Dog horde advances, ready to add Canterlot to their war-prizes! Well we won’t let that happen, will we? By the Gods themselves, we shall smash these curs against the rocks, and show the world what it means to threaten the Mountain-borne Keep!”

The thousands of ponies on this long ridge stomped and cheered, overwhelming Taberanyn’s ears. She winced in minor pain, but couldn’t help letting loose a shout of her own.

“The clouds obscure us; they’ve no idea what we’ve planned! When the signal comes, we shall join the fray! A hero’s welcome awaits us in Canterlot; let us not disappoint!” Marshal Helmraed then floated down and stood tall at the head of the flank.

Earth pony knights, burly specimens dressed in fine armor and adorned with their coats of arms, waited anxiously, fiddling with their lances and sidearms. Taberanyn spotted the Marshal conversing with other pegasi, flying in and out from other points along the ridge. Meanwhile other pegasi in her own unit opened their wings and unlimbered their stiff muscles.

Feeling out of place, the blue mare unfurled her span and groaned as her joints popped. She flapped a few times and lifted off the ground about a foot, then dropped back down. Taberanyn however opted to keep the wings open.

She nudged Henarion, who rolled his eye before mimicking the exercise, albeit halfheartedly. “You’re going to pull a muscle,” she chided. He just gave off a grunt and continued stretching.

Of course the two were not alone, being in a unit after all, and a pegasus nearby couldn’t help but eavesdrop. The pegasi had little to do right now other than prepare for battle and wait for the signal to intervene; might as well pass the time somehow.

Taberanyn was watching Henarion when she felt a slight nudge. An ear raised up to hear something: a soft little voice down below. The tall blue mare glanced towards the ground to find a small peach-colored pegasus.

“Excuse me…,” her voice wavered with nerves, “May I ask…what…I’ve never seen somepony like you two.”

Taberanyn paused, studying the little pony. She looked young; maybe not even twenty—it still boggled the midnight mare’s mind that Tulicëai aged so much quicker. She looked at her shining amber eyes, so filled with a restrained curiosity.

Henarion spoke up, irritated with Taby’s stupor, “We are alicorns.”

“Like the Gods?” the peach filly replied, forming a look of equal parts shock and fascination on her face.

The orange alicorn narrowed his good eye, waiting a measure of time to respond, “…No. We’re just like you; a little different, a little taller. Ain’t many of us, and we like to be left alone.” His voice sounded perhaps a little colder than he meant it.

The filly became dejected, and turned back to the pale grey sky and low clouds, “Oh…”

Taberanyn felt a twinge of regret, and cleared her throat, “Ignore my Uncle; he’s harmless. We’re going to be fighting alongside one another, and I think it’d behoove us both to form some sort of acquaintanceship.”

Henarion scoffed to himself over Taby’s affected southern speech—the Prince had gotten to her too.

The blue alicorn paid no mind, “My name is Taberanyn.”

“Orchard Blossom,” the filly said, a bit shyly.

She wore little more than a padded cloth shirt studded with iron rings. Atop her was a simple helmet; all a far cry from the dual-layer armor the two alicorns had donned. “Are you afraid for your first battle?” asked Taberanyn.

“Of course!” she yelped, then regained her composure, “How did you know—“

“Intuition, Orchard Blossom,” Taberanyn answered a bit too quickly, “I’m a little older than I look.” The blue mare then craned her neck down and gazed at the filly’s eyes, “You seem awfully young to be fighting.”

Orchard Blossom did not speak for an uncomfortably long time. She kicked her hoof and looked down at the snow-dusted ground. She took a gulp before speaking, “Diamond Dogs attacked my village. We lived on the border, and…I want to do my part.”

“Don’t we all,” Taberanyn intoned, staring back off into the battle formations.

Three times Orchard Blossom tried to say something, but hesitated. On the fourth attempt she blurted it out, “I think your mane is very pretty!” After the words left her lips, she puckered them up at a record speed, feeling her heart drop.

Taberanyn reacted with confusion, and then figured a piece of her periwinkle hair probably hung down from her helmet. She felt a flash of heat in her cheeks, “…Thank you…”

Another awkward time of silence followed before Orchard Blossom raised her shrill voice once more, “You two have been in other battles? What…what is it like?”

Henarion was quick to respond, “I’ve only been in a few like this, with thousands of ponies. First one was…about one-hundred and seventy—sixty years ago,” he couldn’t help but enjoy the look of surprise on the filly’s face, “What struck me the most was it’s messy. And it smells; badly.

Taberanyn grimaced at her one experience with large-scale engagements: brutal, bloody, and full of revolting stench.

Perhaps finding herself amiable towards the filly, or eager to pass the time before being deployed, Taberanyn decided to share a story with the filly: her and Henarion’s adventure in the prairies, encountering a massive burrowing worm. Orchard Blossom was incredulous, but the two insisted its veracity.

Orchard Blossom had little of her own to share, so instead let the two recount other tales. Oftentimes they conflicted on details, each asserting their own version of the events was correct. Taberanyn mentioned one instance where she saved Henarion’s life, but he denied it in a playful fashion, saying “it was all a test”.

These two alicorns were strange in appearance, but they also proved fun company. Taberanyn shared the sentiment with the filly, going so far as to offer to buy Orchard Blossom’s first drink after the engagement.

“All the ponies say I’m too young,” she protested.

Taberanyn just giggled and patted a hoof on Orchard Blossom’s tiny shoulder, “Never stopped me!”

The time flew by, filled with pre-battle laughter and comradery. Taberanyn was jubilant, having found somepony she might call a “friend”.

The three continued conversing, oblivious to a tan-colored pegasus gliding towards the Marshal, who was currently speaking amongst his bodyguard. The courier said a number of things, and the Marshal flapped upwards over his forces.

“Ready! Earth ponies, saddle your lances! Pegasi, low hover!” he bellowed, pleased to see his troops oblige his command. The hordes of ponies heretofore talking fell dead silent and still, lining up in rank and file.

The pegasi squadrons and their two alicorns splayed their wings and ascended, readying weapons and preparing to dart forward at the order. Taberanyn looked off to her right, seeing the wave of lift-off spread further away to the end of the flank. It was actually very amazing seeing so many ponies coordinating so successfully.

Orchard Blossom was jittering in the air, but Taberanyn placed a hoof on her shoulder and smiled, “Stick with us, and you’ll be fine.” The peach filly thought a moment before nodding and grinning back.

The pegasus courier flew back to the Prince’s position to relay messages. Now silent atop the ridge, Taberanyn could hear the clamor down below, the shouts and snarls of diamond dogs impacting armored formations of pikeponies. Dark shrouds of arrows erupted from either end of the cloudy field, arcing up then down on unsuspecting targets. Luckily the pony side released far more arrows at far quicker speeds.

Taberanyn frowned; Nikóleva was down there, probably knee-deep in bodies and blood. It wasn’t right, to let those ponies throw themselves into danger while the flank on the hilltops did what could be summed up as “loafing about”.

But the time was coming soon, and Taberanyn’s heart pounded with anticipation. Flashing her horn, a light blue aura called up the ancient great sword Ailéránen. Orchard Blossom gazed at the large weapon in awe, but Taberanyn paid no attention, too lost in her thoughts. She was about to enter a vicious battle with Diamond Dogs. Her breaths quickened, and those memories of that fateful winter’s night in the North came charging back.

She and Henarion had their fair share of encounters with Diamond Dogs, but each time there was a lingering feeling of trauma. What happened in that cave…it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had in the weeks following the incident; her sister’s disappearance worried her more.

Closing her eyes, she stilled her body, refining it into that of a composed warrior. Ailéránen in her embrace buzzed with magical energy, and that alone gave her confidence and comfort. She closed her eyes and remembered the Prince’s words on “channeling” magic into the weapon. Taberanyn sifted through her mind and found the lessons the librarian had given her.

A sword was a tool of personal defense, so it’d behoove the blue mare to envision something that made her feel safe…her Uncle, perhaps? Or maybe something to relax her, lest the battle rush disrupt her focus and leave her vulnerable. Taberanyn thought a moment before settling on what never failed to fill her spirits with a peaceful tranquility.

The starlit night sky.

Taberanyn felt the surge of magical energy flow between her and the blade, and soon Ailéránen’s steel flickered on, then became shrouded in a dark purple mist. Dozens of tiny twinkling points spotted the haze, and soon from the crossguard to the tip arcs of magical lighting zapped back and forth in erratic patterns.

Orchard Blossom’s eyes bulged, and she recoiled at the mystical and ancient weapon brought to life. Shaking anew, the pegasus filly was stilled when Taberanyn faced her, the alicorn’s brow furrowed in determination.

She gave a quick nod to her new battle companion, and stared back at the battlefield, her magical sword ready. Taberanyn was impressed with herself, but the past few weeks had been filled with intense magical practicing, leaving her mind in prime casting condition.

Henarion was shocked, but recomposed himself when he saw her hovering in air, ready to tear into the foe. Taberanyn shared her father’s dark blue coat, and seeing his daughter floating before him…it almost was too much. She reminded him of his late friend almost two-centuries ago: young, brazen, but always willing to face a challenge head-on.

He’d never possessed a magical weapon, but Henarion was well aware of the channeling technique, and could not have been prouder when he saw his “niece” perform such an impressionable work of magic.

He turned his gaze back ahead, feeling more confident than ever; Taberanyn could take care of herself after all.

Around the three ponies, other pegasi were awestruck, muttering amongst each other about Gods and immortals. Their morale was heightened, thinking a minor deity with awesome power was to fight beside them. Marshal Helmraed took notice as well; there was no way Canterlot could lose now.

The Marshal wrapped a hoof around his sword and raised it in a commander’s fashion. He gestured to a herald hovering by his side, and the young colt brought a signaling horn up to his lips. “Knights, Charge!” he yelled, prompting the units of heavily-armored earth ponies to careen down the hill, lances lowered and simply relishing the opportunity to taste blood.

A gigantic bellow sounded forth from the hilltop, alerting everypony down in Windhock Vale of coming reinforcements. Helmraed then swooped into the front of his pegasi squadrons and wasted no time, “To the clouds!”

Perhaps two-thousand pegasi then soared above the charging knights, and headed straight for the low-lying cloud cover. The first and second squadrons impacted the clouds, unleashing the stored snow that had been packed within before the battle had begun. Henarion, Taberanyn, and Orchard Blossom unloaded the full might of their pegasus magic, along with a thousand others causing a terrible flurry to confound the invaders.

The third and fourth squadrons however pitched upwards and amassed into a large wall of winged ponies. After a few moments their flapping became synchronized with the beat of a drummer. The air soon rushed into the valley, picking up speed and giving the battlefield now blizzard-like conditions.

With the direction of the Marshal the four squadrons reformed into a unified flank and darted down below the clouds, giving Taberanyn her first glimpse of the battle. She saw the steadfast line of the Canterlot Guard holding off a swarm of diamond dogs.

The mare gave a moment to reflect on the fact that her sister was in that line, though too far away to discern accurately. But the Canterlot Guard would be fine if the pegasi did their part, and Taberanyn steeled her mind for it.

Below the squadrons the knights galloped full speed right into the side of the Diamond Dogs. From what Taberanyn could see, when they impacted it was downright brutal. Lances impaled themselves into the curs, some even skewering through multiple victims. And the charge did not stop at the edge, but instead continued as dozens were trampled beneath the heavy iron-shoed hooves of the strongest and burliest ponies in the battle. Dogs were thrown up into the air, only to fall back and break on the impact.

The weight of their armor and weapons, and of the downhill charge was absolutely crippling to the dogs, but once the momentum subsided and many of the lances became broken, the Knights drew swords and cleaved their paths through lightly-armored mongrel foes.

“Courage, Taberanyn,” the midnight alicorn whispered to herself, Ailéránen in her magical embrace. The squadrons were heading down, swords and lances aimed straight for their canine enemies. Near the head of the first squadron, she readied her starry-shrouded weapon, finding a suitable first target.

The squadron hit the top of the diamond dog ranks, just a glancing blow before darting back upwards. Taberanyn herself made contact with a charcoal-colored one, hearing the sound of rushing air but completely unable to do anything about it. Ailéránen sliced through his head, cutting it in half. Taberanyn scarcely saw the limp body jitter to the ground before she soared back into the cloud cover.

Henarion claimed two with his weapon, exercising his martial prowess for the first time a good while. “Still got it,” he muttered, ignoring the blood spraying his face.

Orchard Blossom however found herself becoming too meek at the moment of truth. She followed the squadron in perfect form but when the time came she withheld her weapon.

The pegasi squadrons curved upwards, spinning upside down in a grand epic loop before heading back down to the fray. This was a classic pegasus tactic, allowing the troops to maintain startling momentum for their impacts. However, it was vulnerable to ranged fire, which unfortunately was the fate of many pegasi. Dozens fell to the ground, many not dead but wounded. If the fall did not kill them, bloodthirsty and vengeful dogs did.

Marshal Helmraed directed his troops, and soon they reformed into a large swarm overhead, the two alicorns at the head. Two thousand or so pegasi then inclined towards the body of diamond dog archers and javelins, these soft targets the perfect candidates to disrupt the rear of the enemy forces.

Wearing little or no armor the missile troops were quickly dispatched. Flying just low enough to engage, the pegasi speared and slashed and lanced with extreme prejudice. Taberanyn and Henarion flew side by side, synergizing their earth pony strength with pegasus mobility. Orchard Blossom, frustrated at her own timidity and uselessness, thrust her short sword into any targets she could. When she finally made contact with the skull of an archer, it took her precious moments to withdraw the blade.

Taberanyn saw this, and immediately lashed back, parrying an attacking dog before impaling him through the chest. Her horn flashed and a surge of magical lightning blew the dog off her blade into a cluster of other archers, knocking them down. Henarion followed up with a sword dance of startling speed for such an old stallion, cutting down no less than five assailants before decapitating a sixth. All the while his eye never left his ward.

“Rejoin the squadron!” Taberanyn shouted to her battle companion, but Orchard Blossom was not prepared to handle the gory reality of war. She stood in shock at the limp bodies around her. Taberanyn narrowed her gaze in irritation but also genuine concern, wrapping her fetlock around Orchard Blossom’s foreleg, trying to pull her back into the air.

The filly was soon shaken from her trance, lifting off with the blue alicorn while the orange one dispatched a few more before joining the other two. Henarion then spotted a dog javelin-thrower ready his arm and lob an iron-tipped shaft at Taberanyn and Orchard Blossom. He slashed his sword and threw the javelin off course to land in the snow.

The javelin-dog prepared another salvo aimed at the peach filly. Taberanyn glanced it off with her blade, then pictured a volley of lightning bolts striking the miserable cur. Her magical channeling indulged her vision, the stream of bright energy immediately stopping his heart and charring his body.

“Come on!” Henarion yelled, realizing they’d been detached from the squadron for too long, their support now high in the air preparing another attack. He guarded Taberanyn’s rear, parrying a couple arrows let loose from some of the archers. He grunted, wishing he could wipe the sweat forming under his helmet; arrows were not easy things to block, and he was out of practice—he couldn’t keep this up forever.

But Orchard Blossom was becoming tired, her nerves working against her. Unable to fly fast enough, Taberanyn saw the little filly, pitiful but also so innocent, begin to lose altitude. She must have not been a strong flier like the alicorn, and if she didn’t act quickly Orchard Blossom would not survive long.

Henarion snorted and followed the charged blue alicorn as she endeavored to rescue Orchard Blossom. Having swooped the filly up in her hooves, Taberanyn channeled her inner strength to fly up as fast as she could, Henarion covering her rear by magically sending his sword into the chests, guts, and heads of diamond dogs.

He was focused, but even somepony as vigilant as him could not have seen one archer dozens of feet away take aim and loose an arrow; inbound straight for Henarion. The shot could not have pierced his plate-mail armor, and by some miracle of the Almighty it did not strike any exposed part of him. But it grazed his right hindleg, creating a shallow cut that would heal well enough in a day or so.

Yet it was enough to distract his focus and hurry his retreat. This allowed another archer to fire a second shot, right towards Taberanyn and Orchard Blossom. Henarion heard the sound of the arrowhead imbedding itself in something, and then his heart skipped a beat, his deepest fear in perilous danger of coming true.

Taberanyn however was unharmed. Her slight daze was broken though when she looked down at the filly wrapped in her forelegs; Orchard Blossom was making an absolutely heart-wrenching gurgling noise. The arrow had struck right in her throat, and blood was welling up—there’d be no way to staunch the flow. The nightly glow around Ailéránen dissipated, the blue alicorn no longer able to focus her magic while this small pegasus laid dying in her embrace.

Henarion, ignoring the mild sting in his hindleg, flew up fast behind the two, hooking his foreleg around his niece’s and leading them to a small patch of leafless trees. The whole way Taberanyn watched helplessly as Orchard Blossom gasped for breath, violently swatting her hooves in some vain attempt to grab hold of…something—anything. Her pretty amber eyes welled with tears, and Taberanyn could see the life drain from them. The last ounce of consciousness the mare could discern from her fallen companion was an encroaching sense of fear, a dread for what lay beyond.

When the two alicorns arrived at a small grove, protected for the time by a cluster of trees, Taberanyn set down the dead filly. Orchard Blossom‘s face was left staring blankly forward, mouth hanging open. Twin trails of dried tears stained her peach-colored fur, blood her neck and chest.

Taberanyn paused a moment, sheathed her blade, and examined the bloodstains on her hooves. She didn’t feel the urge to cry; she’d known this filly no longer than an hour or so. Even so, a grand sense of pity and sorrow knotted up her heart, and the midnight alicorn let out a deep sigh.

Magically she pulled the arrow from Orchard Blossom‘s corpse and closed her eyelids. Taberanyn then recalled what she’d said to the innocent filly before the battle started: “You’ll be fine.” She stomped a hoof, feeling a powerful rage encroaching on her mind. Unable to contain it, she turned her back legs to an unsuspecting tree and bucked as hard as she could, alicorn strength cracking its dry trunk. Henarion lightly trotted up beside his niece, but said nothing. Taberanyn turned and saw her uncle, spotting the slit on his leg.

Henarion noticed her eyes glancing to the wound, “It’s nothing; just a scratch.” He moved forward to be beside her but did so in a slight limp.

“You’ve been injured,” Taberanyn began, her voice heavy and dark. She summoned a field of magic and hoisted up the deceased filly, “Go to command tent; ensure Orchard Blossom receives a proper burial.”

Henarion furrowed his brow, taking Orchard Blossom in his hold with a respect due for the dead, “I will not leave you. I swore an—“

Taberanyn immediately cut him off with a vicious bite, “Go!” She took a couple long breaths, visibly enraged, “You have a wife and son…don’t leave Eldowas and Primrose like our father left Nikóleva and me.” Henarion’s gave a sad look with his good eye, but he could not retort in time. “Worry about yourself for once; you’ve done enough for me all these years.”

The old stallion glanced down at the dead filly, her once-pristine body now soiled with dirt, snow, and blood. What should he do? His sole purpose for fifty years had been the defense of the two daughters of his late “brother”. He could not defend one at this time, and the other was effectively ordering him to retreat.

He did not want to leave her side; he did not want to risk her death in battle. But as he thought, Henarion saw Taberanyn stand tall and confident, trotting to the edge of the trees to rejoin the battle. She was a fully grown alicorn; turning fifty-one just about eight months before—he had only one choice.

He brought Orchard Blossom into his forehooves before opening back his wings. “Please be careful, Tabóna.”

Taberanyn looked back, her mouth slowly curling into a warm smile; it had been quite some time since Henarion had used her fillyhood nickname. Nothing more needed to be said, and her uncle lifted off to the rear of Canterlot’s forces, while Taberanyn walked out into the open.

She was by a slope just behind the earth pony Knights, gazing on the carnage being dealt on the diamond dogs. Taberanyn thought for a moment, spotting the pegasus squadrons making passes on the enemy forces, but then grunted; she’d become tired of fighting in formation. Summoning her magic once again, she tried to calm her mind enough to channel into her great sword, the mottled steel moments later flaring with the night sky. Then from the other side of her belt, she drew her second weapon: a single-edged battle, perfect for embedding in skulls and chests.

Her magic wasn’t potent enough just yet to channel into two weapons at once, so only Ailéránen was granted the privilege. Raking her left forehoof on the snow-covered ground, she snorted and reared up, charging back into the chaos.

An uppercut with her sword split the first diamond dog from groin to collarbone, his bifurcated form trampled beneath her galloping hooves. A second canine let loose a glancing blow that simply bounced off her barding, and she responded with an axe to the forehead, furiously throwing the dead cur into a group of his comrades.

A few knights began cheering for the alicorn, and two in particular dispatched a couple of rushing dogs before they could engage Taberanyn. She charged into an opening in the swarm, surrounded on three sides by no less than ten mongrels all ready to tear into the mare. A flash of her horn and Ailéránen spun around the mare, sending out a wave of magical lightning to the attackers. It wasn’t strong enough to kill, but they were stunned long enough for some of the knights to gore then with their swords.

One diamond dog got back to his feet and barreled towards Taberanyn. She swung her axe upwards, utilizing the blade’s hook on the miserable canine’s jaw, then leveraged downwards onto the ground, ripping his jawbone from his skull. The cur wailed in pain, an ear-piercing shriek assaulting the blue alicorn’s hearing. She aimed her sword downwards and shoved the tip through the dying creature’s muzzle, exiting out the back of his head. She ripped Ailéránen out and readied her stance for more targets.

But she got a better idea, and unfurled her magnificent sapphire wings to take to the skies. A hundred feet in the air, she used a fetlock to wipe away excess blood on her face and neck. From this vantage point, despite the blizzard roaring, she could see the Canterlot Guard line; it was thinning out, and if the fighting continued there it could be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. From up high she also spotted skirmishes occurring on the south ridge, Canterlot’s levies seeming to make some ground against a group of diamond dogs attempting to surround the guard.

Nikóleva was in the vanguard, and Taberanyn would endeavor any way she could to ensure it survived; they just needed time. But then she noticed the vanguard line was bowing slight outwards, the most pressure being in the center.

It was at that moment the midnight mare got an idea.

Sheathing her weapons once again she soared back to the rear of the army, trying to find the main line where the Prince was commanding. After a little while of searching she found a cluster of Guard soldiers just in front of the main line. The knights and pegasi had engaged, the vanguard was fighting, and a detachment was sent to the south flank, but the main line was for the most part being withheld.

They needed to fight if this battle was to be won.

Darting down to where she figured the Prince was, she effectively bombarded the ground near him, creating an enormous cloud of snow.

Heretofore watching the battle and maintaining the organization of his units, the Prince of Canterlot waft a hoof to clear some of the upset snow. He looked rather surprised to see Taberanyn in the impact zone, and some of his elite bodyguard raised their weapons to deal with the new threat.

“Taberanyn!” he shouted with a friendly warmness, gesturing for his soldiers to lower their weapons, “Why aren’t you—“

“Your highness!” the alicorn interrupted, “You must commit your main line!”

“The Vanguard will hold the line!” he protested, turning to the forces behind him, “They stand a better chance than these levies!”

“The Canterlot Guard cannot fight indefinitely; they’ll become tired soon. Have the guard move backwards! Can they keep their pikes lowered while retreating?”

The Prince got a sly smirk on his face, “Of course.”

Taberanyn thought a moment, then continued, “Have then do that, and send in levies and knights to reinforce the gaps. Then have the center retreat deep back here!”

The Prince looked puzzled, “That could stir my troops into a rout! If the center breaks—“

That’s why they have you!” the mare shouted, “Inspire you troops! Lead them! Be a Prince!” Where was this coming from? She was basically ordering a Prince, a pony leagues above some poor alicorn peasant. But there was no time to worry about decorum or proper protocol; there was a battle to win.

The Prince thought a moment, then lit up his horn to draw his blade. His throat charged with magic, he spoke out, “Vanguard! Attacking Retreat!”

Taberanyn directed her ear to listen to the confirmation. Soon Captain Gendarmette’s voice sounded, just barely audible over the clamor over thousands and thousands of warriors ripping each other apart, “Attacking Retreat!”

The alicorn gave a nod to her sovereign and then flew back upwards, watching the Canterlot Guard move backwards, slowly and with their pikes lowered so they wouldn’t be routed. Observing for a time, Taberanyn earned a sense of combined giddiness and pride as the center of the line moved further back than the rest of the van, and the main line flooded into the gaps, fresh pony soldiers cutting down exhausted diamond dogs with relative ease. Now the head of the diamond dogs was surrounded on three sides, and the flanks would be able to spread out on the rear as the enemy forces pushed deeper.

They’d fallen right for Taberanyn’s trap, and victory was all but assured.

Drawing her weapons, the alicorns flashed her sword with magic and darted back into the fighting. On the way out the corner of her eye she swear she saw a large mass of fire barreling through the mongrels, haunting screams accompanying the phenomenon.

She ignored it for the time being, landing back at the foot of the northern ridge. Ailéránen blocked a mace blow from a grey-blue diamond dog, holding the cur in place while her axe swung upwards into his groin. Using that brutal hook technique, Taberanyn brought the dog to his knees, face contorted in agony. The axe head than slashed across his neck, her powerful foreleg slamming his body to the ground.

Five more dogs challenged her, yellow diseased teeth bared in aggression. Two were confronted by nearby knights, and one took the initiative first. Her magical sword was thrust forwards so quickly it stabbed clean through his spine, the purple aura of magic jolting the poor victim. Channeling an appreciable amount of energy into the move, the alicorn burned the mongrel to death. Ailéránen withdrawn, an arc of lightning erupting from the gaping hole in the dog’s corpse.

Heaving in a righteous battle rage, Taberanyn stood ready for more sport, blood splattered over almost every part of her armor. Another dog rushed, admirably managing to parry her sword blow and the follow-up with the axe. A swift kick to her chest disrupted her rhythm.

Then Taberanyn felt a dull throbbing in her side, causing the mare to wheeze and stumble on her hooves. The dog had struck her in the side, bashing her barding with a spiked mace. He tried it again, but a clever inside-left block caught the mace. Smirking, mouth curling into a bloodlusting smile, Taberanyn flicked Ailéránen and disarmed the dog. The force of the move caused him to fall on his backside, vainly crawling backwards as the alicorn narrowed her weapon on his neck.

But the mare hesitated, just for a moment taking pity on the downed diamond dog. It was enough time for him to grasp a paw-full of snow and dirt, throwing it into the mare’s face. He tried to flee, but the furious alicorn swung down her blade. Its immense length met the dog’s back, carving a path down through some ribs and rupturing a kidney. He fell to the ground, twitching and convulsing in his last moments.

The last of the five dogs finished off a female knight by implanting a broad-bladed sword into the exposed part of the pony’s head. Next the large and muscular warrior narrowed grotesque green eyes at Taberanyn. He swung down his sword, but was blocked by Ailéránen, the alicorn’s axe finishing off the previous dog in the back of his skull.

But Taberanyn winced at the ache in her side. The diamond dog warrior capitalized on this, swinging his large weapon down at the alicorn. Baring her teeth, the blue alicorn caught the blade with her axe’s hook, feeling the impact of the cur’s blow.

The mare was becoming tired, the weight of wielding two weapons and carrying armor, notwithstanding channeling magic into one of them, taking its toll on her body. Ailéránen’s purple aura faded away slowly, Taberanyn not wanting to invite the scourge of magical exhaustion. She’d never experienced it before, but that didn’t need to change. Gathering her inner strength, she fought through her pain—what had happened to Orchard Blossom placed it in perspective.

Ailéránen swung to strike at the dog’s exposed left arm, but the mongrel was clever, and took his sword with both paws, swiftly blocking the ancient great sword with his own crossguard. Taberanyn looked shocked for a moment, then relished in the challenge; finally one of these dogs that knew how to fight!

“I was afraid today would be too easy!” the mare boasted, magically pulling her axe on the broadsword’s blade.

But the dog used the leverage against her, ramming the flat of the blade uncontested into her snout. He let out a malicious cackle, speaking in broken Equestrian, “I wish I can say same.”

Taberanyn quickly wiped the fresh blood running from her nostrils and narrowed her gaze. A number of knights and levies guarded her flank, distracting any other potential attackers; right now it was only the alicorn and the diamond dog. He raised his weapon for an overhead strike, but it was filly’s play to block. The two swords locked; the steels grated together and met at the guards, allowing Taberanyn just a moment to swing her axe at his unprotected legs.

He leapt backwards, disengaging from the mare. Holding his sword close to his torso, the diamond dog bent his legs and rushed forwards, performing an uppercut into the hook of Taberanyn’s battle-axe. Held only with magic, the embrace was easily broken, and the weapon went flying into the air, landing a few feet off to their side in the snow.

Ailéránen retort was lightning-fast, but the cur executed an elegant swerve that parried it and exposed the mare. His first thrust merely glanced across her plate barding. The second however caught the great sword, and he applied his full strength into pushing the conjoined blades towards Taberanyn.

She yelped as her own weapon was driven into her cheek, the ever-sharp steel edge cutting a shallow gash in her face. Letting full instinct take over, Taberanyn loosed a magical blast, non-lethal, that blew both duelists apart.

Both recovered swiftly, and readied their weapons once more. Her face bloody and battered, seeing red and prepared to unleash the might of her ancient heritage, Taberanyn brought Ailéránen to her foreleg and reared up on her hinds, wrapping a fetlock around the sword. Her horn flashed, and the starry shroud returned.

The diamond dog grinned as he took his stance, “Fancy trick cannot work. But you give good fight, so you know name of he who kill you: Houndsmaul.”

The blue mare simply focused her gaze and rushed with pure force. Houndsmaul reciprocated, and the two almost lost their footings with the impact. Taberanyn spun leftwards, only to frustratingly meet Houndsmaul’s steel. He swerved the hilt, trying to break her hold on Ailéránen, but she withdrew the blade and prepared a thrust. The alicorn’s sword grazed the dog’s but he dodged the blow, bringing his weapon around to hit the exposed pony.

Taberanyn performed a brilliant short-block that would have made Bretteur proud. But she needed to break his defenses somehow, and quickly. Her mind was whirring, a risky gambit forming. She unfurled a wing, and read his stance to try and determine the dog’s next move. He retrieved his sword into his neutral dueling form, rearing back for a stab.

The alicorn made no attempt to move out of the way, and the dog guffawed when his blade pierced through her body, seeming to hit a joint in her armor. She let out a cry of defeat, allowing the mongrel to relish in his victory.

Houndsmaul tried to withdraw the sword, but was stopped. Taberanyn then grinned; the opened wing had closed over the enemy’s sword, and she was holding it with all the strength the feathered appendage could draw. It wouldn’t hold for longer than a second, and soon the edge would slash her skin.

But it was all the time that was needed. Ailéránen was thrust forward, straight through Houndsmaul’s chest. The arcane hardened steel made short work of his lamellar cuirass, the tip driven deep into his heart. Channeling another bout of magic, the great sword’s aura seared his flesh, and she swung it rightwards out of the mongrel’s torso.

Houndsmaul screamed as his body rapidly depleted itself of blood, the white snow splashed with the crimson fluid. Falling to his knees the dog imparted a final absolutely-loathing stare at his victor, who simply stood as solemn as a statue.

“I am Taberanyn; know the price of marching against Canterlot,” the midnight alicorn coolly uttered, magically grabbing hold of his head. With a clean sweep she severed his head, the last of its blood pouring out. Raising her trophy up to her comrades, she let loose a fury-filled battle cry.

Dozens of ponies, slaying newly-demoralized diamond dogs, cheered away, clashing their weapons together. “Stellara! Stellara Nightwrath!”

“Stellara”? Taberanyn could not help but giggle; she’d earned a name in Equestrian, just like her sister had with “Wintermail”. She threw Houndsmaul’s lifeless head to the ground and raised Ailéránen, it’s starry shroud flickering intensely before she slowly dimmed it off to conserve magic.

The dogs in the vicinity then started fleeing, having lost heart with a pony goddess slaying one of their greatest warriors. “Run!” the alicorn commanded, magically amplifying her voice—a trick she’d learned from Henarion years ago, “Lest you know the wrath of Stellara Nightwrath!” This part of the diamond dog forces was in full rout now, some poor smaller canines tripping on the frosted ground before becoming trampled by pursuing heavy knights.

Calmly and slowly she walked over to where her axe was sticking out from the snow and magically sheathed it. Flapping upwards, she tried to locate either her sister or the Prince.

The Prince caught her eye first, a hundred yards away. Intense fighting was occurring around the center, the remainder of the battle devolving into a mass rout of dogs, the rear finally managing to completely surround the horde.

But there, amidst his elite bodyguard, was Prince Petrafyrm doing battle with a large and fearsome diamond dog. He was accompanied by a number of blood-sworn warriors, each combating a respective Canterlot Guardspony. Judging from the adorning trinkets over his lamellar armor, and a crowned helm, this dog was their leader…chieftain, king, whatever; it did not matter.

The Prince was currently suffering blows from this leader’s weapon, an uncommon polearm. It was an odd combination of a glaive and axe, with a long hook not too unlike Taberanyn’s own axe’s. Petrafyrm managed to avoid getting hit, but each blow visibly wore him down.

He was always on the defensive, and the Diamond Dog would win by simple attrition if this continued. Taberanyn darted towards her sovereign, cutting down any curs in her pathway. She spotted a Canterlot bodyguard trying to intervene in the duel, only for the chieftain to cleave his voulge into his skull. The Prince looked at his downed companion, and gave a look of panic and fear.

His expression then hardened, and he raised his sword to face his fate like stallion…like a Prince. He reared back and prepared a stab, but was parried. The weapon flung from his magical embrace, the Prince endured a blow to his chest by the pole of the voulge. Miraculously not dead, he tried to stand back up, yet the Diamond Dog King gave him no purchase as he thrust the voulge’s pointed tip in between the unicorn’s legs, missing his groin by but an inch.

The patriarchal cur lifted the polearm again, ready to slam down and kill Canterlot’s ruler in one gruesome move. He bellowed a cry that would put a dragon to shame, and swung the voulge. The Prince closed his eyes, awaiting union with his god. He heard the impact, but found that again the voulge-head had missed.

He noticed a battle-axe was forcing itself down on the pole, and a large blue mare hovering off the dog’s side. A look of panic crossed the King’s face, the visage of someone who’d never known defeat until that very moment. A flash of steel later and his head tumbled to the ground, the body following soon after.

Taberanyn landed on the snow, magically clearing her blades of blood and gore before returning them to their scabbards. “You’re not very good at fighting, your Highness,” she smirked.

He struggled to his hooves, taking deeps breaths to ease him from the mental shock of almost being slain. “I suppose…ruling is more my forte,” he replied, struggling a smile wracked with nerves, “I…I owe you my life…”

The alicorn gave a stoic look for a response, then unclasped Ailéránen and levitated it back to its owner, “I hope I made good use of it.”

He shook his head, “Keep it for now; I think you have some admirers,” he said, glancing towards a small number of Knights and levies shouting.

“Stellara! Stellara!” they clamored, surrounding the unsuspecting mare and lifting her above their heads. Taberanyn was stunned; was this what it felt like to be a hero? It was intoxicating…simply…wonderful. She felt loved, respected, appreciated…like she had done something nopony else could, and it made a difference.

The Prince joined in the chants, galloping beside her, “Because of your quick thinking and brilliant tactics, the diamond dogs are fleeing!

Taberanyn paused, wrapping her mind around just what her role in the battle was, and returned the Prince’s words with a courteous nod and smile. After a little while she allowed her entourage to continue back to the camp or to plunder the fallen enemy, she fluttering back down to the ground. Her next task was more important than self-gratification: where was Nikóleva?

The answer came almost immediately after being asked, as her keen ears picked up a faint range of voices…ponies cheering. This was expected; they’d just won after all. But these voices were muttering a name, one somewhat familiar to the alicorn.

They were cheering for Wintermail—her sister was over there! And a hero on top of that! Taberanyn became giddy like a filly; the two sisters had both performed supreme feats of skill and bravery.

Her elation toned down just a hair; Nikóleva’s admirers were far more numerous—easily a hundred. Whatever she’d done must have been something truly inspiring and awesome. Taberanyn started for her sister, but thought better of it, knowing she must be just as tired if not more so than the blue pony.

Taberanyn decided to let Nikóleva get some rest, while she returned to camp and tended her minor but irritating wounds. Henarion also needed to be checked up on, and the tragic filly Orchard Blossom needed proper remembrance. It was clear and sunny now; at least that would make the aftermath of battle a little more pleasant.

She folded up her wings and began a light trot, reflecting on the events of this morning. Later she could catch up with Nikóleva and mourn those lost in the fighting; right now Taberanyn still had some work to do.

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 4. The Downfallen

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 4. The Downfallen

It was sunny; clear and bright. Spring was coming soon, if the slush and wet cobblestone streets were any indication. An alabaster alicorn carried a leisurely pace down a street of Canterlot, remarking the lack of wind and cloud cover; it was a perfect day outside. The Prince had truly outdone himself, raising the sun just right and ordering the pegasi to ensure a lovely sky. A foreboding and stubborn snowstorm had blown in from the north, but the Canterlot Weather Patrol drew the line, and allowed nothing to ruin the pleasant afternoon on the day the banners of Canterlot returned to the white citadel.

Nothing more than a slight breeze graced the residents of the city, one gust in particular causing a mare’s pink mane to trail behind her just a bit. Dame Wintermail had retired the effects of battle, now clad in nothing but her old dark cloak and the precious heirloom sword that never left her side. However low a profile she wanted to keep, the muted murmurs of ponies along the streets illustrated that she’d never return to anonymity again.

Thanks to her role in the Battle of Windhock Vale, not to mention her little “display”, the entirety of Canterlot city knew who the Wintermail was, divorcing the legend of the wanderer from the reality of the knight.

To her left was another alicorn, a dark blue pony who as of late rarely left her sister alone. Taberanyn too wore a cloak, her battle-axe resting against her hip just in case. She could still hardly believe her experience a few days ago. It was thrilling…intoxicating even to be in the thick of it, slaying enemies like an epic’s heroine. In the time she’d learned to read, a few such poems had been kept by her bedside, and…yes, she could understand how an alicorn wielding a magic sword resonated with ponies.

Perhaps it wasn’t as evocative as a fiery pony-goddess, but it impressed a good number of ponies. Dame Wintermail found this out when she heard amidst her own admirers others mention a name she’d learned after the battle.

“’Stellara Nightwrath’, you have some fans,” the elder mare snickered, eyes transfixed on a destination a few hundred feet further down the road.

“Oh they can look, but they cannot touch,” Taby replied with a sing-song voice, patting her periwinkle mane with a hoof.”

“You’re damn right about that…” quietly groaned a stallion trailing behind the sisters. Henarion accompanied his charges, deciding that if he wasn’t tending to the needs of his wife and son, he’d be useful protecting the royal alicorns. If he ever distilled satisfaction from the duty, his always-grimaced face never showed.

“Do you have something to say, Uncle?” Taberanyn looked back and shot, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t want no stallion coming along and—“

“Ahem,” Wintermail interrupted, trying to mask the heat in her face with a stare, “That will do.”

Henarion rolled his good eye, “As you wish, your Majesty.”

The tallest alicorn opted to ignore him, and continued down her way. Every week or so she checked up on a number of investments she’d made with the booty she’d collected over several decades as an effective mercenary—the Prince looked past the sellsword part as it meant more gold was infused into the city’s economy.

Just a short walk later and the three came across the double doors to a large building here in the artisan district. From outside the sounds of pounding metal and flash-boiling water could be heard, along with the faint shouts of ponies working inside. Lightning up her yellow aura, Wintermail opened the doorway and bade her associates to enter first.

Within was a large smithy, two stories tall. Tried and traditional stations of ironworking stood within, fires bellowing inside stone furnaces. Carts and baskets filled with iron ingots and charcoal rested in front of some open doors on the far left end, a soot-covered pony using heavy tongs to heat the metal in the hearth.

Another earth pony stallion raised a large sledge and pounded away slag, the first pony then returning the iron back to its fire. If this process were done enough, and in the right way, the finished product would be a shining bar of steel.

The glowing heats where quenched and placed on stone racks for use at a later time. When orders had come through, the blademaster, an aged and experienced stallion with a dull red coat, forged the steel bars into the blades the shop produced, his apprentice finishing off the pieces with hilts and adornments.

It was hot in the shop, a welcome state during the winter months at least. Taberanyn and Henarion wiped their brows when they came too close to the furnace, eliciting a giggle from Wintermail, “It grows on you.”

Taberanyn looked around the whole shop, for a time observing the rhythmic pounding of hammers and the roaring fires turning iron red-hot. “And…this is all yours?”

Wintermail approached a rack on the right side where dozens of blades were laid, all sheathed and ready to be distributed to any merchants or special clients. She telekinetically picked one up and pulled it from the scabbard. Her swords and knifes possessed a distinctive leaf-shape, the tips bulging somewhat before curving inward towards the middle of the blade and bowing outwards to the crossguard. This item in particular was single-edged, a longsword designed for elegant and deliberate combat, not sheer force.

The piece met her standards of quality, and she returned it to the rack. “Yes. I use to run a shop near my old house, but my needs outgrew that venue,” she replied to her sister at last.

Henarion studied the workers, who thoroughly ignored the intruders and focused solely on their craft. “It seems like you turned your little hobby into something productive,” he conceded. It seemed like only yesterday that little white filly was learning how to forge a simple knife with the guide of her father.

Nikóleva responded to his compliment with a smile. He couldn’t help but crack one in kind. She then magically reached into her saddlebag and produced a book. Setting it down on a nearby desk, she then pulled out an ink bottle and quill.

“Wootz, would you please fetch our week’s records? And the earnings?” she called out to her blademaster.

He ceased his hammerings and wiped his brow, turning to a box kept on a table. Gracefully sliding it onto his back, the red earth pony placed it on the Knight’s desk. She grabbed a key from her bag and unlocked the box, revealing a number of golden bits and a sheet of paper.

“Good take-in, this week, ma’am. Made a killing with the Count of Maneterry’s great sword—almost makes up for the heap of iron and time we needed to make it,” he said in a gruff voice touched with a hint of friendliness, “Though, one asked for an ‘alicorn’ sword.”

Wintermail, scribbling numbers into columns in the book, looked up a moment and furrowed her brow, “What did you tell them?”

“’Wrong place, ma’am.' She walked off in a huff,” Wootz replied with snicker.

Wintermail smiled through her accounting, counting the number of coins in the box. “It’s a shame, really; imagine how much I could charge for an ‘alicorn’ weapon,” the businessmare mused, dipping her quill anew.

“We were kept plenty busy when the banners were called,” Wootz said, returning to his station by the forge.

“At least war is good for business,” Wintermail responded rather dourly, lightly blowing on the fresh ink on her page. While waiting for her new entries to dry, Wintermail magically reached into the box and pulled out a number of gold bits.

Henarion meanwhile was investigating one of the racks with finished products. He’d been carrying his own sword for quite a long time; maybe it was time for a change. “Your inventory isn’t bad, though I do think the shop’d sell a mite more if its owner used one of them,” Henarion quipped.

Wintermail rolled her eyes, counting out some stacks of bits. “I use to, before it shattered on dragonscale,” the mare snorted.

“Might want to leave that out of your pitch,” Taberanyn piped up.

Wintermail simply gave a sardonic grin and walked to the center of the shop. “Come on, you lot! Payday!” Wootz shouted out to his coworkers before forming the front of a line.

The smithy workers all joined in the line, patiently waiting for their restitution. Wintermail levitated for each a fair wage: one-half more than the standard rate. Wootz was the exception, receiving double and one-half in pay.

“Good work, everypony,” Wintermail graciously said, closing up her now dry accounting ledger. She placed the book and the rest of her coins into her bag, and locked the box.

“Thank you for stopping by, Dame,” Wootz yelled over his resumed-hammering, sparks flying onto his soot-covered apron, “I imagine you’re quite busy as a knight.”

The white alicorn paused her step, “…Yes. I have duties and lessons to occupy my time.” She turned her head back and spotted the mesmerizing glow of the forge, the sound of burning charcoal and iron pounded into shape. The Dame then cleared her throat, “Though tonight, I’ll be taking some much-needed leisure—Greymane is hosting a party at sundown; I don’t want you all working late.”

Wootz gave a friendly nod, more focused on his craft. Wintermail resumed her path, knocking her head to signal for her two other alicorn companions, “I’ve finished all my business here for today.”

“Where to now?” Taberanyn asked, magically closing the doors behind the trio.

“To talk to an old friend,” Wintermail replied, scanning her eyes for the proper direction through the streets.

Taberanyn got distracted by the shuffle of ponies around the street, conversing with one another and exchanging goods. When she looked back, Nikóleva was already a good thirty feet ahead.

The midnight mare trotted forwards to link back up with her sister, her spirit taking a small hit when she spotted Nikól’s face. It was sullen, as though she’d seen something disconcerting. Taby had a feeling of what it might have been.

“You don’t get to forge much anymore, do you?” the younger sister asked, trying harder to keep up with Nikóleva’s giant strides.

The white alicorn needed a moment to process the question, “Hmmm? Oh…no, I’m busy—you know what it’s like; lessons, drills, court appearances…forging takes a while and a knight has more prompt concerns.” Nikóleva saw Taberanyn’s face match hers, twisting into a mess of nostalgia. At that moment the alabaster alicorn dropped her dour expression and wrapped her foreleg around her sister’s neck. “But tonight we can forget about all that…just for a night, right?”

Taby’s face immediately blossomed into a bright smile, “I hope you brought your best; I’ve been looking forward to seeing that contest between you and Henarion.”

“I wouldn’t call it much of a contest,” Henarion chortled from behind, keeping a respectful yet healthy distance from the sisters.

Nikól nudged Taby’s shoulder, “He talks like he’s still eighty-years old!”

“Filly, you wouldn’t have been able to even come close back in my prime.”

Nikóleva just responded with a condescending hum, waving her hoof at the orange stallion. The rest of the journey progressed in silence, everypony returning to their own thoughts and observations.

Despite having lived in the city for a whole season, Taberanyn was still captivated by the magnificent architecture and grand scale of Canterlot. White buildings and walls were so beautiful, and cities were so full of life! Elder ponies sat on house stoops playing board games and enjoying an afternoon pipe, while little fillies and colts tossed balls back and forth and ran after one another in little cute games.

Growing up in the cold and wet northern wilds, there really wasn’t anypony else for her to interact with besides her uncle and sister. In the rarest of circumstances, an odd traveler might happen upon their small homestead and stay for a hot drink, but never any foals her age. Nikóleva was her only friend growing up, the only pony she could play with; when she left it was like a knife twisting deep into her heart.

But Nikóleva had since returned to the blue alicorn’s life, and now they were rekindling their sisterly bond. Why, tonight the two were to spend together drinking and making merry; nothing could make Taberanyn happier.

Five feet behind the midnight mare, Henarion never let his gaze wander far from the two. It was bad enough he had to be away from Primrose and Eldowas; though he was sure they didn’t miss him too terribly. Young, excitable things so filled with a lust for life—they were probably befriending every damn servant in the castle. But he did love that about his wife and son…everything was wonderful and exciting…and new.

Two-hundred years and things had stopped impressing him, but not Primrose. Henarion missed them both so much, and he resolved that after tonight he’d begin the journey back to his homestead; it wasn’t far as the pegasus flew. Nikóleva and Taberanyn didn’t…need him anymore—they’d both found places here in Canterlot, surrounded by younger ponies who could do his job much better, and high-class swords training as well.

He flashed a frustrated sneer and groaned, wincing at his right eye socket. He brushed a fetlock against the eyepatch; it always gave him trouble this time of day. And now that Henarion’s mind was on it, his joints were acting up again—pushed himself a little too hard at Windhock Vale. He tilted his head to the clear sky and sighed.

Maiëlindir was the lucky one: he didn’t have to get old. Henarion sighed again, letting his gaze fall right down to the wet cobblestone. Oh how he missed his dear friend.

Leading the three further down the narrow streets of Canterlot, Dame Wintermail occupied her mind with various little checklists of matters she needed to tend to. She collected her revenue, had Veroche oil her armor, practiced her sword fighting, attended court…that was about it. Though her visit to her forge…it was bittersweet. She missed the work, the roaring fires, the dark cold nights by her forge, crafting her blades with passion and skill she’d built over decades.

In truth, the Wintermail had been quite content to remain a bladesmith the rest of her days, building her reputation and skill. Her business did very well, but she often felt as though she weren’t a part of it. Trekking down the Canterlot ways, she imagined what life would have been like taking a different path…keeping the hammer and dirt of a smith over taking up the sword and armor of a knight.

Though she supposed it wasn’t all bad; had she not come into the castle she would’ve never learned of her heritage, or basic literacy, or how to preform advanced magic. And all that education might have one benefit; if Wintermail could find adequate time, just take a week or so for herself, and indulge in her retired craft…maybe—just maybe she could experiment.

Wintermail giggled to herself, actually thinking she could unlock the secret to Alicorn Steel, effectively ignoring the fact it had been lost for the past thousand years.

Her foalish delusions were broken by the sight of a large mansion dominating the city block. Wintermail studied the tall white stone edifice, the wooden railings on either side of the stoop topped with a wet layer of slush. As she came towards the front door, Taberanyn and Henarion stayed behind, stranding their white “leader” to confront the occupant alone.

A small face popped into the side window, and immediately the curtains were drawn. Moments later, Wintermail’s hoof inches away from the wooden door, a short bluish grey unicorn opened the portal and revealed himself.

“Wintermail!” he exclaimed with the warm kindness of a longtime friend. He wrapped his stubby forelegs around the towering alicorn, wearing a grin wider than the valley she’d fought at days before.

He broke off when it seemed appropriate and turned his attention to the two alicorns standing in the damp street, “And who are these ponies?”

“Oh where are my manners?” Wintermail scrambled, swooping up behind her family and scooting them forward; neither of them much enjoyed that. “This is my Uncle…Stronghoof,” Wintermail introduced, eliciting a confused scowl from the alicorn stallion, “And my younger sister, Stellara.”

“What a pleasure to meet you both!” the unicorn exclaimed, beaming as he effectively pulled their forehooves up and bumped them.

“Yes..Sir, the pleasures all…mine,” Henarion…or Stronghoof now, muttered, a bit on edge over this energetic old pony.

“And it’s nice to meet you too…uh…,” Stellara stammered, glancing to her sister.

Wintermail stood beside the unicorn, smiling in kind with him, “This is Greymane, my old landlord. Back before I moved into the castle, he rented me a loft here in the city—the one where I ran my shop.”

“Quite right; she was one of my favorite tenants. She always paid on time and kept a very clean home. Which reminds me,” Greymane craned his neck upwards to meet the tall mare’s face, “Your old home is just as pristine as you left it!”

Despite living in the Castle Apartments, Dame Wintermail still paid to rent her old loft, in the event that it should be needed. It was nice to have a little intimate place to retreat to once in a while.

“But enough talk! You lot must be cold and damp out here in the streets; come inside!” Greymane swung his hooves towards the front door, letting the three alicorns in before himself, closing and latching the oaken door behind them.

The inside of Greymane’s mansion was immediately warmer, the comforting crackle of a fire popping in the background. Light still shone through the windowpanes, but a number of chandeliers and candelabras had been lit for the sunset to come soon enough. The three guests wiped off their hooves on the luxurious yet robust rug before the door.

“You never told me you had family, Wintermail,” Greymane said, drying his own hooves of melted snow.

Wintermail thought a moment, stealing a couple glances at her family, “I suppose it never came up.”

Greymane’s smile relaxed a bit, his eyes transfixed on the mare. He could see a twinge of hurt and regret in her face. He said nothing about it, but simply stomped a hoof, “Well they are more than welcome to enjoy themselves tonight! Drinks and sweets all around! I only ask that you not cause too much collateral damage; remember that wardrobe closet I had, Wintermail?”

She knew Greymane was only half-joking, but she shrunk with an acute embarrassment, “Somepony wanted to wrestle.”

The unicorn chuckled and started his way to another part of the house, “Well, Knight, not everything is a battle to the death.”

Greymane was gone before Wintermail could retort, his presence replaced by a servant offering to take the alicorns’ items. All three declined the offer, preferring their effects remain as close to them as possible. The servant affirmed with a “very well” and adjourned to tend to another guest.

Other ponies stood around, holding or levitating cups full of wine or something light to start off with. Greymane, in his infinite generosity and mirth, decided to throw yet another party, so soon after his trademark Hearth’s Warming one, to celebrate Canterlot’s victory.

Wintermail led her company into an adjacent room, the soft glow of candles and the fading sunlight revealing several tables lining the wall. Besides tall bottles of sweet wines and liquors, large kegs of lager and ale, and bowls of luscious, tantalizing fruits, Wintermail spotted something of far greater value.

Elegant silver trays, some stacked on top of one another by means of poles, sat absolutely stuffed with desserts. The white alicorn stopped dead in her tracks, mouth hanging open, a trail of saliva dripping to the floor. Completely lost to the sugary decadence laid before her, Wintermail’s eyes beheld buttercream-frosted cake, soft pink-colored marzipan, cute brown caramel sweets, salted toffee, fluffy white fudge, and cookies lightly dusted with sugar.

Henarion and Taberanyn walked on either side of the taller alicorn, looking at her dumbfounded face, then at the spread of sweets before sharing a sarcastic glance at one another.

“I think…I think I’ll start with some cake…” Wintermail muttered, flaring up her horn in a bright yellow glow. A second later a wooden plate came careening from a stack across the room, stopping instantly before it made contact with the alicorn. She then placed two pieces of cake on it, dabbing some marzipan on top for good measure.

Wintermail next captured a tin cup and filled it to the brim with frothy ale, not caring that she spilled a bit on the way to a table. After planting herself firmly in place, she glowered at her two companions with a look that said “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Naturally, Taberanyn spent as much time as possible discriminately selecting her victuals, comparing individual slices of cake and testing the consistency of each bowl of marzipan. The younger sister giggled slightly, knowing full well what she was doing. Wintermail’s eyes bored into the back of Taberanyn’s head; the white mare was too polite to begin eating without her family, but she would make her sister atone for dragging out the wait so long.

Having had her fun, Taberanyn trotted to the table and set down her plate and cup, filled with a smooth white wine. Henarion followed behind, having patiently hung back and watched the antics of his two nieces. He had collected a few cookies and caramels, along with malt beer.

And then for one final jest, Taberanyn stopped her sister from taking that first bite by reminding everypony of the need to say grace. Wintermail’s eyes then flashed with the very same fire she’d summoned at the battle, but died down when the mare realized her sister was correct.

A short prayer later and the three began to eat and drink. Wintermail easily enjoyed it the most; it had been too long since she’d tasted a decent cake—and Lord above this particular cake was delectable. The texture, the flavor…perfectly moist and fluffy, with the right amount of sweet and savor. The mare possessed one of the strongest sweet tooths in Canterlot, and tonight it would be satiated. The contents of her plate did not last long, and once nothing but crumbs and a few dabs of frosting remained, she grabbed her cup and gulped down the ale; deep and dark, her favorite. Letting out a most uncouth belch, the mare wiped her mouth and gathered her foodware for a second helping.

Taberanyn’s eating was dainty compared to her sister’s, only taking neat bites and sips at a leisurely pace. Her first slice of cake was only about a third of the way finished when Wintermail returned with another plate of pastries and sweets. The alabaster alicorn then slammed down three small glasses and a bottle of what appeared to be some sort of yellow-orange beverage.

Magically Wintermail distributed out the glasses and poured a small measure of the drink for each of the alicorns. “What is this?” Taby asked, bringing the glass up to her nose and taking a whiff.

Her sister set down the bottle and took up her glass with an aura, “Zebrican Honey Wine. A distillery in the city made a batch just for me.” She let in the aroma of the drink, heart aflutter with the sweet twinge of mead, “They lowered the amount of kick; said they didn’t want anypony getting poisoned from it. A bunch of light-weights I say.”

Wintermail raised her glass, Taby and Henarion responding in kind, the three clanking their shots together before bringing it up to their lips. The elder sister didn’t hesitate one bit, and neither did Henarion. But Taberanyn paused, trying to figure out if downing this hard drink was a good idea. After a couple moments of contemplation, the blue alicorn decided that no, it was not. She brought the glass to her lips and gulped the beverage, pounding a hoof on the table as it burned her throat.

The other two gasped in kind, gritting their teeth in a sick masochistic pleasure. Henarion then took a bite of a cookie and a sip of beer to calm down his throat. “So you really want to bring this on yourself, do ya filly?” he spoke to Wintermail, eyebrow raised, “You think ya can beat me?”

“I don’t ‘think’ anything about it,” she retorted, staring her uncle right in the good eye as she glugged her second cup of ale.

Henarion chuckled, feeling loosened up and now a little more willing to enjoy himself. He finished a cookie and wiped the crumbs away, “So…’Stronghoof’, eh? Are you gonna call me that from now on?”

Wintermail chomped another slice of cake, having enough decency to make sure her mouth was empty before speaking, “What? You don’t like it?” She delighted in the frustrated expression he made, one that could almost be his resting face, “Alicorn names can be difficult for Tulicëai; I thought it’d be easier for Greymane to remember it if you had an Equestrian one. Also, shouldn’t alicorns keep a low profile?”

The dull orange stallion crossed his forehooves, “Maybe once, but now I think the secret’s out. Everypony knows the Wintermail’s an alicorn; wouldn’t take a scholar to guess the tall ponies traveling with her were as well.” Leaning to the side, Henarion spotted a couple ponies in the corner looking at them, whispering amongst themselves. He scowled, “You two’ve gotten too popular to remain hidden, anyways. Can’t tell you how much I’ve been hearing about Wintermail Flamecaster and Stellara Nightwrath. Sort of hard to forget displays like that, eh?”

“I’m not sure how I feel about all that attention, to be honest; all those eyes…” Taby thought out loud, nervously drinking her wine while watching those sneaking glances.

“Hopefully this’ll keep your mind off it!” Wintermail interjected, pouring three more shots of honey wine. Taby shrugged and raised her glass for cheers, and downed it along with her family. “How are you feeling?” Wintermail asked Henarion.

But Taberanyn answered instead, reeling from the ravaging of her esophagus the drink caused, “Like somepony shot me in the stomach with an arrow. I think…I’m not going to have any more of that honey wine for a bit…”

“She taps out; it’s just us two now, old stallion!” Wintermail exclaimed, grinning mischievously at her uncle.

He curled up his hooves, beckoning the mare to approach, “Bring it on, filly!”

The night devolved into an immature contest of endurance, Henarion and Wintermail pounding shots like they each had a death wish. The two went a couple rounds before pacing themselves with “kinder” drinks like ale and lager. Through the jokes, conversation, and boasts the three shared, Wintermail and her uncle kept up their intense stares, encouraging each other to make more and more bad decisions.

Taberanyn sat quietly much of the time, snacking on pastries and sipping her measures when the need arose. She knew, for better or worse, Henarion’s own “talent” for consuming alcohol; he could put them back. But her sister’s tolerance was staggering…perhaps those rumors she’d heard around Canterlot weren’t entirely unfounded after all.

Late into the night the mansion was full of ponies engaging in the same reckless behavior that the alicorns were. One noticed the white alicorn, called out to his friends, and amidst their intense focus on drinking, a crowd had gathered around. Shouting and cheering and exchanging bets the ponies clamored with a deafening gusto each time a shot was emptied and that contestant remained conscious.

The blue mare wasn’t used to such attention and crowding, and truthfully it wasn’t particularly pleasant. But watching Nikól and Henarion make fools of themselves was a fair trade.

“You…ain’t…but…getcha…” Henarion slurred, babbling incoherently. He’d become too drunk to focus his magic long enough to take a drink, so his shaky hooves wobbled the glass, spilling more than half before he tried to slam it down. Henarion missed entirely, splashing honey wine all over his orange coat. “I’ll…tired…nap little,” he grumbled out, unable to keep his eye open any longer. With a loud “thunk” his head crashed onto the table; he was down and out.

Wintermail took her final shot, gulping the liquor and letting out a primal roar of victory. One mare to her right raised up her foreleg and roused a cheer from the crowd. “Wintermail!” they shouted, almost as though she were on a battlefield.

Taberanyn, though not effectively poisoned, was still drunk herself, and burst into a fit of laughter, “You are sooo amazing! How…how do you do that?”

Nikóleva leaned in, shifting her eyes for no reason in particular. The ponies surrounding their table started leaving, the spectacle concluded. After a moment of serious staring at her sister, the white mare replied in like slurring, “Some…ponies just g…got it! And…I’m one of them who got it. You!” she punctuated by jabbing a hoof into Taby’s chest, “Can get it too!” Despite the efforts they’d made in their time in Canterlot to affect the dignified speech of the south, the sisters regressed back into their native northern accents so inebriated.

And then, from across the room, Nikóleva spotted a couple stallions, handsome enough through the haze of drunkenness, stealing glances at the sisters. A teasing smile touched her lips, and she elbowed Taby, “L…look! I think thems over there…m’fancy’ing you.”

A bright red flash crossed the younger alicorn’s cheeks, and she replied with a forceful shove, “Shut it!”

Nikóleva just giggled, turning her cup upside down to catch any last drops on her tongue. She grew frustrated when none came and released her magical hold on it, letting the container fall onto the table. The drunken white pony’s ear flicked when her sister’s voice rose again.

“Beside…they…probably eyeing you…,” Taby squeaked out, laying her head down over crossed forelegs, “You’re tall…str…strong…gorgeous! A knight…a hero… ever…ev…every stallion wants…to win your favor.” Taby sniffled a few times, wiping her teal eyes.

Nikól slammed down her hoof, “Hey! Listen…listen…listen, it ain’t like that, Taby.” She reached out and placed a jittering hoof on her sister’s back, “I intim…inti…scare ponies, right? I’m taller than any pony I’ve ever met… I’m sure they afraid I’ll crush ‘em.” Her hoof began tracing patterns along Taby’s back, and the midnight mare’s head rose again, “But you, yea? You got that cute…friendly…ponies think you is approa…approach… easy to talk to.”

Taby gave a slight smile, “You…really think so?”

Nikól then narrowed her gaze at a couple ponies across the room, “But they ain’t gonna…’cause you my baby sister…and I have to protect you!” The elder mare grabbed her sister and brought her uncomfortably close into her chest, stroking her periwinkle mane, “You…you’s the most important thing in my life!”

The blue alicorn pushed back, and after a few more moments Nikól let her go. The two sat in silence for a bit, both swaying slightly in their drunken state. Taby studied a young pegasus filly standing twenty feet away, talking with another pony while taking swigs from her mug. Taberanyn’s mood then went dark, and she raised a sullen voice, “I let her die…”

“Huh?” Nikóleva groaned, raising an eyebrow at the dour face her sister was making.

“That little filly…Orchard Blossom…” Taberanyn then placed her hooves onto Nikóleva’s chest and looked up with remorseful eyes, “She’s dead because of me!” Tears were trailing from her eyes, shut and angled down in shame. “I…I couldn’t save…her.”

Nikóleva resumed her coddling, “It…wasn’t your fault. Poor girl…but she’s in a better place now…you know with mother and father! You can’t…it’s not…” she stammered before letting out a deep sigh, “It gets easier.”

The younger sister continued sobbing, “I…watched her die…I saw the life leave her eyes…” Taberanyn’s trembled within Nikól’s embrace, tears dripping onto her white fur, “The face…the face… Her eyes begged for help…she thought I could help her…”

Nikóleva was at a loss for comforting words, feeling them trying to escape, but falling back just before they were uttered. Gently massaging her sister’s back, the white alicorn simply let Taby mourn.

Taberanyn felt this awful twisted mess of emotions, a horrid mix of sorrow, anger, and regret. Her inhibitions gone with the magic of alcohol, she made no attempt to contain her inner torment. Time passed in a slow quiet, but eventually Taberanyn’s tears ceased and she felt so much better. Taby then lifted her head and rubbed her eyes, “I’m…tired…”

The older alicorn exhaled a powerful yawn, “Y’know what? Me too! We...we need to be respons…responsbile, or I’ll be hearing the Prince say ‘this is not how a queen is supposed to act!’” she jested, performing a truly awful impression of Canterlot’s sovereign.

The two sisters stumbled out of their seats and oriented themselves towards the door. “Wait!” Taby interjected, gesturing to the sleeping stallion still at their table, “We have to…bring him too…can you carry him?”

The Wintermail was more than capable of carrying a stallion as large as Henarion on her back for a time—sober. But right now…it was probably not the best idea. A servant passed by, and a little too forcefully the white alicorn patted him with a hoof.

“Excuse me…could you…make sure that sod over there gets sent back to the castle?”

The servant rolled his eyes, internally cursing the orders Greymane had given to accommodate the Wintermail in any way she required during her stay. “Certainly, Dame.”

“Good…good…I think I got something in here…” she slurred, reaching into her bag and giving the amber unicorn a couple bits. Admittedly his irritation evaporated an appreciable margin at the gesture.

The two alicorns then hobbled out of the mansion, making slow and deliberate steps so as to not fall down the icy steps, all the water having frozen in the nighttime chill. Stumbling out into the middle of the street, Wintermail turned around a few times to find her bearings.

“Are you sure you know the way?” Taby asked incredulously.

“Of course! I know these streets like…because… shut up; follow me.”

By some divine miracle the two managed their way to the old loft Wintermail had rented when she first entered Canterlot. A sturdy two-story building, the living space resting primarily on some heavy wooden pillars, the open space beneath no longer possessed the forge and workshed it had less than a year before. Wintermail approached the door and levitated out her key, trying no less than three times to insert it into the lock before she finally got it right.

“Hurry up! It’s bloody freezing out here!” Taberanyn exclaimed, shivering quite theatrically.

The door creaked open, the hinges no doubt in need of a good oiling. Nikóleva allowed her sister in first, and soon the blue mare crept over to the neatly-made bed. Falling down, she relinquished her remaining willpower to fight off exhaustion. Moments later she was snoring and curling up on the sheets, instinctively draping her wings over her body to keep warm.

Nikóleva smiled at the sight, reminded of the days when Taby was just a baby napping in her crib. Lórian above that was ages ago—now she was a full-grown mare. Tonight was fun; tomorrow they’d have to return to their usual routines and lessons. It would be a long while before Wintermail would get a chance to carouse like this again; she figured the opportunity did not go wasted.

Petting her sister and giving her a kiss, she then unloaded her bags from her back and knelt down on the floor; she’d slept on worse before. Curling her neck around and covering herself in her giant white wings, the mare was too tired to even drunkenly stumble to the couch in the other room, and fell asleep right there.

Completely clueless about what tomorrow would bring.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Brilliant golden rays emanated into the room, the curtains drawn back to reveal the room’s wide window. A sleeping alicorn, sprawled awkwardly on the hard cold wooden floor, stirred back to life. A magenta eye creaked open, overwhelmed by the intense sunlight. She crested a wing over her face, trying to earn a few more precious moments of sleep.

It was no use. She groaned, rubbing her forehooves on her temples to abate the sensation of an axe being driven into her skull. She didn’t remember much of what she’d done the night before, and had to think for a moment where exactly she was.

Extending her stiff legs, Nikóleva contorted herself back upright. But she moved too quickly, and her headache was aggravated, paralyzing her for a second. The hungover mare glanced out the window and recognized the location: her old Canterlot house.

Her realization was interrupted by a rhythmic pounding, the sound of something banging ferociously on wood. She held her head when the sonic hammer bashed her skull. It kept coming, then stopped after about five sequences. In that time Nikóleva realized the sound was not in fact coming from inside her head.

Trudging to the bedroom’s door, each step an ordeal, the alicorn stepped through to reveal the living space of her domicile. A faint sound of sizzling caught her ears, and a delicious smell drifted to her nostrils.

A small stone stove crackled with a fire beneath, a cast-iron pan with a pool of batter in it. Nikóleva however spotted a pitcher of water and immediately seized it in her magic, gulping down the liquid until she couldn’t hold her breath any longer. Letting out a long satisfied gasp, Nikóleva set down the near-empty container as another alicorn crept up from the staircase leading out of the house.

“You’re up,” Taberanyn said, levitating a small letter in her pale blue aura.

“How late is it?” Nikól asked, taking a seat on the nearby couch, cradling her head.

“Just before midday,” Taby replied, reaching into a bag and pulling out a branch full of leaves. She plucked one off and offered it to her sister. “This is myrtle; suck on it.”

Nikóleva eyed the gesture with suspicion, but then shrugged and obliged her sister. After a few moments her head did start to feel better. “Where is Henarion?”

“At the castle. I checked on him earlier this morning when I went to the market.” Taberanyn returned to the stove and flipped the pancake onto its other side, “You two had entirely too much last night.”

“I’d protest, but I don’t really remember.”

“No…,” Taberanyn mused, letting the pancake cook fully before levitating it out of the pan and putting it on a small stack. She then took the plate and gave it to her sister, who gave a slightly confused look.

“You didn’t have to…,” Nikóleva trailed off.

Taby smiled brightly, returning to the stove to snuff out the fire and clean up. “When we were fillies you’d make pancakes to cheer me up…I thought I’d return the favor. I’ve already eaten; let me know how you like them.”

Nikóleva grinned, utterly touched. Taking up one of the buttermilk cakes in her magic, she took a bite, her smile slowly fading away. Glancing down at the cake, Nikól noticed the discolored surface and inconsistent texture. The inside was cool and doughy; truthfully a poor excuse for a pancake.

She captured a small piece of cloth and wrapped the pancakes up, “I’ll finish them later” Hastily she rose to her feet, “We have to get to the castle—I can already hear the Prince chastising me now.”

Taberanyn was already ahead of her sister, and donned her saddlebags and cloak on a rack nearby. “That reminds me: a courier was just at the door. Told me to give you this,” the blue mare said levitating the small note and placing it on the table in front of Nikóleva.

The white mare inspected the folded piece of paper, a red wax seal stamped with a curious symbol. Nikóleva’s eyes widened; she recognized the glyph: an alicorn grapheme. Breaking the seal, she opened the letter to find that it was written in elegant calligraphy. But strangely it was written entirely in the alicorn language, perking her interest immensely. She knew of only three ponies who could read and write alicorn effectively: Delbedasir, the Prince, and herself.

Scanning her eyes over the page, her brow scrunched up. It was an invitation, an offer for Nikóleva and her sister to meet with some unknown pony at a site just outside the city’s walls around noon today.

“Well? What’s it say?” Taby asked, anxious to leave the house, already near the door.

Nikóleva rose up, still in her own thoughts. She retrieved her things quickly and paced to the door. She levitated the note to give to Taby, who then studied it with an intense curiosity.

“What does this say? This isn’t Equestrian,” Taberanyn spoke, stepping onto the slushy muddy ground as her sister locked the door behind them.

Trudging with animate purpose, the Wintermail set her sights on the direction of the decided rendezvous point. Once on the main cobblestone street, the mare spoke up, “You’re right; meviln hímolícë.(it’s alicorn.)”

Taberanyn didn’t reply, but instead walked beside her sister, occupied with her thoughts. She resigned herself to following Wintermail, not wanting to prod the visibly-perturbed alicorn with unnecessary questions that would more than likely be answered soon.

The pair progressed through the city, passing by many shops here in the artisan distract. The din of smiths and sawing of carpenters provided stimulating ambiance, enough activity to entertain the blue mare in the absence of conversation. Minutes later they came within sprinting distance of the South Gate, guards patrolling its towers and letting in traveling merchants with drawn carts.

Wintermail didn’t want to bother with the giant double doors, so she spread her wings and lifted off, landing gracefully at the base of the gate’s other side. Any guards that wanted to protest chomped down on their tongues once they noticed the identity of the escapee. Taberanyn then felt confident enough to replicate the trick.

Outside the protective albino ring of Canterlot, small hamlets interspaced with tiny fields and livestock pens rested before the road snaked down the winding trail of the mountain. The traffic on the Canterlot Road was fairly average for the day, every thirty feet a cart coming or going. Pegasi flew overhead bearing messages or simply racing in the leisure of midday.

Wintermail passed by some peasants clearing snow and preparing the first sowing, winter to end within a week or so. The time-honored tradition of Winter Wrap-Up was a fun day, though the specifics varied from region to region and population from population. They sang colorful and cheerful songs while they worked, and Wintermail allowed herself a small grin of anticipation.

Her favorite thing to do was join the pegasi weather patrol and clear the skies and invite pleasant spring breezes. But right now her intended destination reserved her attention: a small rocky outcropping overlooking the valley below. Occupying the site was a small building, an old workshop that now served as a meeting place for the local extramural community.

The letter had been clear about where to meet, so Wintermail strode through the hall’s doors with knightly confidence, Taberanyn in tow. The large internal chamber was speckled with pieces of furniture and a stage at the far end. The light was coming in through clouded windows, illuminating the flecks of dust floating in the surrounding air.

On the stage gazing out an open door at the cliffside vista was a tall figure. Clad in a velvet red cloak, the figure didn’t move or react to the two new entrants. Wintermail produced the letter from her bag. “I received your correspondence,” the Knight announced, holding a visage of poise and determination.

“Kind of you to arrive so promptly,” the figure spoke, its voice sultry and clearly female. She turned around, revealing a thin unicorn, her coat lavender and free of any spots of dirt or grime. The mare approached, a mane very similar to Taby’s in color lightly bouncing with each step. Stopping ten feet from the sisters, her violet eyes examined them with uncomfortable thoroughness.

She easily stood as tall as Taberanyn, legs and neck long and elegant. Wintermail mentally formulated a plan, just in case.

The lavender mare pursed her lips, “Are you Nikóleva Maiëlindirnasí nor-Solárindilbainuir?”

Wintermail frowned, giving the stranger a cold stare, “I don’t often go by that name. Why does it concern you?”

“Whispers abound through the city…that a pony of royal blood lives within it,” the unicorn intoned. As far as she knew, only the Prince and his intimate circle of councilors knew the truth about the Heir of Solárindil—though servants surely overheard and disseminated rumors.

“And if that were true?” the Knight very calmly asked.

The lavender mare smirked and turned around, stepping out through the far door, “Then I am to tell this pony her people are waiting.”

Nikóleva and Taberanyn shared a glance before cautiously following the unicorn, now standing on the edge of the cliff. A cold breeze billowed past, her pale blue mane blowing across her face. She looked back at the two sisters, “There are good winds today in the vale; we can ride them straight to our stronghold.”

“’Stronghold’?” Taberanyn asked.

The question was ignored. Wintermail instead studied the mare closely, having a sneaking and steadily-growing suspicion. The mare stretched her legs and back, cracking her neck last. Those suspicions were confirmed when the mysterious pony’s cloak swished back, two full and healthy wings fanning outwards, long and slender lavender flight feathers ruffling in the wind.

“Follow me,” the alicorn commanded before diving off the cliff.

The sisters looked at one another again, each giving a face of mild shock. A moment of pause, and the two began their gallop off the cliff, spotting the flying stranger heading right into the lower altitudes of the valley.

Leaping off, Nikóleva and Taberanyn merged gracefully into the air current traveling through the valley, its course curving around the base of Canterlot’s mountain. The third alicorn was flying quickly, past the waterfall and the jagged cliffs. Her direction led the three to a rocky outgrowth of the mountain’s base.

The stranger landed gently, folding her wings and returning them under the warmth and security of her cloak. The sisters weren’t far behind, making contact with the snow-dusted ground to find a cave entrance, the natural stone archways tangled and gnarled with dormant vines.

The alicorn mare beckoned Nikól and Taby inside, leading the way by producing a dim light from her horn. The white and blue alicorns mimicked the action, creeping into the cavern. Each held a part of their mind on their weapons, ready to draw should this stranger prove to be less than friendly.

It was a fair distance into this icy cave, and multiple forks in the path ensured ponies wandering in would become lost. Wintermail grimaced at physical testaments to that fact; the trio came across a few ancient skeletons resting against the rocks.

Finally, the lavender alicorn came to a dead end. She closed her eyes and tapped her long horn against the wall, channeling a bout of magic into it. Moments later bright blue-green trails snaked on the stone, spelling out “Cadabdasilion im-ylo, hai pishúndumebardóliai, osademesaca dheniai. Lé-goltapa bhenëai leäïlímaëra lain.(Come here, oh tempest-tossed, downfallen kin. In our halls you can know safety.)”

A glowing pattern of a door flashed into being, and two stone doors retreated into the wall, revealing an entry point. After the alicorns stepped through, the doors returned back into the cave wall, blending perfectly within. The chamber on the other side was lit by naturally-luminescent gemstones, giving off a soft multi-colored ambiance of reds, oranges, greens, and purples.

The gems were nice, but they weren’t what truly captivated Nikól and Taby’s attention. Dumbstruck, lazily walking forward the sisters beheld the cavern’s occupants. Ponies, in many different coats, all tall…and all alicorns—Triple-kin, those relics of a past age, of times long considered mythical… Nikóleva’s eyes widened, the mare at a loss.

Before today she’d known a grand total of seven alicorns, only two of which weren’t in some way related to her. But in this room easily dozens stood, conversing with one another, seemingly oblivious to the new entrants.

One alicorn had been standing on a carved balcony, overlooking the crowd. Spotting the lavender one, he leapt up and flew down to the ground. A stallion roughly Henarion’s size, though much younger, approached the three new arrivals. Coated a pale green, his mane streak with alternations of dark and light blue, the alicorn stepped with great confidence, meeting Nikóleva’s eyes the entire way.

Stopping rather close to the white pony, he studied her for a time, eyeing especially the gilded hilt of Eónadin poking from under her cloak. “Lís vuir meviln deni, Rhílë?(Is she the one, Rhílë?)” he asked with a slow pace, his voice deep and resonant.

“Vaur, Teceo.(Yes, Brother.)” the lavender alicorn Rhílë replied, stepping back from him and the sisters.

“Calar gardúnaö gandin taë-casubdélbáduln boro,(How kind of the Prince to let us know,)” the sarcastic venom sprayed from his lips, “Candë rhílon midedasédera candic rhal-Dulicë?(Though should I really expect more from a Tulicë?)”

“Excuse me,” Nikóleva spoke up, being assertive yet still respectful, “But…where…what is all this?”

The green alicorn raised an eyebrow before continuing in the ancient tongue, “Céba meviln baison nor-dhenecëai. Roneä bhenë meviln Cardúnón, she bor meviléd eshna nor-Osademesaca.(This is a cadre of your kinsponies. My name is Cardúnón, and I am the leader of the Downfallen.)” The stallion beckoned the other three to follow him as he flared his wings and lifted back up to his balcony.

“Alícëai cidanai shaideniai andatilna lé-móra nor-Galar setociltina cadabdinilnaödë balaca bhenëai, shaimadel tan-maiheniléda fonëai héingh-nghalar; víwë únasduln benëai ‘pantrónilédaödë’,(Any alicorns that wander into the Prince’s domains are invited to join our ranks, where we’ve no obligations of service; he simply has asked us to ‘endure’,)” Cardúnón continued, the foursome landing on the stone balcony. He led his sister and the two newcomers further into a carved arched doorway, “Tyl miton dadirduln maiënísilyrnodë benëai Verenimu héim-vuiras.(But it seems he’s decided to keep our Queen to himself.)”

“Maihenilion,(Wait,)” Nikóleva interjected, switching effortlessly to her native language, “Calar leäduln nor…Alícëai lé-nicot? Semlái nor-dhenecëai…,(The Prince knew about…alicorns in the city? Others of our race…,)” she gestured a hoof between herself and Taberanyn, “She tangh-Nghasubdelpáduln benëy?(And did not tell us?)”

“Darion venë she bor rhílon…tamh-mhantlynaïléda,(His Highness and I don’t exactly…get along,)” Cardúnón replied in his deep baritone. He flashed an aura of silver magic and retrieved a pitcher and four chalices from a small table, “Tyl maihenilúséda nadimh mhandin héim-sima casubemë. Hanotilímódë?(But we’ll have plenty of time for that sort of talk. Thirsty?)”

Cardúnón and Rhílë each took a sip from their wine, and Taberanyn did so to avoid rudeness. Nikóleva however was still feeling a faint throbbing in her head and declined. Cardúnón gave a resonant groan and narrowed is eyes, “Rhibuiriléd bor ledumë din-roneä Wintermail, curbasci nor-Nairverosudë. Maihenilím telnan, lís leäïlím. Tyl shai rhílon roniltím?(I understand you are known by the name Wintermail, a knight of Canterlot. You’ve a reputation, you know. But what are you actually called?)”

“Nikóleva, Nikóleva Maiëlindirnasí nor-Solárindilbainuir,” the alabasater alicorn replied proudly, holding herself to a poise reserved for the royalty she in fact was.

Cardúnón smirked, and then stared at the shorter blue pony standing beside her sister. He didn’t notice it before now, but with his full focus on her, he found the younger alicorn to be magnificently beautiful. Her midnight coat and soft periwinkle mane captivated his interest more than anything had in a long while.

“She der mevilímoc nasí venë,(And you must be her daughter,)” he charmed, flashing his winning smile.

Taby giggled like a little filly, blushing slightly, “Tan; Tecoëy mevilédo. Taberanyn, Palë.(No; we are sisters. I am Taberanyn, Sir.)”

“héim-Nísion, ronilion ‘Cardúnón’,(Please, call me ‘Cardúnón’,)” he paused, studying the gorgeous mare a little further, “‘Taberanyn’…vuir rhílon cordusiln syc-hímo.(’Taberanyn’…it simply rolls right off the tongue.)”

Standing behind her brother, Rhílë felt her eyes turn back into her head—she might need more wine.

Nikóleva too felt irritated, and also a bit protective. She subtly closed the distance between herself and Cardúnón, taking command of the conversation, “Nanúduléd pant uir bhenë bhasdemë éca-mevilyrédacof víwë alícëai darsemëai, she barcedulím bor tam-meviléda. Elna in-ner, Cardúnón.(I’ve spent all my life wondering if my family were the only alicorns left, and you’ve shown me that we are not alone. Thank you, Cardúnón.)” The green stallion walked behind a large wooden desk, a thick book sitting in the center. A flickering candle underneath a tin wax bowl, a bottle of ink and a quill, and a few stacks of letters surrounded the tome.

He opened up the book to the last filled page and dipped his writing implement. “Leäön, Bándowil.(Of course, your Majesty.)” Nikóleva winced; it felt so strange and uncomfortable to hear that appellation.

She approached the desk, looming over the stallion with uncommon height. He did not seem intimidated, and seeing such confidence was refreshing, considering how much she dwarfed most. “Shai candin ylo?(How many are here?)” she asked, eyes with sincere curiosity and concern.

Cardúnón wrote down the sisters’ names in his book, along with a few other words that Nikóleva didn’t catch. “Balovacú she cry. Osademesaca candë baisosac maihenilna shes-Thulicor. Berasalna bhenëai ipacondulna balacuir nor-Alícëai…shai, Rhílë?(Eighty-seven. The Downfallen however have chapters across Equestria. Our estimates have placed the total number of alicorns at...what was it, Rhílë?)”

“shes-Phíbalo, canditon lé-vantas ulinaö,(Around ten-thousand, mostly in the northern wilds,)” his sister replied, refilling her cup rather soon.

“Vaur…tyl ratina vencándumë lé-laina nor-Dulícëai, ayc taë-gadabshesdumëai bhenäi.(Yes…but a simple drop lost in the sea of Tulicëai, even less so dispersed as we are.)” Cardúnón rose from his desk and walked to a map on the wall, dozens of points marked with colored wooden tacks, “Aynai gandinai, cadabshesdumëai gandinai mevilíma. Maiënísilyrímaödë beneäs, coltapilyríma tuln héltái dhranai, baisónái andademëai, dal andadóa balstanai. Mevduln sima héim-daiämai bíonai nís…uir taë-marduniltíma taë-nishloai yncionai bhundenidalionai.(We are so few, so scattered. To preserve our race, we lived as single families, small roving bands, or even lone wanderers. It has been that way for nearly a thousand years…all because we’re hunted down by jealous lesser creatures.)”

He turned back to his guests, “Tyl éca-henái mevilúsédacof semlon, Alícëai tanh-nhadabshesdumëai she taleái. Nówin daiämai tecoë bhenë she bor nusadulédo vasonilédódë she ronereïlédódë benecëai. Osademesaca forgdulna cylon nówin daibaloai vrotata, she cempa óheda alícëai uirai lé-Dulicor…uirai shaideniai tarsilna, cadabdinilúsina she ipaconilúsina mórverë alíceo mucen.(But if we are to be strong once more, the alicorns cannot be scattered and unknown. For years my sister and I have endeavored to find and recruit our people. The Downfallen has grown well in the past few decades, and soon perhaps all alicorns in Equestria…all that remain in this world, shall join together and build a new alicorn realm.)” The heretofore stoic stallion wiped his eyes, ever so slightly misted by a tear.

Taberanyn spotted this fact and placed her hoof over her mouth, cooing to great annoyance from her older sister, “Sima rhílon cadnaniln; cyl gandin meviln máoneme deni subë tyl lyna bhenë nor-vuir, selandemë naduiron ‘sbecemë davilirosta nor-bhenecëai’.(That’s truly inspiring; it’s so nice to hear somepony other than my uncle about it, always lamenting the ‘inevitable fading of our race’.)”

Cardúnón gave the blue pony a suave grin, “Cidan hónacilédcof héim-menecëai. Aiätilédcof héim-vuira.(I would do anything for my people. I’d die for them.)”

Taby admired the stallion like a damn filly fawning over a knight. Nikóleva was starting to dislike this pony.

Regaining his former dignitas, Cardúnón resumed speaking, “Tyl tan-hónacilédaëra dim-morás. Lís nambilím Ansomë nor-Madelmerco? tan-Vrotat lé-dabëai surda tyl daiäm vrotat?(But we cannot do everything ourselves. Do you remember Hearth’s Warming? Not the previous one months ago but last year?)”

Nikóleva chuckled to herself, thinking back to that night, “Leäön. Meviln din-shai Calar vasonilnodë—óheda dran nor-rana yndorasaöai gandita nor-bant penëai.(Of course. It was how the Prince found out about me—probably one of the most fateful nights of my life.)”

“Semlon din-shai bora vasonduléda der. Rhílë bilestaïln shes-Mórcalar midailénemë héinh-‘Nhulicydulina’ cidan. Vasonduln der lé-coldabicua nor-Greymane. Calar frandigduln der surda maihenduléda célen; dadirduléda maiënísilyraödë cyl balstan nówin nadim.(It was also how we discovered you. Rhílë goes around the Princedom searching for any ‘northern unicorns’. She spotted you in Greymane’s mansion. The Prince snatched you up before we had a chance; we decided to leave well enough alone for the time.)” Cardúnón then lit up his horn and removed a piece of Nikóleva’s cloak to reveal her sword’s hilt, “Tyl sima surda rhibuirduléda shaideni der mevilím. She misha nadimh mholsht meviln.(But that was before we understood who you were. And now the time is just right.)”

Nikóleva furrowed her brow, readying herself for anything, just in case. “Nadim héim-shai?(Time for what?)”

The green alicorn smirked, “Ferëai spegdulemëai tam-maihendulna víwë ronebasci nor-‘Ferë nor-Dulicor’, tyl semlon sima nor-Alícëai. Natos rhal-mór dal adana dal oncasdulumëai, Ferenasí nor-Solárindil, nor-Vasílion meviln eshna nor-bhenecëai. Mórverë nor-Dulicor tam-meviln, tyl misha alícëai mevilna.(The bygone kings didn’t simply hold the title of ‘King of Equestria’, but also that of the Alicorns. Untied to land or territory or institutions, the Heir of Solárindil, of Vasílion is the leader of our race. There is no more Kingdom of Equestria, but there are still alicorns.)”

Cardúnón craned down his neck before Nikóleva, dropping his confident and proud persona for a moment of humility, “Únasiléd, Ferenimu bhenë, aludunilímodë matel dhenë. Alícëai maihenilnaöc tarnimu venë, misha candic tyl nada subëai.(I ask, my Queen, that you assume your place. The alicorns need their ruler, now more than ever.)”

But Nikóleva stood, her face distorting in a mix of uncertainty and shock. She lifted up a forehoof, almost looking like she might flee. “Ferenimu tam-meviléd…víwë bentua shaideni din-rani daleä osaduln ucan lé-curbascíon. Der miton mevilím rindilaö gandic gandin héim-eshnemë benecëai.(I am not a Queen… I am just a peasant who somehow fell backwards into knighthood. You seem far more qualified for leading our people.)”

Cardúnón rose up, looking disappointed, but not angry, “Shénë boles tam-maiheniléd; sima arác candin meviln.(I do not have the right blood; that means quite a lot.)”

Nikóleva turned her head, staring at that map on the cave wall for no other reason than to distract herself. “Misha rhacilím casubilímera tuln Calar,(Now you’re starting to sound like the Prince,)” she groaned.

“Lís aludunilédoc sima tuln ol?(Should I take that as an insult?)” Cardúnón chuckled.

“Shaimadel nadimh mholes? Shai veléno nor-ishoÿn ipaconilím?(Why is it the right time, anyway? What sort of scheme are you weaving?)” Nikóleva asked.

“Ferenimu bhenë meviln manyc rhílon,(Our Queen is clever after all,)” he teased, “tan-Sóvilion yeltá nor-randas bhenë, tyl rhílon mevilna cyla ayna din-maiënemë darnimu bhenë. Cempa ulené mevilúsin, she leäïlím halconón shai Calar ishoÿnduln.(Don’t doubt the sincerity of my allegiance, but in fact there are some advantages to possessing our ruler. It shall be spring soon, and you know exactly what the Prince has planned.)”

“Rhibó nor-Dara?(The Congress?)” Taberanyn answered, voice ripe with an eagerness for recognition.

“Halcono,(Precisely,)” Cardúnón replied with an encouraging tone, “Halcono, Tara nor-Dulicor rhibóïlúsina ylo lé-Nairverosudë. Alícëai coltapilna lé-mór céba, she metac tocandulna matel. Tyl Calar tan-ishacilúsin bor.(Equestria’s lords will convene here in Canterlot. The alicorns live in this land, and therefore deserve representation. But the Prince will not listen to me.)” The green stallion then stared straight into Nikóleva’s eyes, “Tyl ishagdarilúsin eshnadumë wico dhenë éca-dhadirilúsíncof nanútilímodë sima. Benecëai maihenilnaöc bor aludunemë she catemë lúarë héim-alícëai. Tulicëai tan-ishacilúsina bora subon.(But he will obey your every command should you choose to exercise that. Your people need you to step up and provide a voice for the alicorns. The Tulicëai will ignore us otherwise.)”

He pressed a hoof gently into her chest, “Cadapilúsímera bora lé-matel bhunosta nówin nada nor-ribó. Céba dhiarcum vadeäm lé-sylef mevilúsin rhani héim-maisonatosion ibacomucendumë bhenë.(You can maneuver us into a favorable position during the congress sessions. This looming threat in the west will be the instrument of our renewed sovereignty.)”

Nikóleva thought for a moment, contemplating the prospective responsibility and duty now placed upon her shoulders. But Cardúnón’s last comment…she started mulling over the implications, “tan-Meviléd tyl vilirilúsédodë mórverë mucen.(I am not here to conquer a new realm.)”

“Leäön tan; tan-únasiléd der sórcatilímodë mórverë rhal-osat nor-Dulicor. Baisodira meviléda, tiremëai bhenecëai palinái she tamaiënemëai. Tyl nadim meviln lé-shai tarilúséda benas semlon.(Of course not; I am not asking you to carve a kingdom from Equestria’s ruin. We are a charity, helping our poor and dispossessed race. But it is time we ruled ourselves once more.)” Cardúnón trotted over to the balcony’s edge, giving him a wide field of vision over the alicorns down below. Nikóleva followed up shortly, still astounded at a room full of her own kind. “Benecëai tocanilna cylc tyl céba: níshacurdumëai taë-dhiadosa she veróla, shénë bhenë taundedumë lé-bhenecëai aync nówin selandiléda tiéon riona venëai,(Our people deserve better than this: exterminated by dogs and dragons, our blood diluted in our lesser kin while we groan beneath their hooves,)” Cardúnón spoke and gave off a sardonic chuckle, “Palina…Tara nor-Aundó tamagdumëai metac rhibóïlédaöc lé-ancutemai balidaöai she helcairaöai shainadim rhibóïlyréda lé-goldapa sindiraöai shai solámilnaëra víwë ipaconilnaödë misha.(It’s a pitiful thing…Masters of the World reduced to meeting in wet, frigid caves where once we convened in gilded halls they could only hope to build now.)”

As Cardúnón let out a wistful sigh, Nikóleva raised her eyebrow, reflecting on his statements. “Neílrunilion; sima unelcin déshanduln osat penë rhacon,(Careful; that sort of attitude brought about our fall in the first place,)” she replied, eyes still fixed on the alicorns below.

Cardúnón simply gave a condescending laugh, “Vaur. Tyl éca-vorgdemë mevilédaëra, she palstanilédaëra borás rhal-‘shauro’ taculymemë nówin sern, mitilion vuira hal sac.(Sure. But if we may be adults, and divorce ourselves from superstitious ‘legends’ for a moment, take a look at them down there.)” Nikóleva obliged, studying the “Downfallen”. At closer inspection, many weren’t in the greatest of states. Many were disheveled, their manes ruffled and coats brushed with dirt. Some held great age in their faces, weary and ready to lie down, but restrained by centuries of aimless existence.

Nikóleva’s heart sank when she spotted one group of mutilated ponies. One poor mare had only one wing, another stallion three legs. And she spotted a filly and colt, perhaps siblings, huddled together on the floor, sharing a tattered blanket. Both were missing most of their horns, jagged stumps the only things remaining. Nikóleva touched a hoof to her own regrown horn and swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Únasiléd, Nikóleva,(Please, Nikóleva,)” Cardúnón began turning to his rightful Queen, “tan-Eshnadumëai, tan-obáca, tan-lutecsdumëai…víwë únasiléd casubilúsímodë héim-mora. tan-Hónacilion héim-mor, dal Calar; héim-vuira.(No decrees, no battles, no judgments…all I ask is that you speak on our behalf. Don’t do it for me, or the Prince; do it for them.)” He swept his hoof out to the crowd, his silver eyes flushed with pleading.

It seemed like an eternity passed. Nikóleva stared at her people—“her people?” It felt so strange thinking that phrase. Cardúnón was correct: these ponies were pitiful. The Wintermail grew as a legend by aiding those in need, no matter the danger. She helped Tulicëai; how by Lórian’s grace could she turn her back on her own kind?

The white alicorn’s face became stern, “Aluduniléd.(I accept.)”

Cardúnón made no attempt to hide his elation. Nikóleva heard him intake a breath to speak, but she raised a hoof to keep him silent, “Lís casubilédera?(Might I issue a statement?)”

“Leäön, Darion nenë,(Certainly, your Highness,)”

“Casubilím candion fadeon,(You talk too much,)” she curtly said, leaping off the balcony and landing on the ground. She kept her wings spread out wide and proud as nearby alicorns found their attention captured.

A second impact signaled Cardúnón’s arrival, and he stepped into the center of the chamber, smiling widely. “Alícëai! Únasiléd, ishacemëai dhenëai: Agducéba barceduln vuiras wisaiönh nhandit. Actuai bhenëai lé-céba madelyet palinion mevilna nísinash!(Triple-kin! Please, your attention: today has proven most fortunate. Our days in this melancholic purgatory are numbered!)” He retreated beside Nikóleva, lightly nudging her forward to be the center of attention, “Barcetiléd Nikóleva Maiëlindirnasí nor-Solárindilbainuir!(I present Nikóleva Maiëlindirnasí nor-Solárindilbainuir!)”

Whispers floated out from the assemblage, some aghast and other simply confused. Satisfied with his pause, Cardúnón continued in his deep and deliberate voice, “Eshnadamagdumë cadabucanduln.(The Exilarch has returned.)”

Many elder alicorns began to weep, younger ponies helping them approach their long-lost leader. Some simply wanted to touch the royal-blooded mare, but almost all said words of hope and joy. Nikóleva put on her best face, matching each greeting with energetic sincerity. It was all a lot to process, and a considerable effort to suppress her nerves.

There was no going back—now they expected Nikóleva to be their leader, and she would not disappoint.

And from atop the balcony, two alicorns watched the spectacle. Rhílë stood quiet and studious, silently jubilant that her and her brother’s effort had finally paid off. Taberanyn too observed her sister with happiness, gladly joining in when the Downfallen began chanting “Nikóleva!” How must it have felt to be in her position? All these alicorns for so long had been hopeless, but now they had their Queen, and with it a semblance of promise for a better future.

It was difficult to not feel pride and joy, seeing so many ponies’ spirits lifted up after being so low. But it was also difficult for Taberanyn to not imagine, if only for a moment—by only a small part of her mind, herself standing in her sister’s place.

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 5. The Congress of Lords

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 5. The Congress of Lords

Today was finally the day. A year of careful planning, formulations, and grooming led up to this historic day for Equestria. For the first time in over a hundred years, the reigning Lords of Equestria were to convene in the interest of mutual survival; for the first time in a millennium perhaps they’d even restore some semblance of unity to the fractured Kingdom.

It was late morning, a few hours until midday. The weather chilly but pleasant, the Prince of Canterlot stood atop a high tower balcony of his castle, studying the sights down in the valley beneath his city. The past few days dozens of lords and their retainers had been trickling into Canterlot, booking lodging within the castle or any available inns. Princes and Kings expected luxurious apartments, while lesser nobles were to be contented with humbler housing.

A number were troublesome, others generous; a couple rambunctious northern barons decided it was a good idea to sponsor a two-day orgy of drink, rough-housing and debauchery. Sufficed to say, the sovereign King of Poneva was obliged to reprimand the hedonists and provide satisfaction.

It was a great irritation, but one Prince Petrafyrm was willing to abide in the interest of Equestrian unity. Most of the invited Lords had already arrived by yesterday. The last few stragglers were just starting to come, either along the well-maintained roads or deep river route.

One of these late arrivals was currently pulling into the port along the valley’s river, a veritable fleet of five cogs greedily hogging all the docks in the poor village. Tiny specks of ponies trudged down the boarding planks, unloading cargo of what the Prince could only assume were rare and exotic—not to mention expensive, wares: spices, silks, smoking leaves, and of course sugar, just to name a few.

Even from so high up on the mountainside, Petrafyrm could still make out the banners fluttering atop the boats’ masts. They were white, with a faint golden image in the center, flanked by tiny blue dashes—a field of argent, a golden seashell, and two blue leaping fish, by the Prince’s recollection.

“That is undoubtedly the Dogaressa of Manehattan,” he spoke, prompting a tall blue mare to approach and locate the object of interest.

She was an alicorn, the newest member of the Prince’s personal bodyguard recruited to replace the brave stallion who’d fallen at Windhock Vale. Stellara Nightwrath, who’d distinguished herself at the very same battle by not only devising the winning maneuver, but also saving the Prince’s life and slaying the Diamond Dog leader, was offered a place amongst the bodyguard.

She accepted readily, more than eager to achieve a position of importance just like her older sister Dame Wintermail. She currently stood beside her liege, clad in dual-layer armor and crested helmet. Ailéránen hung on her hip, on standby for the Prince if it were ever needed, joined by her own battle-axe, now affectionately given the moniker Skullcleaver.

Stellara spotted the ships and their crews ferrying small mountains of crates and barrels. “Did they bring the entire city with them?” she quipped.

The Prince chuckled, “The ruling families of Manehattan are merchants first, rulers a distant second. They intend to sell all that product, and Dogaressa Marina has expensive tastes; I’m surprised these ships are so…plain.” Petrafyrm turned to his guard, “I once traveled to that city, and saw the fleet she owns. I consider it lucky we live inland, else our harbor would be clogged with dozens of barges. Why, I’ve heard her personal yacht is covered in gold, the bow sporting a dragon effigy that actually smokes!”

Stellara raised her eyebrow, “A bit dangerous I think, my Lord; an open flame on a ship.”

“Quite right,” the Prince intoned, hearing the clopping of hooves behind him. He turned around and spotted a red unicorn galloping forth before he made a slight bow.

It was Chancellor Logostus, wearing his black felt cap and cloak. Levitating up a small book, he cleared his throat, “Your Highness, all our guests have arrived. The valet sent for the Dogaressa should have her up in the castle within half an hour.”

“Excellent,” the Prince replied, starting towards the door back into the tower. Stellara and two other guards followed, keeping a respectful distance away. Logostus walked with his sovereign, eyeing his notes and accounting.

“Our turnout is marvelous, my Lord,” the Chancellor began, “The six other Princes, three Kings, the rulers of each of the four free cities, along with a number of their vassals. Almost everypony of import from the southern shore to the northern wilds has come.”

Now within the tower, the group began descending the stairs to the main level of the castle. The Prince kept looking forward, maintain his noble gentility, “In all, how many?”

“About one-hundred, give or take any minor nobles who prefer to carouse in the city than sit during the Congress.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re using the grand assembly chamber.”

Once they’d reached the bottom of the staircase, the Prince and his entourage emerged into a large hall, stained-glass windows filling the walls. This particular corridor of the castle boasted the windows depicting Solárindil and the Alicorns’ arrival. The Prince stepped with purpose, ignoring the numerous courtiers rushing around to alert the castle’s guests and provide any refreshments before the first session was due to begin.

But before he stepped through the doors into the castle’s main chamber, Petrafyrm took a moment and approached the window of King Sun Flare, the name Equestrians had given the leader of the exiled alicorns. A flashed of emotion came over him, and he admired the art both for its form and meaning.

“That stallion there…he is your ancestor, the source of your last name,” the Prince said to Stellara, who joined him in gazing at the ancient colored glass. The mare said nothing, preferring to keep her peace and reflect on her own heritage and purpose.

The Prince gave a soft laugh; hard to imagine only a year before, all this seemed to be a distant dream. Sun Flare had reinvigorated his kingdom, and it had flourished for two-thousand years. The Heirs had returned, proven themselves in battle, and were now presentable to the Congress. A year of work would pay off; the noble unicorn felt this with all his might.

Recomposing himself, the Prince magically adjusted his crown and cloak and straightened the pendant around his neck, the great symbol of his faith and conviction. Ensuring his slippers were clean and polished, the Prince had his bodyguards open the double doors.

He emerged into a grand rotunda, gilded candelabras and indigo silk curtains hanging from the columns within. Dozens of other ponies moved in and out, many of them discernible as the lords who’d been summoned to the city. Petrafyrm stood tall, commanding a dignified presence to remind even these haughty lords that he was the host, and was Prince of Canterlot, the most prestigious of Equestria’s peers.

There was no time for pleasantries; courtiers were to forsake protocol and direct all nobles into the assembly chamber. Even so, a few attendees took a small pause to whisper amongst themselves, remarking the Prince. He’d earned his own reputation for not only benevolent and just rule, but also for effective governance. It’d be no falsehood to assert that Canterlot was the most centralized and sophisticated state in Equestria, possessing a mature system of administration. This gave the realm a strong power-base, one which would prove critical to accrete Equestria around it under a nominal monarch.

It was a process started nine-centuries before, the Princes slowly but steadily amassing authority and expanding their influence in the region. Petrafyrm inherited a state that was well-run and connected, and only built up from there.

He missed no beats parading across the shining marble floor, giving respectful nods to lords who passed him by. While all the guests proceeded in the assembly chamber through a certain door, the Prince had his own entrance: a small drawing room reached from a back hall.

He and his attendants made it into this hall, the crowd of ponies thinning out by then. Stellara magically unlatched the door to the drawing room, revealing a homely chamber with an unlit fireplace and various pieces of furniture. He would not linger for long, but upon entering, the Prince eyed a small pitcher placed on a table by a servant not long before. He retrieved a goblet beside it and filled the cup with wine. He took the measure with an uncharacteristic gusto.

“My Lord,” Stellara asked, “Might I question if this is in fact the best time for drinking?”

The Prince didn’t speak for a moment, trying to settle down the jitters he’d held back all the time in the rotunda. A stressed look on his face, Petrafyrm gazed at the various portraits placed on the dark wooden walls, pictures of former Princes of Canterlot.

The product of a proud lineage of glorious rulers, Prince Peter now stood to profit from their centuries of hard work and planning. “Please excuse me…I am a bit nervous,” he confessed at last, placing the goblet back onto its table, “I have to walk into a chamber and convince a hundred ponies to put aside hundreds of years of enmity and rivalry, some of which are with my own realm.”

The Prince’s right foreleg was shaking uncontrollably, his hoof knocking on the red carpet. Chancellor Logostus placed a hoof on the sovereign’s shoulder, smiling like a lifelong friend, “They all came, obviously they desire some sort of union.”

Peter smirked and gave a slight laugh, “Using my own words against me?” He calmed down a measure, affectionately reciprocating Logostus’ action back onto the red unicorn. His sight then focused for a moment on a portrait of Prince Ravenmark, his own father. A thought entered his mind, and he felt a flash of irritation and urgency, “Where is your sister, Stellara?”

“I haven’t seen her all day, Prince. Drilling soldiers, perhaps?” the blue alicorn replied, tone rife with uncertainty.

“Damn it…of course the hour I need to present a queen before the Congress, and she isn’t here!” The Prince gave a heavy sigh, “We have some time before the final stragglers’ arrival; we’ll just need to search quickly. Stellara, could you fly to the barracks and investig—“

“That will not be necessary,” a deep voice echoed into the drawing room. The Prince turned around, and his eyes bulged when he spotted a few large figures gracefully gliding into the room.

“Oh dear God…,” he muttered, not at all enthralled by the latest entrants. A tall green alicorn approached the sovereign, a lavender one in tow. Both stood stoic and eyes half-lidded, as though the Prince was beneath their notice. The green stallion though did spare a glance and smile at Stellara, who blushed slightly and curled her lips back. Behind them both came a taller white alicorn, wearing her blue courtier’s vest and bearing her ancient sword.

Dame Wintermail’s two companions stepped to either side and let their leader come forward, and the Prince quickly closed the distance, stepping with a spiteful purpose. “What is the meaning of this, Dame?? Why is Cardúnón here?”

Wintermail kept a stern face, standing with a commanding presence, “He and his sister Rhílë are my attendants today; I shall speak on behalf of Canterlot’s alicorns. We may discuss the fact that you concealed them from me later.”

The Prince was truthfully impressed with the Dame’s boldness in speaking to her liege with such authority. Even so, it was not the time. “I apologize for that, but I had my reasons. I cannot state enough how terrible an idea it is to bring this stallion,” he waved a hoof at Cardúnón viciously, “To a meeting of Equestria’s Lords.”

“How dare you!” Cardúnón shouted, flaring his wings out to appear threatening, “We’ve just as much right to be here! It is just like you Tulicëai, treating us like outlanders, when you lesser creatures should be groveling at our hooves!”

The Prince gaped, and turned his head towards Wintermail, “Do you hear this?? His haughty attitude will snuff out this congress in its cradle! Every noble in there would pack up and head home as soon as they heard Cardúnón suggesting we bring back the Alicorn Dominion!”

Cardúnón lowered his horn, invading the Prince’s personally space, “You would keep us silent and unseen! We’ve been languishing away in that cave, and now that we finally have a forum to better our people, you want to shut us down!”

The Prince matched the green stallion’s body language, the two now locking horns and engaged in a battle of force, “I am trying to promote unity and cooperation! And your rhetoric of superiority would be most counterproductive!”

“Enough!” Wintermail commanded, shoving her powerful forehooves in between the two stallions, effortlessly pushing them apart, “Save the debating for the session. Cardúnón, please control yourself.” The green pony snorted, relenting his glare at the Prince after a few moments.

The Prince had a smug look, but Wintermail then shifted her focus to him, “And my Lord, I’m afraid I must insist that Cardúnón and Rhílë attend; he is right that the alicorns need representation.”

“But…Dame, are you really going to cast the entire enterprise into jeopardy for the sake of…so small a group? Equestria has a population of millions, while you alicorns number…what? A few thousand?”

An objection was raised, but from an unexpected pony—Stellara immediately achieved a grim expression and approached from behind her liege, “We still matter, my Lord.”

A surge of heat washed over the Prince, and he soon found himself with four alicorns glowering over him. He cleared his throat, “Yes, I…well,” he sighed deeply, “You all matter just as much as anypony else, but by the conscience of my heart and duty of my office, I cannot tend to the needs of so few at the expense of so many more. My obligation is to my people, and this congress is for their benefit.”

Wintermail thought a moment, her eyes wandering from the Prince to her sister and then Cardúnón. She recaptured her dignitas and spoke, “Well, I have accepted the role of being the alicorns’ liaison. We all live in Equestria; it makes no sense that we cannot share the same Congress.”

“Then…,” the Prince conceded, “Perhaps we can be adults and put aside our own personal disagreements…for the sake of Equestria.”

“I believe we can,” Cardúnón replied, extending his forehoof. The Prince eagerly met it with his own.

The white Exilarch smiled internally, quite pleased that she managed to actually solve that dispute. The Prince spared a grin at his knight, mentally celebrating the fact his hard work grooming the Heir had made headway.

At that moment, the door to the hallway opened once more. Two more of the Prince’s bodyguards stepped forth, armor and swords clanking. Behind them followed a pretty purple-blue unicorn, clad in a silken dress with rich golden embroidery. Her ornamented tiara glittered, strings of pearls and jewels capturing the flickering light of the candles. Beside her a blue unicorn colt trotted up, looking excited and eyes shining in awe.

The Prince’s attention was thoroughly captured by the mare, and he couldn’t help but stare dumbstruck. The mare approached, and leaned forward, lips pursed. Petrafyrm met halfway, and imparted a loving kiss on his wife. The young colt then nuzzled his father’s chest, the pony too short to reach any higher up.

“I heard shouting; is everything alright?” Princess Coruscina asked, eyes filled with concern.

The Prince looked embarrassed, “Yes, Dear. We were just…discussing politics. You seem very lovely today.”

Coruscina smirked, “If this day is as important as you’ve said, I should like to impress.” She placed her slipper-wrapped hoof on little Lord Vale’s back, lightly drawing him closer, “He keeps asking about that alicorn colt.”

“Yes, Father! Eldowas! I would like to play with him today!” Vale said, beaming with excitement. Stellara and Wintermail shared a glance at one another, grinning slightly.

“I’m afraid Eldowas has returned home.” The Prince immediately regretted his action when he saw his son’s face fall. He placed his hoof on him, and led him towards the door to the assembly chamber, “But today I have something special for you!”

The lordling cocked his head; the Prince continued, “You will one day wear this crown, and be Prince over this land. So I’m going to show you a very important part of ruling: negotiations.” Vale’s face fell, and he practically dragged his hooves as the Prince proceeded through the door. Coruscina giggled and followed her husband, their bodyguards moving in turn.

“Everypony ready?” the Prince asked as he made it through the threshold.

“Of course, your Highness,” Cardúnón responded, putting on his best face. He nudged his sister, and the two joined the others.

That simply left the two royal sisters, standing for a moment alone in the drawing room. ”Where did that come from?” Stellara asked, “Actions, not words, are more your style.”

Wintermail just let off a sardonic chuckle, “I don’t know…but now I have to play diplomat out there.” Her yellow aura grabbed another cup on the table, and she was set to pour herself some wine.

Stellara frowned and placed her hoof over the pitcher and shoved it back down, “No. You need to be your best.”

The white sister frowned, “Oh I see: the Prince can have a drink but the poor mare who has no idea what she’s doing can’t.”

“Precisely,” Stellara quipped with a wink, “Now get out there; the Prince and Cardúnón are expecting a leader.”

The pair began towards the door, each adjusting any articles on one another to perfection. “Very well; wouldn’t want to disappoint your ‘object of affection’.” This remark earned Wintermail a shove from her now-blushing sister. That earned Stellara her own hoof to the shoulder; though protected by armor she still felt the impact, disturbingly similar to the mace-blow she’d suffered at Windhock Vale.

A shiver crawled up Stellara’s spine: her sister probably could have dented the iron plate if she’d wanted to.

Creeping through the door and out from behind the curtain within the far larger room, the sisters emerged striding with utmost poise and dignity. Meeting the other members of the Prince’s entourage, the sovereign himself sitting on a large throne, Wintermail took her place on his right side and Stellara on his left.

The sight greeting them was an open room filled with dozens upon dozens of ponies, all shuffling and muttering, the collective voices all lost in a background dim of gibberish.

The Assembly Chamber itself was rectangular in shape, a giant marble box depressed about a story downwards. The upper floor possessed a balcony that wound around three walls; quiet and distant for observers, as all citizens had the right to attend. Some wealthier and more communally-active ponies were doing just that.

The fourth wall however was reserved for the great stone foundation of the assembly’s throne. Currently occupied by the Prince of Canterlot, the velvet –cushioned gilded chair once hosted Equestria’s King. Canterlot had been built by King Sun Flare as a southern capitol when the Kings toured the provinces. Once upon a time the Assembly chamber held the nobility of Equestria, all given right to be consulted by the King on important matters.

Today it did again. Marble seating, individually furnished with cushioning and a desk, was arranged in a downward slope from the entrance level, culminating in a polished floor, the center of which had colored tiles mosaicked into Equestria’s now-defunct coat of arms: the image of a white alicorn, wings splayed proudly upon a field of azure speckled with white stars. In front of the alicorn’s chest was a special emblem, the silver crescent moon within the burning silhouette of the golden sun—united in perfect harmony.

Illuminated by large standing torches, the major occupants of the room were speaking with one another and eyeing the new arrivals on the main platform. The seven Princes, three petty Kings, and three leaders of the Free Cities today would usher in an historic moment, one of renewed unity in Equestria. Each ruler sat with their entourages, attendants and vassals, bronze poles with their realm's banner fixed beside them. Most wore extravagant clothes, richly woven and embroidered. Decorated with earrings, horn rings, necklaces, and brooches, they proudly showed off the wealth of their holdings and the skill of their metalworkers.

The seven Princes of Equestria sat in the first row, given the most dignity and respect. They were largely descendants of the last governors of the ancient provinces who took charge when the King had fallen in battle, but still held themselves, at least in name, simply as stewards of their lands. The ideal Prince understood they were holding their territory in lieu of the King, and should he ever return rulership would be restored.

Prince Petrafyrm of Canterlot presided over the Congress, seated on the throne at the front of the chamber, as the First among Equals. As the viceroy of Equestria’s southern capitol, his office held the most prestige. His banner, the blue chevron on a field of argent made to resemble a mountain, accented by the purple six-pointed star, hung to his right side, just beyond Wintermail’s head.

Prince Rufus of Fillydelphia sat in the spot closest to Peter’s left. A deep red unicorn, mane a fiery orange, he boasted a glittering crown crafted in the likeness of laurels, each leaf inset with a small gemstone. Of average size and build, the stallion was joined by other similar courtiers in discussing the four alicorns visible on the royal platform. His banner hung proudly, a verdant field trimmed by gold, the image of a blooming yellow rose symbolizing the great fertility of his realm.

To his left sat a stern and older mare, Princess Nephele of Cloudsdale. She was a tall and thin cerulean pony, mane a multicolored mix of red, yellow, and orange; though all faded with age. No less than ninety-three, she had the vim and vigor of a pony a fraction of that age. Princess Nephele’s size and longevity were clear indications of strong alicorn blood; most of Equestria’s high nobility possessed alicorn ancestry, Petrafyrm and Nephele especially so. But unlike most of them, the Princess of Cloudsdale was a pegasus; though this was all but required in the airborne city.

Her crown was silver, made into an intricate and realistic wreath of clouds. The central emblem was a stylized lightning bolt, this made of gold. Her banner held itself just as powerfully and nobly as she; a field of sky blue, a brilliant rainbow looming over an iron sword, and two golden pegasi carrying a slogan saying “Ever Higher, Ever Beyond”.

Next the Prince of Detrot, Wealthford. A stout, round and jovial cream-colored unicorn, a large auburn beard was his most prized possession. Unlike most of the other lords, Wealthford didn’t pay much mind to Petrafyrm and his alicorns, instead lost in a rolling laughter at his companions’ bawdy jokes. Prince Wealthford’s crown, a copper rendition of tree branches, was set on the desk, perhaps in a gesture of parity to his courtiers.

Raucous laughter caused the broad stallion to brush against his banner pole, bearing a deep blue field. A majestic white pine dominated the banner, surrounded by five rings of gold, silver, copper, iron, and tin. All this symbolized the sprawling forests and mineral wealth of this most northerly princedom.

To Prince Wealthford’s left sat Princess Brynhilda of Horsava, no more than twelve years old. A festive pink color, the filly was not to be crossed. The story went when news of her father Prince Duncanbane’s death in battle against a rebellious count reached her, Brynhilda took up a lance and led the counterattack. Purportedly she speared the rebels’ leader straight through the mouth and out the base of his tail, and then mounted his impaled corpse over Horsava’s gates.

Almost supernaturally strong, Brynhilda enjoyed carrying Rectitude, a massive alicorn great sword that was larger than she was. The Horsavish were a notoriously hard people, living on the wild marshes sitting at the edge of civilized Equestria. A dull iron tiara topped the earth-filly’s champagne mane, nothing more than a practical metal band with the Princedom’s emblem in the center. The same illustration of a charging white earth pony graced the red banner of Horsava, in recognition of their incomparable hussars.

Ensuring to keep his distance from Princess Brynhilda, a pure white unicorn sat with utmost gravitas. The unicorn had servants ensure his maroon mane was perfectly styled, worthy of Luminescent, Prince of Hoofington. His hooves wore slippers with elegant lattices of gold and his neck was adorned with the symbol of the ancient alicorn faith, the very same design Wintermail, Petrafyrm, and the Librarian wore.

Known for its fancy court and architecture, Hoofington sent only its best here, and the Prince would ensure his city’s reputation was not in the slightest diminished. Luminescent’s aureic diadem curled around his head, the exquisite mimic of a wreath of bushes shining with dozens of tiny diamonds.

Prince Luminescent looked utterly fabulous, though rumors did abound that his prim appearance indicated a more…unconventional proclivity. All the same, Hoofington’s highness superbly represented his realm, bearing the argent banner speckled with three yellow images of hoof prints arranged in a triangle.

And on the far right of the first row, watching Petrafyrm and his alicorn cohorts with shineless red eyes, sulked Noblesse Oblige, Prince of Trottingham. A joyless orange-brown unicorn, always so dour in the face, Noblesse did little more than brood, hardly touching the goblet of wine given as a courtesy. He did not like one bit this business. Trottingham historically had been Canterlot’s greatest rival; the second-most powerful realm in all Equestria. Four-hundred years before Prince Sablecrine had very nearly submitted the others beneath his rule, and reunited the old Kingdom.

A unique crown graced Noblesse Oblige’s charcoal mane, a shimmering point on an otherwise stony and dull pedestal. It was made of crystal, the lifeblood of Trottingham’s trade. The finest jewelry was quarried in the realm’s deep gem mines, none more precious than iridean diamond. This exceedingly rare gemstone could shine any color of the rainbow depending on what angle the light hit it; one, a few, or all six at once.

It was totally unbecoming of so gloomy a stallion. In fact, his banner was rather appropriately sable, six diamonds each color of the spectrum arranged in a star, a white central one the largest.

There was little he enjoyed in this city, even less in its sovereign, and Noblesse Oblige spent the time before the session officially began simply tapping his hoof.

On the second row of seating, three kings and their courtiers resided. Descendants of ancient governors left without their true King, they forged their own crowns in the wild and poorly settled northern and western regions, doing away with the formalities of viceroyalty. Such hubris and betrayal was distasteful to Prince Petrafyrm, but it had been nine-centuries; long time to wait for a new ruler.

King Hillwick of Poneva and his attendants were on the left section. His father had met a mysterious alicorn wanderer some thirty years before, and Hillwick had been reared on those stories. When he’d been invited to Canterlot, much of his enthusiasm was caused by the chance to meet this “Wintermail,” now evidently in service of Prince Petrafyrm.

The tan unicorn had nearly burst from his seat when he saw the white alicorn enter the chamber. He rose with such a pace that a courtier had to magically catch his bejeweled golden crown after it was thrown from his scarlet mane. The young King’s chamberlain had to remind His Majesty of protocol; perhaps he’d get a chance to meet the Wintermail after the session.

He’d returned to his seat calmly, and adjusted the banner pole he’d knocked upon his eruption, straightening the forest green banner with its white circle-cross of the Alicorn god.

On the center section, second row, the King of Coltorado. West from the northern realm of Poneva, nestled in rugged hills and mountain valleys was this frontier kingdom. The Coltoradans were independent in spirit; their own ruler had only loose control over some of the more isolated tribes. Nevertheless, the King had abided to work with the other Equestrian lords, in the hopes that his kingdom would not suffer the same fate as Mareposa.

Dull blue in color, and a mane of onyx, King Cobalt Stone’s and his people’s looks gave rise to rumors that their pegasus blood had mixed with those of thestrals from the high western mountains, or the savage mustangs of the prairie—both utterly preposterous. The Coltoradans hated both groups with equal passion. He was an Equestrian, and by his black steel crown a King at that. His blue banner with a transverse white stripe and golden emblem of a pickaxe deserved to hang in the chamber as much as any perfumed southern prince.

Thirdly amongst the royal lords was Auburn Flare, the exiled King of Mareposa. His father King Crimson Blitz had fallen in the siege of his city last autumn, Mareposa with him. Auburn Flare therefore possessed no crown, no fine vestments, no army or treasure…all he held were his name and title. The red unicorn had come to Canterlot for help—unity be damned; his city and people were being killed while these lords feasted and drank.

Auburn sat restlessly, eager to finish this dithering and avenge his kingdom. The yellow banner of Mareposa, the green image of Queen Goldsoetha and her sword Hordebreaker a mocking reminder of what he’d lost. He spotted the alicorns beside Prince Petrafyrm; perhaps these lesser gods might be the key to winning back the west from the barbarian swarms.

On the third row, ranked least amongst the sovereign lords of Equestria, were the rulers of the Free Cities. These were four large and wealthy settlements that had at one point broken free from vassalage to the Princedoms. They traded across the known world in vast merchant fleets, and their coffers allowed them the resources to stave off domination from far larger neighbors. The cities’ leaders were not lords per se, but they were included because Equestria needed their resources if it was going to survive the coming storm.

Neapony, in the furthest south of Equestria, was famous for its wine and sugar imports. Sea Lady Kalleia, a purple unicorn, adjusted her fine silk robe and the laurel wreath atop her peach-colored mane. Her hoof wrapped around the banner pole, bearing the deep ocean blue standard with its golden laurels beneath the image of a bunch of grapes.

Baltimare was unique amongst the cities; it actually sat a little inland on a wide and deep river as opposed to the coast. Grand Mayor Fenraker was a green pegasus, possessing a modest dark cloak and felt cap over his seafoam hair. The Grand Mayor was an elected servant of the citizens; there was no need for garish displays of wealth and power. This Baltimarian sentiment for simplicity and modesty extended to its coat-of-arms: a cloth checkered black and yellow.

Then there was the First Lord of Trotterdam, a city built on a series of marshy islands. With his fancy embroidered robe, he looked rather stilted and constrained, but First Lord Tulip Hollow had to dress to impress. A bright orange earth-pony, a luminous emerald pendant hung from his neck. Imperiously gazing over the Congress, he removed his wide-brimmed hat stuck with a golden feather and ran a hoof through his blonde mane. Something wasn’t right; how could he flaunt his city’s wealth to his greatest rival if she wasn’t here? He gazed at the orange standard of Trotterdam, completed by the image of a white manticore rearing up.

Indeed something wasn’t right. There were thirteen lords present in the chamber; there was one missing. Only three cities were represented currently, and Petrafyrm was becoming impatient. He wanted to begin the session soon, but one of the arguably most important guests was not here.

Like some divine jest, right when the Prince gave a sigh of frustration, the doorway out of the chamber burst open, revealing no less than ten ponies dressed in silk vests lined with gold thread that individually must have taken days to sew. The first four held up brass trumpets and blew them, another clearing his throat before the Congress.

“Presenting her Most Serene Eminence, Marina, Dogaressa of Manehattan!” the herald announced, puffing out his chest and closing his eyes in perfect dignity. Two unicorns processed into the chamber, each bearing the white banner of Manehattan, with its golden seashell and flanking blue fish. Behind them came the Dogaressa, clad in a violet dress that had pearls and jeweled sewn into whatever places they could fit. She was tall earth pony, coat a pristine amber and mane a dark bold red. Each step she took was accented by her golden slippers and the jingling of the numerous chains on her high crown. Inset with effigies of seashells, starfish, and other bounties of the sea, it was one of the most intricate pieces of headwear ever crafted, specifically just to show others just how wealthy the Dogaressa was.

Indeed, she was the richest pony in all Equestria, perhaps all the world. And that alone made her a precious asset. The Prince kept his welcoming smile; now was not the time to alienate potential allies. She took her seat in the center section, third row. Her courtiers crowed in wherever they could; by now the room was filled to the brim with lords, vassals, and other ponies.

Prince Petrafyrm stood from his throne and surveyed the Congress. Princess Coruscina gave him his scepter and he magically raised it, “Esteemed Lords of Equestria, Princes and Kings, I welcome you here to Canterlot, and thank you with utmost humility for your attending of this Congress,” he began, pausing to gauge the attitude in the room. The room’s chattering died down swiftly, all eyes focused on him. “Before we begin, however, one finds it prudent to ensure blessing for our endeavors today.”

He bowed his head, and the rest of the ponies did the same. Wintermail especially craned her neck low, but Cardúnón and his sister preferred instead to retreat slightly to avoid sight. Prince Petrafyrm removed his spired crown for the duration, “Oh Great Divinity of our Land, whichever name we might give to Thee, we humbly ask as servants of Thy design for wisdom and courage. Please overlook, that we might not stray from our mission. Amen.” The room filled with solemn “Amens”, the Congress raising their heads back to the Prince of Canterlot.

Petrafyrm restored his crown, and resumed his imperious visage, “It has been quite a time; we can count a period of one-hundred years and more since last we all convened in one place. Yet it is of the highest priority that our efforts here be fruitful; a threat of ancient magnitude threatens our very foundations.”

Mixed affirmations and scoffs mumbled from the assembly. The Prince continued when they quieted down, “I speak of course of the newly-unified horde that has ravaged the western lands. Minotaurs and Mustangs have already taken Mareposa, as King Auburn Flare can no doubt attest.”

“Yes!” the young exiled ruler of Mareposa shouted, practically leaping out of his seat, “These damned savages have slaughtered countless thousands already! It is now spring and it will not be long before they resume their march.” Faint whispers came from the lords, both incredulous and concerned. Auburn Flare stomped a hoof to regain the floor, “They intend to reduce to desert all from the mountains to the sea; they will wipe us from the face of the Earth!”

“Utter nonsense!” objected King Cobalt Stone, flaring his wings out, “Coltorado has fought these creatures for centuries; they’ve been united before, and always a chieftain dies and they regress back into infighting. We need only wait; my people can defend in our mountains.”

“Well I’m so happy your half-bred wildlings have that luxury. Mine did not!” Auburn shot, teeth gnashing in a seething rage.

“’Half-bred’? You forget your manners!” King Cobalt yelled, standing up and readying to exchange blows.

Petrafyrm raised an eyebrow at the clash of egos, and knocked his scepter on the marble platform, “There will be no fighting in here.” The Prince unleashed such authority and presence that the two quarreling kings sighed and resumed seating.

“Nopony expected such a force to rise in the first place, and nopony expected Mareposa to fall. It was tragic, even more so that the path lies open for the horde to advance deeper into Equestria. Fillydelphia is next, and I should like my realm to remain unspoiled,” Prince Rufus rose and said, “This army is unlike any we’ve seen from the wild lands, and I think we can expect it to behave in unexpected ways. Something must be done.”

Petrafyrm gave a courtly nod and smile to Rufus, “Enough have already died. There remains only one course of action: We must all raise our banners together.” More mutterings from the crowd.

After a time, Princess Nephele of Cloudsdale stood up, “Prince Rufus, you give the barbarians too much credit. Why, right now tribal chiefs are likely fighting over who gets what in Mareposa. We need only wait.”

“Not so,” Wealthford of Detrot voiced, stroking his great beard as he spoke, “The tales we’ve heard from refugees talk of the Minotaurs and Mustangs being spurred onward.”

“By what, exactly?” Luminescent of Hoofington asked in a perfectly posh voice.

“Discord the Draconequus. They say blood magic is being used to restore him; soon he shall be free from Tartarus—free to wreak havoc on us all!” Wealthford warned, a bit melodramatically.

Half the Congress simply giggled. Grand Mayor Fenraker of Baltimare, a pragmatic and faithless stallion, replied with palpable condescension, “Certainly. Why every night I make sure to check under my bed for dread gods, and my closet for an ursa major!” Fenraker’s courtiers and other ponies all laughed.

“You expect us to go far on faith, Prince Wealthford. Do we have any proof of this?” Noblesse Oblige of Trottingham spoke up. Wealthford raised a hoof to object, but could produce no argument. “That’s what I thought,” Prince Noblesse smugly retorted. He then turned to Petrafyrm, narrowing his red eyes, “But even without these…rumors of Discord, we still have the horde to deal with. But who may I ask is to lead our united coalition? You, Prince Petrafyrm?”

Oh how he hated Noblesse’s face. But the Prince of Canterlot gave a coy smile, “Actually…I believe I have the perfect candidate.”

Wintermail felt her heart drop; this was exactly what the Prince kept her around for; the precise moment all his work was for. And she was not ready, not in the slightest. He saw the hesitation in her face and glared, compelling the mare to obey.

The alicorn stepped forth, just before the edge of the platform to be presented to the Congress. Her best mask on, she gathered the nerve to stand straight and imposingly, focusing on the far wall to calm her mind.

The Congress was greeted by an immensely tall mare, white coated and with a pink mane that curiously covered her right eye. Whispers leaped from ear to ear: who was she? What makes her so special?

Their inquiry was indulged by the Prince, “May I present before Equestria’s Lords Dame Wintermail Flamecaster. She is a knight in my service, and has proven herself a powerful warrior, having aided in the destruction of the Diamond Dog presence in the South. Thanks in no small part to her, they are no longer a coherent threat to us.”

The Prince paused and licked his lips, heart beating quickly, “And you might notice she is an alicorn. Moreover, she is of the Royal House, a direct descendant of Thunderhoof, our last King. She is therefore the rightful Heir to the Throne.”

Immediately the lords rose up and began exchanging fierce words, some in favor of the newfound “Queen”, and others in absolute opposition. Dogaressa Marina was first to address Petrafyrm, “There is no King, no crown, no kingdom. As far as I am concerned, my city will not submit to some…relic of the past! Manehattan has prospered by its own, and will never kneel to a Queen or her…taxes.”

“You intend for her to lead us?” Prince Rufus asked, “And we’re expected to believe she is in fact descended from Thunderhoof?”

“Of course!” Wealthford of Detrot interjected, “Look at her sword! The Sword of Light and Darkness! Through our old Kings’ veins flowed the blood of the God Lionheart, and through hers the very same!”

“A pony goddess would help a great deal!” Auburn Flare spoke, “The alicorns have come to our aid; we mustn’t turn them away.”

“True, the alicorns would be formidable allies,” Princess Brynhilda of Horsava replied, “But the line of Sun Flare no longer has right to the throne.” The little pink filly gave a ferocious look at Wintermail, one that sent a shiver down her spine—no mere feat, “The crown was given to Sun Flare; not by the Gods, but by ponies. When Thunderhoof was slain, it deferred back to us.”

“Princess Brynhilda speaks truthfully in this regard,” Prince Noblesse conceded, standing up and migrating to the center of the chamber, “But not about the alicorns. Captured foes reveal that their orders, from their shamans who claim to hear the voice of their fell god, are to kill any alicorns.”

Cardúnón was roused by this, and approached next to Wintermail and narrowed his eyes at Noblesse. The brown unicorn noticed this and grinned, “Regardless if we choose to believe the rumors about Discord, they’re true enough for the barbarians. I say we give them what they want! They want the alicorns, not us!” A number of attendees cheered, stomping their hooves.

Spreading his green wings, Cardúnón could take no more of this talk. He leapt up and slammed onto the floor, bearing down on Noblesse. The unicorn simply kept up his stare. Cardúnón maintained his wings open and wide, “Why don’t we give them you?”

“Is that supposed to frighten me?” Noblesse Oblige then turned to the Congress, “These…remnants do not belong here. They look strange, they talk strange—their own god forsook them!”

Prince Petrafyrm was now livid, the Congress becoming derailed all because of that blasted Cardúnón. He gave a fierce glare to Wintermail, who responded with a look that said “I can fix this.” The white alicorn flew down to the floor.

Meanwhile Cardúnón and Noblesse Oblige were locking horns. The alicorn stallion bared his teeth like a wild animal, “This is our home as much as yours. You should consider yourself blessed that the Highborn race even contemplates helping you.

“Your home was lost because you are wretched, depraved creatures, hiding your inequities behind a haze of bygone glory!”

The two broke off, and Noblesse trotted around to get a larger view of the Congress, “And we are to entertain the notion of these things ruling us? These alicorn…atheists!” he pointed an accusatory hoof at Cardúnón, “Shun the Gods! That is why they allowed our kingdom to fall to ruin! We should have cast the alicorns back into the sea whence they slithered forth! If there is to be a King once again, he shall be Equestrian, blood untainted by the poison of alicorns!”

Petrafyrm, Princess Nephele, King Hillwick and Luminescent of Hoofington considered their alicorn heritage very proudly, and recoiled in great offense.

Now Noblesse Oblige was fully enraged, and headed up the stairs of the chamber, “It is clear to me this…sham is nothing more than an instrument to reassert alicorn dominance, and our ‘Queen’ is a pathetic attempt to install a Canterlot puppet.” The Prince of Trottingham gestured for his courtiers to follow, and he spat squarely on the image of the alicorn on Equestria’s coat-of-arms on the floor, “Trottingham has no more business here. Good day to you all.”

The doors were slammed shut. The room erupted into arguments and gossip, quite unsure of where to go from there. The First Lord of Trotterdam giggled to his attendants, “And I thought this would be dull.”

Prince Petrafyrm slumped back onto his throne, unable to think straight with the throbbing ire he had for Cardúnón. The alicorn returned to the platform and stood before the Prince. His Highness prepared to speak, but Cardúnón beat him to it, “I was not going to endure insult from that fool! My people have suffered enough!”

The Prince really wasn’t in the mood for Cardúnón’s…assertive personality. The two then engaged in a heated debate, lost amongst the dozens of others occurring in the chamber. Stellara met her sister on the floor, who was standing around utterly at a loss. All control had evaporated by now.

“You must do something!” Stellara urged, nudging Wintermail.

“Like what? Half of them hate me! The other half probably wouldn’t listen!”

“Then make them!” Stellara ordered, “You’re the Queen, yea? Be a Queen!”

Wintermail looked over the Congress and thought. She came to speak for the alicorns…and did not. She came to be presented as a Queen, and disappointed everypony. She’d spent the session just standing around, while all the important ponies talked. If she truly was the Queen, then this was her Congress. Strong words would need to be said, for strong deeds would need to be done.

She unfurled her wings and ascended over the Lords of Equestria. Flashing her horn she readied a vocal amplification spell and inhaled. “Order! Order I say!” Wintermail boomed. The room fell dead silent.

The mare recalled the Prince’s lessons; his little musings on ruling and speaking. Wintermail waited a moment; not too long, else they’d lose attention. She swallowed the lump in her throat, “None of you know me…’Wintermail’ is an Equestrian name I use as a knight—Nikóleva is who I was born as. Prince Petrafyrm has called me your Queen; I cannot pretend to that.” A quick glance revealed the Prince’s face falling into a mix of confusion and disappointment, “His intentions though are earnest. I have royal blood, and the Prince felt such a pony could provide a symbol for all Equestrians to rally around.

“Somepony beyond politics, beyond the vested interests of any one realm. A pony who could inspire and lead, stave off the grand peril that bears down our land.” Wintermail slowly eased her hovering and touched down on the floor, “But that pony is not me. I am an outsider—an alicorn. I don’t belong here commanding great Princes and Kings. I’m simply a northern peasant girl.”

Faint mutterings escaped from the attendees as they shuffled about. Wintermail watched them with stern eyes, letting some of the noise die down first before she continued, “I am not asking you all to name me your Queen, or be made leader of our host. I’m not even asking to even spare a glance in my direction.” She straightened herself, standing taller than any other pony in the chamber, “I do, however, beseech you all to place aside your enmities and mistrusts for just a time, long enough to destroy this creeping threat. We have ponies in Canterlot who’ve witnessed it; Mareposa’s exiled King can attest—this horde is real, and it shall sweep across our country until we ponies are nothing more than a memory.”

Wintermail approached the seating, and stared at King Cobalt Stone, “You may be able to hide in your fortresses and mountains—for a time. A month, a year, perhaps even a decade, but they will come for your lands and people.” She then backed off turning her head to all attendees as she spoke, “A hundred-thousand blood-thirsting savages sharpen their blades. Only the combined banners of all the Princes and Kings and Free Cities can stand against them. We can stand and debate who might rule over whom; it won’t matter when the horde comes, and they leave nothing to rule.”

Princess Nephele rose slowly, holding herself with all the gravitas she’d cultivated over nearly a century, “One does not doubt the severity of these claims, but to call one’s banners and make war is not mere business. Cloudsdale shall need more evidence that this army is in fact different.”

“And what ‘proof’ might one need?” Prince Rufus asked, sneering quite visibly.

“I concur,” Kalleia, Sea Lady of Neapony voiced, “Like waves crashing on the breakwater, this army would burn itself out pillaging the western counties. The deep south and east would have little to worry then.”

“So you’d be perfectly content allowing cities like Fillydelphia becoming ruins, while you sit in safety?” Rufus rose from his seat.

“I am a public servant of Neapony, and I must ensure I look after my city’s interests first.” The Prince and Sea Lady looked almost ready to come to blows.

“My Lords, please!” Wintermail bellowed, utilizing her grand magical voice. The knight had again flown upwards, now understanding just how to use her presence, “Stories of blood magic and resurrecting gods and encroaching armies…it’s quite a lot to simply…accept. Understandable then that you all request proof.”

Most of the lords expected the mare to produce some evidence, a specimen, a correspondence—something. Instead Wintermail continued to hover above the Congress, heart beating rapidly. She had an idea, one that filled her with both resolve and dread. Leaving the session in suspense long enough, she steeled her nerves.

“I shall go west. I shall see this horde of Mustangs and Minotaurs. I shall see if these rumors of Discord’s return are real. And I shall return and tell you if they all are true or not.”

None spoke for a long while, air still as the grave. Wintermail scanned her eyes across the Congress, their own eyes meeting this alicorn with equal parts doubt and awe. Princess Brynhilda, the tiny filly, rose first and made herself visible in the crowd, “You…Wintermail? You would brave the perils of that journey? Trot right into the Lion’s den?” The young Princess leaned back and toyed with her massive alicorn blade, “You’d certainly die.”

Wintermail paused to retort, but first magically drew her own great sword, Eónadin’s black steel bared for all the Congress to see, “Mmmm…possibly. Better a mere nopony than a lord.”

Brynhilda smirked and began chortling, “Very well; travel west and present proof, and Horsava shall give its full support.”

Tulip Hollow of Trotterdam stood next and cleared his throat, “I agree; Dame Wintermail, complete your quest and I shall pledge my city and its resources to a united front.” The First Lord then gave a coy glance at the Dogaressa before sitting back down.

Stellara, standing on the floor, was not about to let her sister risk life and limb, and travel to some god-forsaken corner of the world into a nest of vermin alone. She opened her dark blue wings and joined Wintermail over the assembly, dressed in her armor.

“Our quest, Your Highness,” she spoke in perfect deference.

“And who might you be, alicorn?” Prince Luminescent asked, stroking a golden slipper-clad hoof with another.

The midnight mare looked at her sister for a sign of encouragement, “Stellara Nightwrath, sister of Dame Wintermail. I fought at Windhock Vale, and I will travel west if it means…you will come to the defense of Equestria.” And in an act of symmetry, Stellara telekinetically drew Ailéránen, matching the stance of her sister.

Imposing individuals the two alicorns were, giant mares suspended over the Congress and wielding their ancient weapons. Wealthford of Detrot immediately conjured images of elder struggles, the sort he’d seen many times in the murals of the grand temple in his home city. Flashing his horn, he raised his mundane blade in toast, “And so it comes to pass: the fate of our plight resting on the shoulders of Twin Goddesses!”

“Then it’s settled,” Princess Nephele spoke grandly, beginning to hover at the sisters’ level, “Young alicorns, may Almighty Lórian protect you. You will go to a brutal place; show us that the brutality will not simply go away.” Wintermail and Stellara nodded and sheathed their weapons, returning to the floor. Nephele responded in kind, folding her cerulean wings back against her, and then turned to the Prince of Canterlot, “I believe that concludes our session today, if our president finds it appropriate to adjourn us.”

Petrafyrm, having long calmed down from his argument with Cardúnón, rose up, “Uh…Yes! One week’s time to prepare, and the two sisters shall begin their journey. Upon their return we shall meet again. In the meantime, enjoy the pleasures my city has to offer.” A knock of his scepter signaled the end, and ponies began to shuffle out.

The Prince of Canterlot turned to his wife, who’d stood beside him all this time. She kept perfect dignity, but he knew he’d catch an earful for his completely unprince-like behavior with Cardúnón earlier. Little Lord Vale though was napping at the base of the Prince’s throne. This earned the colt a very soft kick from his father.

“Wake up, Boy!” the Prince ordered, wearing his dissatisfaction on his foreleg.

Vale grumbled back to life, rubbing his eyes, “Is it over yet, Father?”

“Yes. I am very disappointed in you today. Falling asleep dur—“

A swift bop to the head shut the Peter right up. Coruscina levitated up her son onto her back and scowled, “The audacity! Why, you go and behave like a little colt, shouting with that dreadful Cardúnón! I should count this a blessing that Vale was not awake to see you make a total fool of yourself!” She stepped to the door leading to the drawing room, several of the guards following her.

“Yes, Ma’am.” The Prince said, rubbing the back of his head.

He’d have to chase after her and make it up, but before he did, the Prince trotted down the stairs to meet the royal sisters. “Dame,” he shouted, causing the alicorn to turn around. He stood in place, looking down at the floor and kicking a hoof, “You managed to accomplish something here. It wasn’t necessarily what I’d hoped for, and it was done somewhat unconventionally, but…well…thank you so much.”

Wintermail became surprised, but then curled her lips into a smile and bowed her head, “I do my duty to Equestria.”

Petrafyrm frowned a bit, taking a deep breath, “Prince Noblesse Oblige however remains an issue.”

“Yes, my Lord, I deeply apologize; you were right in saying Cardúnón should not have attended.”

The blue unicorn sighed, “He was simply…provoked. Noblesse has always been a rather…disagreeable individual.”

“Even so, I shall wish to make things right. Allow me to speak with him later tonight.”

“No no no…I cannot ask that of you.”

“You aren’t; I am,” Wintermail replied, her voice betraying nothing but sheer confidence and resolve.

Prince Petrafyrm pursed his lips and grinned, “Certainly, Your Majesty.” The Dame rolled her eyes, but the Prince paid no mind. “Now excuse me, please. I must attend to my wife, lest she make me sleep in my study tonight,” the two shared a laugh, “And do not forget that I am more than willing to provide any supplies you require for your journey. You only have one week.”

“I think traveling and adventure are what I’m best at, my Lord,” Wintermail replied. The Prince nodded and turned back up the stairs, disappearing behind the marble platform.

Stellara meanwhile approached her sister, frowning somewhat. She’d done well to keep her peace, but truthfully felt irritated, “He spared an awful lot of words; none for me.”

“Now, Taby, we are not doing this for glory,” her tall sister admonished, patting Stellara’s metal-plated back.

“It doesn’t hurt though,” Stellara retorted lightning quick. Her disaffection though evaporated at once when Cardúnón and Rhílë swooped down next to the sisters. Both gave a courtly bow to their Exilarch.

“Accept my sincerest apologies, Nikóleva. I think I was right in endorsing you to be our representative, if only to put out the flames a firebrand like me lights,” Cardúnón conceded, giving a nervous smile.

Wintermail raised an eyebrow and sighed, waiting a moment before speaking, “What is it about politics that makes stallions act so foalish? What are you, seventy? Acting like…well, myself at my worst. Though…Prince Noblesse was out of line; completely uncalled for to make such comments about our people.”

“I did choose right. And now you’re going to selflessly risk your life for the sake of Tulicëai.”

“All ponies, I see it as.”

“Best of luck, Ma’am.” Cardúnón then spotted Stellara, moving closer up to her until they were but a hoof’s breadth away, “Going west is no slight journey. How far will your courage take you, Taberanyn.”

Taby’s teal eyes met Cardúnón’s silvers, narrowing slyly, “To the ends of the Earth.”

“There’s an awful lot of danger there; can your sword handle it?” Cardúnón’s deep voice had now lowered to a whisper.

“Sword and axe. I’ve seen quite a lot in my days; nothing west can scare me,” Taberanyn moved her snout to just the slightest length apart.

Rhílë glanced over to Wintermail, making a face that said, “Can you believe these two?” The Exilarch had a similar countenance.

“Ahem,” Wintermail intoned, giving her sister an unamused look. Taby just rolled her eyes.

“Yes I believe that will do, Cardúnón,” his lavender sister said.

The green alicorn scoffed, but perked at attention when his leader address him, “Now Cardúnón, I expect you to inform all able-bodies alícëai that they will be fighting in the coming war.”

Cardúnón wanted so dearly to say something sarcastic, or otherwise insubordinate, but yielded to authority and respect, “I suppose it’s only fair.”

“Right, Brother,” Rhílë said, draping her wing over Cardúnón and leading him from the chamber, “You may consort with Taberanyn later; we have work of our own to do now.” The siblings were soon lost with the rest of the exiting crowd.

Wintermail and Stellara stood for a bit to let the throng thin out. Once a passage to the exit was open, the royal sisters began their trek.

“So what now?” Stellara asked.

“You’re one of the Prince’s bodyguards now; find him and see what he has for you. We’ve only a week, and he’ll probably release you from service to prepare,” Dame Wintermail responded in a tone that felt a little more condescending than was meant. Stellara did not mind however.

“Ah,” the blue mare spoke, waiting until the pair was nearing the door before resuming, “You really surprised me out there. I think you’ve a knack for this sort of thing more than you give yourself credit.”

Wintermail chuckled at this, “Don’t heap your praises on me just yet; there’s still the matter of Prince Noblesse Oblige.”

“Oh he was probably just concerned for his ponies; I’m sure your meeting with him will be fine,” Stellara waved a hoof, “And if all else fails, a mare has certain…methods over a stallion.”

The way her sister said that indicated it was a complete joke, but Wintermail still got a shiver up her spine, “Good God I hope it never comes to that.”

The sister alicorns giggled together as they left the assembly chamber and split apart to their separate ways. Stellara broke off rightwards to locate her Prince, while Wintermail continued straight.

By tonight, hopefully Trottingham would be corralled back into the Congress; failure was certainly not something Wintermail was interested in. Yet if it did in fact come to more unsavory terms, the worst Noblesse could do was leave Canterlot.

Right?

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

It was night now in Canterlot Castle, the only sound the faint trotting of hooves. Dimly lit by the flickering candelabras, one pony was still out of her chambers. Dame Wintermail found herself composing her pitch dozens of times in her mind in an effort to abate her nerves. Now with her target door in sight, she could now recite her words with perfect accuracy. This was her first instance acting in the capacity of a diplomat…perhaps this was a mistake after all.

“Why can’t I simply duel him? That’d be so much easier…,” the alicorn thought out loud, spotting two guards positioned beside the door.

Each was respectably built, both unicorns in special gilded steel armor and helmets. Holding out spears with their hooves, they crossed them together when Wintermail approached. She gave a courtly bow to the guards and spoke, “I came to speak with your liege. I believe a request was approved several hours before.”

The guards looked at one another, nodded, and the left one opened the door and crept inside. Faint voices could be heard before he emerged moments later, resuming his rigid stance held previously, “The Prince will see you now.”

Wintermail flashed a smile and allowed them to open the door. Inside the knight found a living room fairly standard for the guest apartments in the castle, yellow-orange light moving as the candle flames rose and fell. To her right stood an old desk, a few books stacked on one another. The top shelf however possessed a headless crown, wrought of crystal. Wintermail’s eyes were captured by the wonder of its centerpiece: a prismatic gemstone.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Prince Noblesse Oblige’s resonant voice spoke. He approached from another room, undressed and unadorned, his dark mane still damp from washing. His expression wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t pleased either. He approached his guest, never letting up those piercing eyes.

Wintermail allowed an awkward moment between the two before craning her neck, “My Lord.”

“You should know I only agreed to speak for want of activity. Do not waste my time. It’s irritating enough Prince Petrafyrm is using a courtier instead of talking to me himself.”

“Actually, His Princeship did not send me; I came on my own accord.”

Noblesse raised an eyebrow, then walked to his couch and took a seat. He invited Wintermail to do the same. Flashing his horn red, he retrieved his mineral crown and donned it once again. He could not help but spot the knight stealing glances at the regalia. He gave a proud smirk, “Iridean Diamond; the largest ever found. Little trinkets with even a speck of it can incur an obscene expense, but this crown is utterly priceless.” Satisfied with the impressed face Wintermail gave him, he licked his lips, “This is about the Congress, correct?”

The alicorn swallowed, “A brilliant deduction, Your Highness. First and foremost…I’d like to extend my sincerest apologies for the behavior of my associate, Cardúnón. To disrespect a sovereign Prince of Equestria...”

“Is a capital offense in some jurisdictions,” Noblesse darkly finished.

“…Yes. But I think it is prudent to…see beyond such injuries and instead focus on the greater concerns.”

The Prince of Trottingham didn’t reply for a time, causing the mare to grow anxious. Finally he made a low groan, “True. Our personal feelings can be powerful things, but Princes must recall their duty to their people. I understand the two issues are unifying the Lords against the western horde, and naming you Queen.

Wintermail released a soft laugh, “The second part isn’t what I’m here for,” she paused, thinking a moment, “In fact, I’m not truly here to convince you of the first. I beseech His Highness, Prince Noblesse Oblige of Trottingham, to rejoin the Congress.”

He stroked his chin, humming in thought. “I could, perhaps…yet my objections mainly come, well from your liege.”

“Your Highness?” Wintermail inquired.

“Think about it; Petrafyrm has called a congress not in a neutral location but in Canterlot. It’s a show of dominance, right down to the company he invited. Most other lords possess domains quite clearly weaker than Canterlot and Trottingham. Your Prince can ask nicely, and then apply pressure when he receives a ‘no’.”

Noblesse leaned closer, giving his guest earnest eyes, “If some sort of arrangement were reached, then quite honestly Equestria would become a plaything, a tool, of Canterlot. Its citizens would prosper to the detriment of all other Princedoms. This isn’t in the spirit of unification, is it?”

Wintermail shook her head, digesting his words, “No.”

“Quite right. And…perhaps now you can see my hesitation in all this. If a new ruler were named, you for instance, then many would see this sovereign as a mere…puppet of Petrafyrm; the perfect means to impose his will.”

“I hope you don’t mean to suggest I would be so…obsequious.” Wintermail asked, looking rather indignant.

“Not at all, Dame. But I see Petrafyrm’s efforts as a way to accrete Equestria around him, as opposed to simply together.”

The ruler of Trottingham rose up from his couch and approached his window, looking at the pale moon and valley below. “But I have developed a compromise,” he announced turning to Wintermail, “Your loyalty to your liege is not to be questioned. Yet he needs a…balance, somepony to keep him in check. A peer to withhold any abuses his position might tempt.”

“And what might that compromise be, my Lord?” the white mare now worked her mind on the matter.

“A political collusion,” he grinned, “Marriages are to the nobility methods to acquire more lands and wealth. Awfully self-interested, wouldn’t you say? But perhaps a far more altruistic end would be the preservation of our citizens.” Wintermail’s brow furrowed, and she felt her heart beginning to pound. Noblesse Oblige continued, “I am as of yet unwed. We could…unite, and in exchange for my support to a reunified Equestria and your royal claim, I will have insurance that all Equestrians may be treated fairly.”

There’d been only one pony Wintermail had even given thought to marrying, Lórian rest his soul. There were many obstacles she could think of: status, wealth, lineage, lifespan differences. But however unwillingly, she had found herself in the game of politics, and marriages were seldom for love amongst the elite.

And then she recalled what her sister had mentioned earlier that day; the methods of mares. Perhaps emboldened by pride, or respect for herself, or a stubbornness…who could truly say? Perhaps she’d made a mistake, a short-sighted look at her own interest, as Noblesse had spoken of. Whatever others and history could judge of it, Wintermail made her choice after a solid time of thought.

“I cannot accept, my Lord.” Not a hint of uncertainty in her words.

Prince Noblesse Oblige weakly laughed in disbelief, “I’m sorry? This is the opportunity you wanted, correct?”

“…No. I came here to invite back to the Congress, not to sell myself like a common harlot.” She cleared her throat and remembered whom she was talking to, “Your Highness.”

Noblesse formed a vicious scowl, “I’ll give you one last chance.”

Wintermail matched with her own stern posture, “I decline, my Lord.”

Growling, the Prince began tapping a hoof on the table, “Then I’ve no guarantee; no guarantee that Equestria can exist without becoming Petrafyrm’s toy, and no guarantee that you alicorns will not eclipse us.”

“How do you mean? What do the alicorns have anything to do with this?” Wintermail asked, standing up and towering over Noblesse.

“Surely you see it, how the legacy of the ‘Triple-Kin’ pollutes the minds of the lords.” The Prince began taking large breaths, teeth gritted, “Your kind…ever since they washed up on our shores, everything we Equestrians have done has paled compared to the splendor of ‘Ponykind’s Greatest Realm’. You fill our myths and legends, our own gods now effigies of the alicorns.”

Noblesse Oblige felt his foreleg shaking, pent up rage and frustrations erupting at the surface, “No matter the talent of our smiths, the grandeur of our cities, the art of our poetry…they will always be poor imitations of you alicorns.” Every time he spoke that word, it was heavy with venom and contempt.

“And…and it won’t ever change! Not while our lords revel in their precious alicorn bloodlines, not while one of you sits on our throne, forever chasing the dream of a reborn alicorn dominion. Our civilization will always be in your shadow so long as alicorns dwell in Equestria—so long as your race's blood courses through my people’s veins!”

“We are all Equestrians! This is my homeland as much as yours!” Wintermail asserted, no longer caring for protocol or deference.

Noblesse Oblige didn’t reply at first, cantering back to his window and fuming by himself, “We are finished here. I will soon leave this wretched place, and your damn congress. It’s clear it will not solve the problems that have persisted for three-thousand years!”

Wintermail felt her temper firing up, but sheer willpower restrained the urge to buck this fool straight out the window. She instead pressed her hoof into the floorboard, only letting up when she heard the faint cracking of wood.

“But rest assured, Dame Wintermail,” he turned back to the alicorn, “I swear, by our native Gods, Equestria will be united, whether by silver tongues or force of arms. And it will be ruled by an Equestrian, as it was in the old days of the House of Platinum.”

Noblesse stuck out his hoof towards the door, “Now leave, and tell your Prince you failed. Tell him you came with such promise, only to disappoint so greatly, just like the rest of your kind.”

Nothing more was said, and Wintermail gave him one final scowl before letting herself out. She slammed the door and stormed back off to her room, finally cooling down halfway down the hall. She then sighed and ran a hoof through her pink mane.

“Oh you did a fantastic job, Nikól. What am I going to tell the Prince?” Was she correct in refusing his offer? Hindsight was crystal clear, but at that point she only had her instincts and experience to go off of. Right or wrong, the bridge was burnt; no going back now.

Maybe in the morning answers would come, and perhaps Prince Petrafyrm’s disposition would be right to tell him that his “Queen” had made a mess of the situation.

An understatement, to be sure.

Meanwhile, in his chamber, Noblesse brooded and schemed. Diplomacy had failed, though he could not say he was surprised. His more subtle plan was a long shot anyway. It would have made things easier—smoother. A quick dagger or a poisoned cup, and a foal born from proper Equestrian stock—Trottingham’s Princes always took great pride in their pure blood. There’d be few questions; he’d have made sure of it.

But that was no longer an option. All the same, the Congress was toxic now, poisoned by the same blight the alicorns spread over this land. The high lords would need to be cleansed; the cancer cut out, the wound drained. It would be painful, but Equestria would rise far stronger than ever before.

Wintermail would be heading west soon. There were no allies to be gained for Noblesse here; perhaps out there he could begin to build the instrument of Equestria’s renewal. The dark god, the chaos god being dragged from the bowels of Tartarus…he wanted only the alicorns. The horde wanted riches, and those could be given without the land.

It could all be done. He’d have to leave soon, however. In the morning he’d begin the trip to Trottingham to prepare. His rage though was still present; it seethed and boiled, finally culminating in a dull pain, like a rock being pounded against his skull. Yet it hurt far less than when he was younger, after years of sometimes near-fatal practice. Then that familiar surge of energy filled his horn.

It glowed with a purple aura, a sickly haze of the same trailing from greening eyes. Now was not the time however, and Noblesse Oblige worked on clearing his mind and calming his anger. Deep breaths followed before the shroud and throbbing faded away.

He felt better, more relaxed. The tempest of power had dissipated; now he could focus on his plans far easier. But in the next few weeks, he’d feel even better. This farce of a divided kingdom, a charade of weak ponies and unreachable past glories, would end soon enough.

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 6. Venerable Arts

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 6. Venerable Arts

One week to prepare. One week to study maps and routes, procure adequate supplies, stock up on food and drink, and physically and mentally prepare herself for a journey halfway across Equestria. One week to order her affairs, ensure proper management for her financial estate, complete any assignments in schooling, provide for the command of her unit in the Guard, and not to mention mak her bed.

Wintermail certainly had a full agenda in the lead-up to her journey. Luckily, wandering was second nature. Buying what she needed took no time at all, and being literate now she could actually write a list. Wootz was a capable stallion; he already ran the shop by himself most of the time. Lieutenant Stormvane would take the helm of the First Battalion, and drill them to the bone if need be.

Delbedasir’s lessons would be taken in stride; a few hours out of the day having to listen to that crotchety alicorn was tolerable. Honestly much of her learning was done through independent study; the Librarian assigned her a number of texts to read, maybe take a few notes, and then he’d look over them. Bretteur’s sword instruction grew more advanced, but Dame Wintermail was probably one of the most skilled swordfighters in the Princedom; half a century of practice ought to amount to something.

And earlier this morning she had tucked in the sheets on her bed neatly under the mattress.

It was a pleasant spring afternoon, the white knight strolling through a thoroughfare in Canterlot’s merchant district. She had in fact just returned from an enjoyable lunch with King Hillwick of all ponies! The ruler of Poneva had sent a messenger yesterday after the Congress, requesting to speak with Wintermail over a nice meal.

Had she been a little more cynical, Wintermail might have interpreted such a request as an attempt to woo her; the King honestly wanted to simply chat. They had been served boiled vegetables, dressed with a sweet cream sauce and garnished with flowers freshly fragrant from the spring bloom. Afterwards tea and cake were served, and Wintermail left happy and full.

From their talk, Wintermail learned King Hillwick had grown up listening to his father tell stories about alicorns, specifically a white one who had caught his eye by pummeling a Ponevan noble. Wintermail had scrunched her face and thought when she had heard this, trying to remember. The poor mare, beaten to death by that noble; she could recall her dead eyes with chilling accuracy.

That was a long time ago; Wintermail had met Hillwick precisely once before, during one of her trips to Poneva. His father had invited her to see his newborn son. The King would dominate the conversation, unleashing his excitement over meeting a real-life hero; Wintermail had given her fair share of sardonic laughs at this. Yet she admired his enthusiasm, and refrained from any snarky comments that popped into her head. She did divulge that Hillwick’s father had been the first pony to ever call her “Wintermail”. The young King gaped upon hearing that, much to the amusement of the white mare.

Eventually, King Hillwick made the inevitable comment “You don’t look fifty-six.” She kept her composure well enough, but it raised some unwanted sentiments. She looked the same when he was born, and now he was a grown stallion. And Wintermail no doubt would look the same when he was wrinkled and helpless. The mare did not like to think about that much.

All things considered, though, the lunch was a welcome surprise. He was an interesting character, somehow straddling between royal majesty and an awkward colt almost unable to contain his excitement. Hillwick was a stallion clad in jewels and fancy clothing, yet always taking the time to thank his servants and apologize whenever he'd presented even minor inconveniences to them.

She gave him a courtly bow after the meal, but was stopped by the King for one final comment: a wish of good luck on her journey, and a request that if she ever found herself in Poneva, Wintermail was more than welcome to stay at the royal residence.

Wintermail had smiled at the offer and left the castle, now in a very good mood. Currently in the marketplace, the sights and sounds bringing the vibrant sensation of liveliness, the mare perused the stalls for anything that might catch her eye. Expensive clothing and trinkets from lands far away were nice, but frankly also a waste of money. In truth she really wasn’t looking for anything, just eager to enjoy the day and the shops.

She'd already gathered everything needed for her journey; this was simple a stroll. The ponies all recognized her; a bright white alicorn twice as tall as everypony else was hard to miss. Now a famous knight, ponies stopped the Wintermail to thank her for her service or to offer her a fruit from their baskets. Not interested in being rude, she indulged the “fans”, but didn’t allow them to disturb her afternoon.

Stall after stall, shop after shop she continued, seeing nothing really “captivating”. Many salesponies spun their pitches, but to no avail. However, a smirk of pride crossed her lips when she passed a weapons stall, spotting some very distinctive items on the racks. And now that her mind was on it, Wintermail figured with a week free from duties in the Guard, she could put it to use going back to the forge for a while after her lessons with Delbedasir.

Yes…that certainly sounded nice. Red-hot iron, flaring coals, the din of metal and the earthen grit of soot. That wasn't even mentioning weapons made personally by the Wintermail could command a handsome price.

From her present location, her shop was just a few city blocks away; Wintermail could already see the smoke trails from the artisan district’s furnaces. Picking up her pace the alicorn cleaved a pathway through the throngs of ponies, merchants peddling potions, exotics pets, and elaborate textiles. With giant’s strides Wintermail sped through, but off to the side was perhaps the only item that could distract her from her mission.

Several stalls down was a book seller, and upon one of the front-most racks was a book that didn’t invite her attention so much as reached out and snatched it. The cover was dark brown, elegant designs lacing the margins in shining silver. It was engraved with the outline of a smith’s hammer, and the title spelled quite clearly in the same argent writing.

And fantastically it was written in alicorn calligraphy. Wintermail’s yellow aura flashed and took hold of the codex. A Smith’s Guide was the title, almost as though it were meant to wind up in her possession. Cracking it open she caught a glimpse of the table of contents, one item causing her heart to drop. Shutting the book quickly, she scanned her eyes for sight of the merchant.

Wintermail located the seller immediately. She was an elderly unicorn, coat a very light purple. Her mane was grey with age, with the curious exception of a bold violet streak through the middle. Wintermail approached and slammed the book down, staring down the mare.

“Where did you find this?”

“Hmmm?” the book seller chimed, igniting her magic to inspect the book. Squinting her aging eyes, the unicorn licked her lips, “Ah yes! A traveler sold it to me; said he found it far up north, beyond the mountains.”

Wintermail looked down at the cover, thinking for a time, “How much?”

The elder mare grinned, “I’ve been having trouble selling it; nopony can read it—pretty though. But it seems you know exactly what it is.” The unicorn tapped her chin, “I suppose I can part with it for…three-hundred.”

A low groan escaped Wintermail’s mouth; she had broken an important rule in shopping: never show interest. What an amateur mistake! Her eyes shining with resolve, the knight readied her haggling skills, “We’ll call it two.”

“Mmmm…I’m not sure…once word gets around of its value, three-hundred might seem like a steal.”

Opening the book, Wintermail pretended to read a few sentences, “You know what? I think I was mistaken; this isn’t anything special.” The alicorn turned around and began leaving, “Have a nice day, Miss.”

A moment only passed before the old unicorn reach out her hoof, “Wait!” A sly grin graced Wintermail’s face. “Two-fifty”

The white pony turned back to the counter, “Two-twenty-five.”

The old pony grumbled, “Two-thirty.”

Wintermail twisted her face in thought, tapping her hoof on the cobblestone ground, “Deal.” She then levitated out a purse of coins from her bag and pulled out several large-denomination ones before placing them on the counter. Snatching up the book, Wintermail secured her prize in the safety of a saddlebag.

Before leaving, she looked at the vendor and gave a friendly smile, “And your name was?”

“Paige Turner, Ma’am,” the pony in question replied with a slight confusion.

Nice to meet you, Paige Turner. Now if you should ever find yourself with another book like this, send a message to the castle; ask for ‘Dame Wintermail’.”

Paige Turner’s eyes bulged, and she bowed her neck, “Yes, Dame! Forgive my rudeness!”

“No apologies necessary; it was just business. Good day.” And immediately Wintermail set off for her shop. The journey was short, and she found herself too occupied with her thoughts to notice much beyond her person. A couple shouting merchants and yelling fillies and colts were really all she picked up on.

When she finally arrived at the shop, Wintermail greeted her employees, took down some figures in her ledger, and retired to the shop's loft above to read in peace. The rough sounds of metalworking might have been intrusive to most, but it provided the perfect atmosphere for Wintermail to read a book about smithing.

And did it have its secrets. The first portion concerned mainly basic techniques and practices; nothing too new. But the second half delved into ancient skills invented and honed over millennia. It was an alicorn book, written in the old language about the old craft. Who knew how long it had sat on that rack, or in the possession of some traveler, or in a dilapidated ruin…simply collecting dust, while it held its secrets within?

It seemed too unreal, unbelievable even, that she had found this book. She’d have to share it with the world; translate it into Equestrian so these forgotten techniques could be restored. Before she turned into bed that night, right on the straw heap in that loft, she read the book cover to cover. Wintermail even wrote out notes, detailing the instruction within.

The next day, rising with such enthusiasm, she immediately lit the fires of her shop and began preparing for the fun part. Fetching several iron bars, she started the preliminary work of forging new blades. But these were special.

For contained within that book were instructions for the making of Alicorn Steel.

It was a difficult process. The book described it being done with equipment that did not exist. The first step was to manufacture the steel from iron, melting down the metal and charcoal. But what made alicorn steel so special was magic. The third category of magical manipulation was infusion, and this was the process by which magic was bonded to the material itself.

The text explained that over the molten steel fired in a large furnace, alicorns would channel powerful streams of magic into the metal. This purportedly took an immense measure of focus and stamina; not to mention the very best batches of this steel were infused with the arcane and dangerous use of cosmic magic, more commonly known as alicorn or dark magic. Done with regular magic, the steel would take millennia to rust or dull; done with the alicorn flavor the steel could never be damaged by conventional means.

Unfortunately, as far as Wintermail knew, there were no furnaces that burned hot enough to melt iron; such a device had been lost, and sorrowfully was not in the book. She then had to content herself with making steel in a crucible, and therefore could not infuse it with magic—though would her channeling ability really have been up to the task?

When the workers came in, they forged like normal, told to go about their business while their boss enjoyed herself. By the time she had to leave for her schooling, dozens of steel bars had been made, resting on a rack.

Upon her return she gleefully resumed the craft, gathering several bars together in a stack. Now alicorn weapons were special for two main reasons: their durability and their magical quality. Forged like a normal weapon, an alicorn steel blade would be fine enough. But unicorns and alicorns could channel their magic into it while simultaneous feeding off the internal stores within the metal; the book instructed exactly how this was done.

Authentic alicorn steel was immensely difficult to work due to its indestructibility. Magical fire was needed to heat the metal; an exhausting thing to keep going through long hours of forging. Wintermail though did not have such adamant material, and could heat her bars with mundane charcoal fire. She placed five bars in the furnace to heat up, levitating them out once red-hot.

The distinctive mottled pattern of alicorn steel was caused by a folding method, and the magical lattice by adding a new layer of magic during every fold. This in mind, she shot a bolt from her horn, channeling enough energy to coat one side of a bar. She then stacked another on top, and repeated the process. The book had described an interesting spell, an enchantment that allowed the magic coating to remain instead of dissipating. When the forging was done, the magic would be locked with in the blade.

Now with a stack of five bars interspaced with magical layers, she held the short steel bars in tongs and began hammering them together. Her first item would be a large weapon, and needed an appropriate amount of material. Once smashed down flat, the book called for the smith to leave a portion hanging off the anvil so that one could begin folding it downwards. Once bent, another layer of magic could be spread, then the bend closed.

This was tiring work, even for a mare as strong as Wintermail—especially coating the metal with magical energy. Whenever one of her workers could spare the time, they would help her in pounding away while she added the magic. This process was repeated over and over and over again. It had to be interrupted so the mare could go eat, or attend class, or meet with her sister. Yet over the course of her preparation week, she continued the tedious but rewarding work of folding this steel.

And it was fantastic. It was wonderful to be back behind the fire, wiping grime for her brow and seeing the sparks fly from the steel. Feeling like a young mare once again, Wintermail enjoyed every moment back in her forge. She actually was bringing back a lost art, if a bit constrained by the limitations of her work space; exciting nonetheless!

And her employees were keen to notice, too. None of them were unicorns, and therefore they could not replicate this process exactly. Yet they still could make folded steel blades, and manufacture weapons of far higher quality than any other workshop.

Better weapons meant better profits, and Dame Wintermail would not let her workers go without feeling appreciated; everypony could get excited about that.

Finally, after days of exhaustive labor, precisely three blades had been forged out of a steel not quite as reputable as that of the alicorns, but not quite ordinary either. Shining a lustrous silver, the blades possessed that iconic mottled pattern, tangs ready to be inserted into the hilts Wintermail had ordered from a jeweler down the road.

Lightly hammering the hilts onto their blades and securing them with metal pins, Wintermail then set about refining their edges at the grindstone. Once sharpened and polished, she hung the three weapons on a rack, smiling at her workers on the job they all helped make happen.

A battle axe, a longsword, and a great sword, the last two in the distinctive leaf-shape of Wintermail’s workshop. The axe’s haft was covered in silver, studded with small sapphires, and inlaid with an onyx crescent moon on the pommel. The longsword was of adequate size to be wielded by a Tulicë, the hilt gilded and graced with a medallion in imitation of Canterlot’s coat-of-arms, the six-pointed star replicated with an amethyst just like Ailéránen. And finally the great sword was a monster-sized weapon, usable only by a full-grow alicorn. This weapon’s hilt though was covered in a thin layer of dull orange copper. A bright aquamarine sat in the middle of the crossguard, which was sculpted to be reminiscent of alicorn feathers. And on the blade a simple message was engraved in alicorn: Elna in-Ner(Thank you).

Wintermail had spent a lot of time and money on these. It was little burden, though, so long as their intended recipients liked them. The wealthy mare was more than willing to spare a few bits—or a thousand— if it meant she could see bright faces of surprise and joy. Taking a final look at the three, she grinned and spoke aloud to nopony in particular, “Oh yes, they’ll love them!”

And already, her workers were busy forging their first folded steel sword for sale; Wintermail would earn back those bits spent on her three gifts soon enough.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

“And what is this lovely, star-shaped one?” Stellara asked, craning her neck down to inspect a small flower.

“That is a petunia,” Cardúnón replied, leaning his head to the mare’s, her dark coat complimenting perfectly the bright blue flower. He plucked it from its bush. The two raised their necks, and he brought the bloom to her face, “They were my mother’s favorite.” His voice echoed with a dim sadness.

Stellara did not need to ask what his tone meant, “How long ago?”

Cardúnón thought for a bit, his silver eyes flashing with a latent pain, “Forty years, I believe. Long enough that my sister and I had enough time with them.” He gave a crooked smile.

“I envy that…,” Stellara trailed off, wandering her eye off to other spectacles in the Canterlot Gardens to distract herself, “I was very young.”

“I am truly sorry. Unfortunately it is an all-to-common fate for our kind.” Cardúnón’s comment didn’t make the other pony feel much better. He came closer and levitated the sapphire petunia, “Though, before she died, my mother told me should I find a flower so beautiful, I should keep it.”

Stellara raised her eyebrow, sparing a coy smile, “Oh really? For what?”

The green stallion didn’t say anything, but set the flower’s stem in Stellara’s periwinkle mane, placing it just so that it lit up her face. A soft blush crossed her cheeks, and she turned her gaze away.

“Oh you’re such a charmer, aren’t you?”

“I'm a romantic, what can I say? Rhílë likes to jest that if I ever were to receive a cutie mark, it’d be a heart. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

Stellara giggled, stepping along the stone pathway past bright verdant hedges and topiaries, “Completely! Now, if such a heart had tally marks, well…”

Cardúnón matched with his own deep chuckle, “Oh you say that as though you haven’t earned some of your own.”

“Don’t you know it’s considered rude to insinuate such things about a lady?”

“Next time I see one, I shall keep that in mind.” This comment awarded Cardúnón with a light tap on the shoulder.

The two continued to walk quietly in the garden, content to admire the scent and scenery of flowers and statues dwelling in the shadow of the mighty marble citadel of Canterlot. The birds chirping and bees buzzing were lovely ambiances, a calm springtime breeze rustling the leaves just so. Ancient statues of warriors and kings and poets silently watched the two alicorns courting, as it were.

But Cardúnón knew at some point he’d have to interrupt the tranquil stroll. He turned to Stellara, swallowing the lump in his throat. She caught his change of countenance, and tended to him with her teal eyes. He cleared his throat, and spoke with his deep voice, “It has been a wonderful week, Taberanyn, hasn’t it?”

Taby grinned at that; she always liked the way he said her birth name, “Yes; I think it was very generous of the Prince to grant me leave.”

“Indeed,” Cardúnón nodded, looking down at the ground, “Tomorrow is the day, though. Isn’t it?” Taberanyn nodded. “And…you’re certain I cannot talk you out of it?”

The mare brought her hoof under his chin, “I have to go—protect my sister. It’s more of a matter of not being able to talk her out of it. I’ve seen mountains less stubborn than Nikól.”

The two shared a laugh before Cardúnón returned to his grave expression, “It will be very dangerous. Even with magic, even with your experience, even with an alicorn sword, and the Wintermail. You are going into the nest of creatures that want nothing more than to exterminate us.” Stellara kept staring, but did not reply. Cardúnón grabbed her forehoof, “I… if you don’t…” Every word he tried to articulate was defeated, and he let out heavy sighs, toying with his thoughts, “I’ve said goodbye to enough friends.”

Stellara placed her hoof over his mouth, “Bora uira maiheniléda foneái bhenëai.(We all have our duties.)”

The stallion simply continued his restrained capacity for speech, and smiled.

“I believe Nikóleva has given you tasks,” Stellara said, resuming her step.

“Yes…,” Cardúnón replied, rolling his eyes, “She’s actually telling me what to do; acting like a Queen.”

“Oh don’t flatter her,” Stellara waved a hoof, “She really only does it when she sees us together.” She then leaned in, pretending some clandestine secret were about to be divulged, “In fact, I think she doesn’t like you much.”

“What? No…,” Cardúnón gasped, putting on his best shocked face.

“It’s the truth,” Taberanyn held up one hoof and the other over her heart.

“I suppose I didn’t notice.” The pair then burst into a fit of laughter, traveling down the garden walk.

Once they had calmed down, Taberanyn picked the conversation back up, “Take it in stride; with you at the head of the Downfallen, we alicorns can begin our ‘renewed dominance’.”

“Now don’t say it like that; I don’t want to enslave anypony,” Cardúnón asserted, acting like he had actually been accused of such, “It’s more…nuanced than that.”

Taberanyn simply hummed in response.

“It is. Tulicëai are not so much inferior as they are…less universal.” Taby raised an eye brow. Cardúnón widened his eyes, trying to command respect, “Listen! Listen: we ponies all have a proper place in the grand design of nature. Unicorns manage the heavens, pegasi the weather, and earth ponies the soil. Now alicorns possess all three capabilities; all three places.”

“Alright…” Taberanyn trailed off, still skeptical.

“Yes. Now rather than choose one of the three places, alicorns would be better suited as acting as…coordinators—liaisons between the three other races.” Cardúnón and Stellara then came upon an old statue of their own kind, proud and venerable; a bygone knight by the looks of it. “See here: this effigy of an alicorn, nature has made us taller, stronger, and longer-lived. It is only rational that we are superior, and only logical that we occupy a special place.”

Taberanyn had to pause and study the statue, letting Cardúnón’s words sink in, “It is difficult to refute this; we are all three in one.”

“That’s right!” Cardúnón exclaimed, “But, our dominance is not born of a desire to subjugate and control, but a duty to direct and coordinate. Our place is to ensure that all the races understand one another, and can better perform their duties, ultimately promoting harmony in the world. There is no malice in that.” Cardúnón then waited, proud of his philosophy made into speech.

The blue mare pondered over his words. After a time, once they’d neared the castle gate, she finally spoke again, “What do you call this idea?”

“Myna nor-Dhúragmidailénemë, he smirked, oh so sure of himself.

Taberanyn giggled at it, “Well I like the name, though might not want to mention it around my sister.”

“That was the first thing to cross my mind.” The sound of flapping wings then filled the air around them. Cardúnón looked up and frowned, “In fact, speak of her now…”

Overhead, a giant white alicorn descended, planting herself in between Taberanyn and Cardúnón. She gave a warm and loving smile to her sister, then a cold emotionless face to the stallion. “Cardúnón,” she said curtly.

“Dame Wintermail. You caught me in the midst of escorting Lady Stellara.”

“I’m sure I did…,” Wintermail said, narrowing her eyes.

Cardúnón cleared his throat and approached Stellara, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must adjourn to fulfill my assignments.” He then gently took her hoof and planted a respectful courtly kiss on the fetlock, “Until next time, my Lady.”

Stellara patted her mane, while Wintermail practically lit fires in her eyes. As Cardúnón unfurled his wings and flew off, Stellara looked at her sister and waved a hoof, “Oh stop it; you’re just jealous.”

Wintermail blushed and glowered with no effect on the midnight mare. The older alicorn then recomposed herself, regaining the air of dignity presence at the castle demanded.

But then Stellara tilted her head, noticing the items hanging from her sister’s belt. No less than three weapons; a bit excessive even for Lady Nightwrath and her axe-sword combo. “What do you have there?”

“These?” Wintermail replied, smiling and summoning her magic, “They’re gifts. I learned something new, and I wanted to try it out. Here,” the knight then unhooked the axe she’d made and levitated it over to Stellara.

The yellow aura morphed to pale blue, and Stellara gave a few seconds’ look at the weapon, “It rests nicely in the scabbard.” With great excitement she unclasped the strap over the axe head’s poll. Pulling it from the sheath caused the mare to seize up. The mottled pattern, the faint magical buzz emanating from the steel…it couldn’t be…

“How?” Stellara asked slowly, raising her gaze to meet Wintermail.

“Go ahead, try it!” Wintermail encouraged, grinning warmly.

Focusing her magic, Stellara felt the energy within the blade circuit with her own. Soon the familiar starry haze surrounded the metal, a few slight crackles of lightning jolting around. “Why?”

The white sister kicked a hoof, “I’ve done a lot I’m not proud of, and I know I will add to that tally. But I don’t ever want it to be because of something I’ve done to you…again.” Wintermail then stopped for a time, carefully building her next words, “A smith can only offer her crafts, and that is one of my best pieces. My way of saying ‘you deserve it’.”

Once again sending her eyes to Wintermail, Stellara communicated nothing but pure elation. Licking her lips, Wintermail let off a chuckle, “It’s not alicorn steel; not quite. It has magic, but you will still have to oil and sharpen it from time to time. It will however be stronger than any other blade we’ll encounter.”

Regressed into a filly, Stellara began swerving and chopping in the air, performing elegant dances with her new toy. “I don’t know what to say, Nikól…thank you so much.”

“Just promise me it won’t simply be ornamental,” Wintermail winked. Stellara immediately produced a look of determination. “Also, all the best weapons need a name.”

“Hmmm…Skullcleaver has served me well,” Stellara said, patting her old, common battle-axe, “But, I have the suspicion that Nocadecoë will be even better.”

Wintermail took a deep breath upon hearing the name of the newly-christened axe. It meant “Sister’s Promise” in alicorn, and that alone filled the white knight with a bright feeling of love and appreciation. Yet now was not the time for distracting sentiment.

“We’ve been summoned to court. Come on.” The two alicorn sisters proceeded through the castle gate, and trotted along the shining halls, passing imperious curtains that flooded in the light of early afternoon. At the massive doors to the throne chamber, two guards abided protocol and permitted the mares through.

Along the pathway of the velvet carpet, Dame Wintermail and Lady Stellara emerged to see the wide smile of His Highness, perched atop his chair of rulership. Ministers and other attendants stood quietly, ensuring a properly cleared route to the steps of the iron and gold throne.

They stopped at its base, giving respectful bows before rising to see their sovereign. Prince Petrafyrm narrowed his eyes and spotted that his knight was carrying two swords, one off either hip.

“Are you taking after your sister, Dame?”

Wintermail looked at Stellara, “Oh no, your Highness. I could never pull it off.”

Peter leaned back, “Well you’re right about that,” his face then snapped to a stately grace, “Tomorrow you both shall journey westwards to face perils not seen since elder days.”

“The way everypony keeps talking about it, I feel as though I might be disappointed…,” Wintermail jested.

“I should hope so, Dame. Your one week is almost up. I trust all preparations have been made?”

Stellara spoke this time, “Yes my Lord. Well enough to travel there and back again.”

“Excellent,” he intoned, “Now; the mission I bestow upon you two, daughters of the Most Venerable House of Solárindil, is go west and find the camp of the great horde that threatens our country. Learn who leads them, learn their numbers and strength.” Prince Petrafyrm then leaned in, changing his voice to a dark low, “And discover what exactly these rumors of Discord amount to. Bring back something that can prove all this. The Congress, all ponies, Equestria, and I are depending on you two.”

Looming over the sisters with a grandiose presence, the Prince of Canterlot continued with authority honed over a life of aristocracy, “Have I entrusted the proper ponies?”

Wintermail matched his countenance and tightened her face into stern resolve, “Not a force here on this Earth shall stay us from our mission, your Highness. Nocatiléd céba in-Lórian vadeäm.(I swear this to Lórian above.)”

“Nocademë im-Oséo tam-maiheniltinoc cadoson. Rhibuirilím céba solámiléd,(An oath swore to God is not to be taken lightly. You understand this I hope,)” the Prince replied in perfect alicorn. He then shifted his stare to the younger alicorn, “And you, Lady Stellara?”

Almost by instinct Stellara flared her blue wings and assumed her confident persona, “Where she goes, I go; what she does, I do. Céba nocatiléd im-mor, she inh-nhecoë bhenë Nikóleva.(This I swear to you, and my sister Nikóleva.)”

“Then is there anything more to discuss?” the Prince asked.

Wintermail stepped forward, excited for this part, “Actually, my Lord, there is one thing I’d like to do before I leave.”

Petrafyrm made a welcoming gesture with a hoof, and his knight telekinetically ungirt one of her swords, the one that wasn’t Eónadin. She then brought it in front of her and craned her neck down.

“A gift; an apology for my inability to convince Prince Noblesse Oblige of Trottingham to remain in Canterlot.”

Peter rose an eyebrow and took hold of the blade magically, inspecting the hilt. He admired it, a wonderful thematic representation of his coat-of-arms and the sword currently hanging around Stellara’s waist. Unlike Ailéránen though, this new weapon was of the perfect size for a unicorn stallion. He yanked it from the scabbard, and almost dropped both it and the blade when he saw the steel.

His face told her all she needed to know, and Wintermail spoke up before he could ask the anticipated questions, “It’s the best I was able to do under the circumstances. It is not authentic alicorn steel, but it’s almost as good. Try it, your Highness.”

He gently, slowly placed a hoof on the hilt, feeling the magic within with tingling giddiness. The blade then glowed faintly, just enough to demonstrate its qualities. The Prince looked at Wintermail and grinned like a little colt.

“I think it would be best if Lady Stellara were granted use of Ailéránen for our trip, but that would strand you without your House’s sword. This blade, I think, will prove more useful to his Highness.”

“Yes…Yes! Of course! Ailéránen is lent in perpetuity to Lady Stellara; a gift from House Mountainkeeper to that of the Royal Bloodline. Manycsudë shall be the new heirloom of the Canterlot Princes!” the sovereign yelped, swinging and slashing his new weapon. His whole life he’d loved Ailéránen, but lamented his inability to wield it properly. Manycsudë was a dream come true!

Wintermail walked up the steps of the throne and whispered into her liege’s ear, “Now that you have an appropriate weapon, I think one should pay attention to Bretteur’s lessons.” She recoiled and wryly smirked, earning a hearty laugh from Prince Peter.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Dame Wintermail! Now go! Enjoy the remainder of your day, and rest deeply. Tomorrow your strength and resolve shall be tested.”

The sisters gave their bows and turned around, leaving the chamber. Wintermail heard as she went through the doors the Prince request to see her swordmaster; it felt good to bring such joy.

Wintermail and Stellara would spend the rest of the day with one another, talking and laughing—and adding a race in there. It was a lovely evening regaining a small bit of their lost fillyhoods together. When they’d grown tired, and had their dinners and final activity, the sisters would turn in for bed. In their very restful sleeps they’d find wondrous dreams.

A fortunate thing, for in the morning they’d set out for great danger. And in the forsaken west, leagues beyond their friends and allies, the two Royal Sisters would encounter grave, dark things.

Horrors not having yet infected even their most terrible nightmares.

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 7. The Journey West

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 7. The Journey West

Damp. A light drizzle patted his mane; it never ceased in the North. It was always either cloudy or raining here in this wild country. The gloom, the grey, the cold…it all wracked his joints. He was getting too old for this sort of weather.

The soft earth was cleaved in two by the plow he dragged from his collar; the only noise on this somber day. The orange stallion hardened himself; just a little more land to plow and sow, then he could return inside and warm by the fire. Strong legs continued the strenuous work, quite accustomed after over a century.

Henarion periodically sputtered his lips, removing the excess water trailing from his head. The rain felt harder; soon it’d become an actual downpour. The weather was too wild up north; to fly out and clear the clouds would only last so long before more blew in. “To have been born on that sunlit southern shore…,” the alicorn groaned.

An ear perked up, detecting a few voices from a nearby hill. He scanned his eyes and saw three figures rising, three alicorns like him. They approached, one white and tall and one dark blue, while the middle pony possessed both traits. Henarion’s mood lit up and he hailed them with a warm smile.

They galloped forth, meeting a number of feet apart from one another. The middle alicorn, the eldest, raised his hoof, “Henarion! My friend! I hope you didn’t do all the best chores while we were gone!”

“Oh I saved your favorite tasks, Maiëlindir.” The two stallions approached and embraced like the brothers they had come to be. Henarion then turned to Nikól and Taby, laden with goods in their saddlebags, “You girls find anything interesting down there?”

“Yes Uncle!” Nikól chimed, levitating out a small paper wrapper, “Lots and lots of sugar!”

Henarion chuckled; that sweet tooth of hers! Little Taby spoke next, pulling out some sort of stringed instrument.

“It’s called a ‘Lyre’. See,” she demonstrated by magically plucking the strings, with no sense of harmony or rhythm whatsoever. She blushed and put it back in the bag, “I’m…still practicing.”

Maiëlindir laughed and came between his daughters, “Alright now, girls, put away your things and come back out here. Henarion deserves a rest.”

“No no, I’m fine. I need my exercise,” said Henarion, dragging that plow with a refreshed spirit.

“You’re still young! Go out and enjoy it for once.” A magenta aura glowed around the plow and it was lifted off Henarion, and Maiëlindir saddled it on. As the midnight stallion picked up where Henarion had stopped, the door to the nearby cottage creaked open.

Out stepped a slim and beautiful white alicorn, her straight mane a pretty red. She carried with her a tray with a pitcher of hot juice made from berries. The mare smiled and called out, “Maiëlindir! Don’t you start working before you’ve had something to drink!”

Like a reprimanded colt, Maiëlindir shed the plow and cantered to his wife, levitating up the tray before swooping her up and planting a passionate kiss on her lips. “Eserindil, I missed you.”

She giggled and straightened her mane, “Not in front of the girls.”

Nikóleva rolled her eyes. “Father, really?” she teased before taking a cup of juice.

“Well Ithink Papa is being very sweet,” Taby then hugged and kissed her mother, “I missed you as well.”

Henarion looked at the family and smiled, admiring such love and purity. He stood like a stranger, so far away from them; they needed their space—he was simply their guardian. But then all four of their faces turned to him, and their hooves gestured for the orange alicorn to join in.

He started to, but a paralyzing throbbing in his flank seized up his leg. And it would not go away…it only got worse. The cawing of crows filled the air, swarms of them darting from the trees. A fierce wind picked up; the rain became heavier. The sound of sinister thunder echoed; dark clouds rolled in overhead. The air grew cold, wisps of breath escaping Henarion’s snout.

The five alicorns looked around, a dreadful panic taking hold of each. They huddled together in a circle as the rain froze into snow. Soon drifts a foot deep surrounded them. Burning shadows then flashed into existence, creeping across the cruel snow. A dim chorus of screams and shouts buzzed in Henarion’s ears, and he lost focus as the first shadows closed in on Eserindil.

She wailed and thrashed, the brightness draining from her coat. Soon complete and utter darkness ensnared her and the cottage. A final distorted scream signaled her leaving. Henarion began to breathe heavily, almost uncontrollably. He tried to run towards the others, but his damn leg…and the snow caught every step and held it in place. No matter how fast he tried to gallop, he felt restrained—constricted.

Maiëlindir and his daughters drew weapons, and fought the shadows. Metal clanked against each other, but the shades could not be touched. Henarion helplessly watch the three fight valiantly, but soon they were overwhelmed. A glowing red blade erupted from Maiëlindir’s chest, and he fell to the snow convulsing as his life poured out in a crimson cascade. He growled and raged, but he was dying.

Henarion fell to his knees and screamed, but the shadows kept up their vicious onslaught. Black tendrils curled around Nikóleva’s body, their sharp ends stabbing into her eyes while they restrained her limbs. She flapped her wide wings like a trapped bird, finally ceasing once the tendrils had filled her insides.

And little Taby, all alone and frightened for her life, simply had the light around her fade, feeling herself just…disappear. Her teal eyes stung with tears, and she began to cry out, “Henarion! Please…I need you!”

He ran. He ran as fast as his old legs could take him. Yet he came no closer. Taby was now on the ground, freezing in the snow as more of her body vanished. She shook with sobs, voice quivering, “Please…please…they’re coming for me…the dogs…I feel cold…so…cold…”

“No…no no no, Taby! You’ll be safe, I’ll be there!” he shouted as loud as he could, but the darkness only grew, and she became smaller and smaller.

“Please…I’m afraid…I’m scared of the dark…” Taberanyn’s voice shrank ever quieter.

“Hold on! I’ll light a candle; I’ll keep it lit all through the night, just like I used to.”

“You…can’t…” she now spoke in a faint rasp, “You failed…now the bloodline is gone…” The last of her dissipated into blackness, Henarion left in a world of total dark.

“No…no…” Henarion panted, panicking…, his wards, the ponies he’d sworn to protect, and grown to love immensely—gone.

A dull silver light forced him onto his back, and then an alicorn shape emerged. Wrinkled, pale white, and almost skeletal, it loomed high over Henarion, eyes nothing more than sunken pits of fear and despair. “You lost…there is nothing more for you,” it spoke, voice an infernal composite of the four ponies he’d just witnessed be devoured by shadow.

“You didn’t deserve our love…you don’t deserve anything.” The aberration approached, the air around it icy and cruel, “Your one task…your one purpose…now you can do nothing but fade away like the rest of them.”

Henarion cowered, broken and defeated. The emaciated equine came closer, face twisting into a vile grin, “But to disappear with us…that would be mercy. You will linger on, for you cannot atone; we are gone now. You shall never know peace. Welcome to…eternity.”

A thousand ages flashed across his eyes, the agony of it all too much to bear. A heavy stream of tears trailing down his cheeks, Henarion wailed for reprieve, for solace…for mercy. But this was his fate.

The invisible ground gave way, and he began plummeting unending leagues below. He tried to open his wings, but they were constrained. Unable to do anything…even scream or close his eyes now, Henarion trembled in a terror few poor miserable souls have ever been cursed to know.

A sharp jolt stirred him from slumber, hunched over his bed and heaving in a cold sweat. He felt his heart pound as few times before, unable to get enough breath. Mouth dry, he swallowed the lump in his throat and looked around the room he was in. Bed…side tables…door…curtains; he was in his home. He brought a hoof up to the right side of his face—still no eye.

He looked to his left, finding the sleeping form of Primrose. She stirred and creaked open an eye, immediately becoming filled with concern. She pulled the blanket off herself and rose, placing her pink hoof along her husband’s aged face.

“Was it that dream again?” she cooed.

Henarion placed his larger hoof over hers and nodded slowly. He then let out one last quivering breath and wiped his good eye. Jittering his body, he leapt out of bed, “Come! We’re already up; let’s start the day.” Henarion gave a forced smile in the hopes his wife wouldn’t see through it.

She always could, but responded in kind and placed her hooves on the wooden floor. Stretching her wings, she cantered out of the room, “You wake Eldowas; I shall start breakfast.”

As Primrose ran off to the kitchen, Henarion opened the door to the other bedroom, trying his best to ignore the squeaking hinges. Inside he found a room with a bed on either side, a small table between them just below the window. The right bed was empty; Taberanyn used to sleep there. Henarion spared a longing glance at it before focusing his attention on the left bed. A small lump rested underneath the blanket, lightly rising and lowering.

Henarion approached and gently placed a hoof on the sleeping body. A small wiggle and the colt awoke. Wiping his eyes, the young alicorn groaned, “Papa…good morning…”

His father grinned, heart warmed at the sight of something so precious. He placed his hoof on his son’s messy aqua mane and ruffled it further, “Morning, Boy! Now get up; time to eat and get ready to work.”

Henarion’s blue aura enveloped his colt, and he placed Eldowas on his back, trotting into the kitchen. The wood stove was crackling while Primrose tended to a pan sizzling with potatoes and green vegetables. The two alicorns then sat around the table and allowed Primrose to give them a plate of food once she’d finished. After saying their morning prayer, the family dug in.

Eldowas immediately re-energized with that first bite, and dominated breakfast by recounting his vivid dream. He and Lord Vale had been brave knights, facing a shimmering black dragon who was holding a fair maiden captive. In his dream, Eldowas imagined himself a fully-grown alicorn, and flew Vale on his back to the dragon’s head. Both plunged their great swords into the beast’s skull, vanquishing the fiend. It fell from the mountaintop, while the two friends saved the damsel.

Eldowas had woken up right as he and Vale set out for further adventure. Henarion laughed at this, remarking “You’ve been paying too close attention to your Aunt Nikól’s stories, eh?”

The colt nodded then proceeded to ask his father about his dreams. Henarion nearly choked on his food, and then replied with a quick “Nothing special.”

After breakfast, Primrose and Henarion cleaned up their kitchen, while Eldowas tried to rush outside and play. His mother though chomped down on his tail and dragged him in.

“You’re not going anywhere until you’ve been preened.” Primrose then took his feathers and ran her teeth down their length to straighten them out. Eldowas was too young to do it himself, but hopefully in the next few years that would change.

Eldowas squirmed and grunted, forcing his mother to grab hold of each feather several different times before it could be preened. Soon though she opted to press her hoof down on his neck, holding the poor colt on the floor. He still fluttered his wings just as ferociously, but Primrose made do.

Now cleaned, Eldowas ran out of the home, his father trailing behind. Before he was allowed to play, however, the boy was to shadow and assist his father in performing the various chores homestead upkeep demanded. Without Taberanyn the light blue colt needed to shoulder some of the work.

Eldowas was still very young, and did not have the strength or fortitude for many of the more demanding tasks, but he had his part. Firstly, Henarion had to repair a section of the fence. This job though didn’t really have anything Eldowas could do, so he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he was supposed to simply stand there and watch.

As Henarion drove in heavy logs to form the palisade, his son became distracted and chased after a passing butterfly. Wiping his brow, Henarion lost sight of the colt and groaned as he had to go off looking for him. Eldowas was found behind a bush, letting an inchworm crawl over his foreleg.

Magically dragged out and carried back to the fence, Henarion sat him on a rock, “I told you: when we are finished, then you can play.”

Eldowas sighed and crossed his forelegs, slouching on that lonely stone. He watched the incredibly dull spectacle of his father digging holes, plunging logs into the holes, and then covering them up. Sometimes, though, Henarion readjusted the palisade, ensuring the height and sturdiness were correct. Riveting.

Once that was finally finished, Eldowas was led to the barn and given a sack of grain. Donning a plow Henarion trudged down the field they were going to sow this year and tilled the soft earth. Eldowas followed behind, placing seeds in the ground before covering it up. All the while he sported an annoyed and impatient face.

Once that was done, Eldowas then had to give the animals proper feed. Then he had to defoliate the trees his father dragged from the nearby woods and chopped into firewood.

At last, the chores were finished for today. It was a little past midday; all that time left for the colt to play. Henarion had been watching him the whole time, and felt the most cherished pony in his life deserved some entertainment. The old alicorn galloped towards Eldowas and scooped him up onto his back, the colt giggling the time.

“Faster, Papa!” he shouted, and Henarion obliged.

“Better hang on, boy!” Eldowas wrapped his hooves around his father’s neck as the stallion spread his wings and took off, curving upwards into the air rather gracefully for a two hundred-year-old pony. Eldowas screamed and laughed in utter jubilance so high above the ground. He grew so excited that he then flailed out his forehooves, feeling the cool air rushing past his mane and feathers.

This was a mistake, and before the colt knew it he had been blown off his father’s back. Flipping through the air and careening down to the ground, Eldowas panicked and squealed for help. Although to such a young pony it felt like forever, only a few seconds had passed before Henarion pitched downwards, catching his son effortlessly in his hooves.

“What’d I tell ya?” Henarion said, not truly upset; Eldowas was never in any danger.

“I wanna fly too, Papa! How long before I can?”

Henarion had slowed his flapping, and now lightly cruised through the air on his back, holding Eldowas on his chest like an otter. He tapped a hoof on his chin, “Tough to say. Your Aunt Nikól got real big wings when she was young; took her years to grow into ‘em. Taby’s though were small until she was…fifteen? She couldn’t do so much as hover until then.”

Eldowas fluttered his tiny feathery nubs vigorously, but they did nothing more than buzz. Henarion chuckled and stroked his son’s mane, “When you’re grown like me, you’ll be one of the best flyers!”

“And you’ll teach me! I bet one day I’ll be able to beat even Aunty Nikól in a race!” the colt boasted, a confident shimmer in his eyes.

A mare’s laughed flew in along the wind. Henarion immediately perked up and spotted two other alicorns and a pegasus soaring closer. Eldowas noticed the three and grinned wide. He then squirmed and leapt free from his father’s grip, bounding forward a hundred feet above the ground.

“Aunt Taby!” he yelled, the arc of his jump taking him directly to the darker alicorn. Taberanyn’s eyes bulged and she opened her forelegs to catch the manic colt. His mother yelped, heart stopping for what felt like the entirety of his leap.

Naturally, Eldowas giggled the whole time, caught in Taby’s embrace as though no other outcome could have happened. “You’ve got to be more careful,” she said after several labored breaths.

Once everypony had gotten over the shock, Primrose flew to her husband and rammed a hoof into his chest, “I told you to make sure you’re holding him tightly!”

Henarion said nothing in reply; only winced in embarrassment. Nikóleva began to chuckle, but was silenced the moment Henarion focused his stare on her. The white mare cleared her throat, “Why don’t we land back down?”

Once their hooves were all on solid ground, Henarion looked back at his home and spotted two earth ponies dressed in armor chatting by the entrance. He gave Nikóleva a glance.

“Are you ready?” she asked her Uncle with a low tone.

Husband and wife looked at one another, exchanging faces of sadness. Henarion then nodded,
“Let me get my things.”

Eldowas hopped off Taberanyn’s back and looked up at his father, eyebrow raised. “Where are you going, Papa?”

The stallion knelt, eye level with Eldowas. “Your aunts are traveling to a faraway place. I must go with them to ensure their safety. I’ll be back, though, as soon as I can. Can you look after our home until then?” he asked with a hoof on the back of his son’s head.

The colt thought for a moment, eyes moving back and forth before finally fixing onto Henarion. “Yes Papa! I’ll build the fence, and feed the animals, and plant the seeds!” The father brought the son into his embrace and gave a loving kiss to his forehead.

“That’s my boy.” Henarion then rose up and set out for the house, Nikóleva joining his side.

“Here,” she began, pointing her hoof at the two earth ponies near the door, “Are bodyguards the Prince insisted we bring over. That,” she motioned to the cream-colored mare on the left, “Is Almond Bright, and that,” she said regarding the emerald stallion, “Is Hemlock.” Nikóleva raised her hoof and lightly directed Primrose forward, “They will help with whatever chores you need them to do. And defend the homestead should it come under any attack, God forbid.”

Hemlock cleared his throat and puffed out his respectable chest, “We are at your complete service, Mistress Primrose.”

“Rest assured; we are members of the Prince’s personal guard, and we shall execute our duties here with the same diligence,” Almond Bright added with total deference.

Primrose acknowledged them with a welcoming grin before looking up at Wintermail, “Thank you, Nikól…” A hint of melancholy trailed from her voice.

The Wintermail smiled and nodded. Henarion crept into the house and emerged a short time later wearing a saddle bag and cloak. Nikóleva spotted his old worn sword underneath the billowing garment and smirked, “I don’t think you’ll be needing that anymore.”

Henarion responded with a confused look, then saw Nikóleva summon her yellow aura around his sword’s scabbard. Unstrapping it, she took it away and undid the clasp on the long sword she’d been wearing in addition to Eónadin.

A face of mild anticipation and curiosity graced Henarion as he watched the newer blade being presented to him. After a moment he collected it in his magic and inspected the weapon. It was beautifully crafted—he’d give his niece that. The copper hilt had an antique feel to it, orange color catching sunlight in an exquisite way. And the jewel on the crossguard; he gazed into it with his blue eye. The aquamarine had been cut with a flat center face, lined by numerous smaller faces arranged like the lines of an iris. It seemed to stare back at him.

Of course, the next thing Henarion did was draw the blade, fully appreciating the alicorn-sized sword. And he could not possibly have missed the distinctive pattern of the metal, or the etched message written in alicorn.

Henarion could not read, alicorn or otherwise, and simply looked at Nikóleva. “It says ‘Thank You’.” She stepped forward, about to say more, but sighed and licked her lips. A couple more attempts to speak passed before she summoned her courage, “You’ve done a lot for me. I mean you…fed me, bandaged my wounds when I fell, kept me safe and warm, taught me how to run a home like this, put up with my foalish tantrums, and…cared for my sister when I turned my back on her.

“I made this for you, because you, Henarion, are the unsung hero. Without you, and all you’ve done…Taby and I wouldn’t be around. You took such good care of us; only now do I realize that.”

A moment of warm sentiment was shared by the two before Henarion turned to Eldowas. “Look! Nikól made this.” The blue colt appeared mesmerized by the weapon, something right out of the romantic stained-glass windows at Canterlot Castle. “One day, this’ll be yours”

Eldowas beamed, but then slowly grew sadder. Limping towards his father, he brushed up against Henarion’s foreleg, “I’ll miss you, Papa.”

Taberanyn watched the entire exchange, with particular attention paid to the alicorn foal. The vicious sting of a dagger bored into her heart, and the mare felt she could no longer hold her peace. This wasn’t right.

“I do not think you should go. Uncle,” she blurted out, inviting the consternation of the other ponies. Taberanyn continued, “Don’t you think it’s time…to retire? To enjoy this easier, more peaceful life?”

Before Henarion could think of anything to respond with, Primrose stepped up, “She’s right. I love you so much, Henarion, but you’re old, even for an alicorn.” She grasped the sides of his face, staring into his one eye, “You’re covered in scars; how many more can you receive before the final one? I couldn’t sleep well when you went off to fight at that vale. You’ve told me your nightmares.”

Husband and wife stared at one another, tears forming in Primrose’s eyes, “Mine is having our son grow up without his father.”

“I know,” Henarion sighed, “But you knew what could happen when you joined us, and when you married me. I’m an alicorn: we live long, but do not often grow old. We love peace, but only know war. It’s in our blood; it’s in Eldowas’ blood.”

“But you can change that…enjoy the spring breezes, and the garden’s flowers. The soft chirping of crickets at night and the laughter of your child. You can put away the sword, and live by something else…and you can stop the nightmares.” Primrose now cradled her head in Henarion’s chest; she felt him shaking softly.

“Before I met you, I thought I’d run the rest of my life, until my legs couldn’t carry me any further. Now…I know we can build a better home, because we’ve already done that. I will watch Eldowas grow up, and you and I will become grey together.” Henarion then took a look at his nieces, “But Taby and Nikól…I raised them as much as I am raising our son. They’re my girls as much as they were Maiëlindir’s.

“I swore an oath. I swore it before even your great-grandparents were born, to a stallion the world has forgotten. But I still hold it close to my heart, and shall till the end of my days. When we return, I will do everything I do now, and more. But my place is with the Heirs of Solárindil as much as it is here.”

Primrose looked up and wiped her eyes, nodding in acquiescence. Henarion leaned in and kissed his wife. Strapping his new sword on himself, he walked next to the royal sisters. Primrose called out, half-smiling half-crying, “You better come back soon; I want another foal!”

The orange stallion froze and felt a hot flash wash over him. Taby and Nikól giggled while Eldowas lit up over the prospect of a younger sibling. “Then we shouldn’t waste any time!” he yelled.

“Safe trip, Lady Stellara; Dame Wintermail! His Highness is counting on you both!” Hemlock the Bodyguard shouted.

“Do not fret, Master Stronghoof! We shall have everything exactly as you left it!” Almond Bright promised, waving to the alicorns.

Wintermail and Stellara waved back, whereas “Stronghoof” could not resist, “I hope not exactly! The vegetable garden is getting terrible weeds and the underbrush is too thick in my woods!” The stallion chuckled when the enthusiasm the loaned-out bodyguards displayed faded quite clearly.

The three mature alicorns thus began their journey, trotting along the dirt pathway leading back to the main road.

“Uncle…,” Taberanyn murmured.

“We’ll be fine; what could possibly happen to me when I’m traveling with the Wintermail and Lady Stellara?”

Stellara was mollified somewhat by this, and grew more confident about the business via a wink from her sister. Wintermail on the other hoof was hopeful about the endeavor, especially appreciating this new, less-dour Henarion.

It’d take some days to reach the regions they were headed to, even if they flew much of the time. Now walking down the Canterlot road, lush trees lining either side, the memories of her previous travels returned to Wintermail.

The land would become strange and barren westwards. And no doubt there’d be those prepared to arrest their enterprise by whatever means necessary.

Wintermail grinned in anticipation: she’d reach her target with methods in kind.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Short blades of grass waved in the breeze, beads of dew sparkling in the low morning light. A clearing, wildflowers dotting the field, gave a respite from the thick forests of this region. The paved roadways of Canterlot had long disappeared; now only wilderness remained.

Three adventurers trotted through the meadow, somewhere in the west border territory of Fillydelphia. These were the marchlands, poorly settled and fraught with thick woods and difficult swamps. Vicious animals lurked in the dark growth, all too often preying on travelers who knew little of what they had wandered into.

This trio of alicorns, however, was not so unsuspecting. Armed and more than capable of staving off any would-be assailants, they nonetheless enjoyed the meadow’s calm. They had flown much of their way, soaring over the villages and hamlets of Canterlot’s Princedom. It had felt free and exhilarating; an alicorn felt as at home in the winds and clouds as they did on the rock and soil.

But for all the amiability flying invited, even the most airborne of creatures must eventually rest on the ground. Flying was both a physically and magically exhaustive effort, and doing so continuously took its toll. Alicorns were large and heavy creatures; they had to walk at some point. Considerable distances could be spanned in the air, unencumbered with natural barriers like trees, hills and marshes; the remainder would be on hoof.

When not airborne, Wintermail, Stellara, and their guardian Henarion could not simply stand around. They kept moving, through whatever obstacles presented themselves; there was no time to lose. The three only stopped to eat, make camp or sleep, traveling until the last of daylight disappeared and setting out when the sun broke the horizon.

At this afternoon nearly two days had passed. Once past the marchlands, the trees would thin and eventually give way to the prairie. From there about a day’s journey to the city of Mareposa, now captured and under some foul use by foreign invaders.

The alicorns traveled lightly, taking only the absolute necessities. They did not wear armor; too slow. The plan was to sneak into the city, find what they needed, and leave as fast as they could. Once Mareposa’s towers were visible—if they still stood—it’d be too risky to fly.

A solid plan, all things considered. Yet one item concerned Lady Stellara, and as she trudged beside her sister the blue mare cleared her throat and asked one simple question:

“Exactly what do we intend to find or bring back?”

Wintermail felt the impact of the query like a brick; that was a good question. Did it have an answer? A captive? Some evidence of dark magic being used? A written letter from the leader of the Minotaurs? Wintermail chuckled at her last thought: a severed piece of this chaos god? After an excessively long prelude, she finally replied to her sister, “We’ll know when we see it.”

Stellara was not satisfied with that, “What?? Are you telling me we’ve gone out here with only the vaguest idea of what we’re supposed to be doing?”

“Calm down. We have to see it ourselves, gather some information, and if we can, bring back some evidence. We’re glorified scouts right now.”

The blue alicorn rolled her teal eyes, “If I get killed, I will haunt you.”

“Get in line,” Henarion quipped, bringing up the rear.

The party was silent after this, now crossing into the thickest of the forest. Virgin, wild forests could be very dangerous. They teemed with carnivorous creatures and sometimes even plants, all against a background of ancient, undisturbed magic.

Eónadin and Stellara’s new axe Nocadecoë cleared a pathway through low-lying vines and bushes. The light was dimmed through the net of branches; only the most rudimentary of paths had been rutted into the ground.

Sounds of birds and beasts came from the trees every so often, but little disturbed the travelers. In fact Stellara enjoyed trees like these; dense undisturbed forests were completely common in the alicorn wilderness far to the north. But they were not here for pleasure. The mare continued clearing her way through the growth. Then, after slashing away another vine with her axe, Stellara noticed a cluster of trees with oddly shaped branches. She nudged her sister, “What do you suppose that is?”

“Hmm?” Wintermail replied, looking at the spot Stellara had pointed her hoof at. It seemed as though a few trees bowed outwards, like something had bored a pathway through them. Upon further inspection, Wintermail realized the “tunnel” was of a large size, larger than most creatures that dwelt in these forests.

In fact, only one could have made thirty-foot trees bend out like that. Her eyes widened and she took a battle stance. Henarion and Stellara noticed this, and responded likewise.

The trio paused, listening to the sounds of the forest for any indication. “What’s going on?” Stellara asked, holding her sword and axe, ready to rip into whatever sorry beast tried to make a meal of her.

“It’s hard to see, but those trees lead into a rocky bluff; there’s no doubt a cave within it.”

Henarion backed up into a circle with the others, all facing outwards. “A dragon?”

“A young one; maybe a hundred years or so. It’s not terribly big; neither is its hoard.”

No sounds…it seemed the dragon was out hunting for treasure. Moments of silence passed until Stellara shrugged and sheathed her weapons, “I guess he’s not home. Let’s keep going.”

A faint rustling quickly erupted into the swoosh of leathery wings and a scaly body. A green drake slithered from his abode through the trees until it landed mere feet in front of Stellara. Guard down, she was only a second late to draw when it slammed its clawed foot down on her, pinning the alicorn against the root-infested forest floor.

She could easily draw a weapon and slash through the foot with her magic, but that was not necessary.

Wintermail was there. And if any being were to spare an ounce of wisdom, it would be to understand that nothing was allowed to touch the white alicorn’s baby sister. Dame Wintermail Flamecaster felt a torrent of rage at Stellara’s yelp, her eyes flaring in a blinding flash of fury. Eónadin’s blade erupted in fire.

Spreading her wings, Wintermail curled her hindlegs for the most aggressive leap she would ever muster. Another had beaten her to the fray, though. An orange blur impacted the dragon, knocking it onto its back. Henarion stood where the beast had been a moment before, heaving and badly bruised, his face clenched in a frightful gnash.

The white mare stood still, honestly shocked that Henarion could perform such a feat. She did not let herself become too distracted, however, as the drake stirred back upright and bellowed.

Stellara, not one to remain so vulnerable, immediately found her feet and drew Nocadecoë, swinging it downwards onto the dragon’s front foot. The hardened steel cleaved through the topmost layers of scale, imbedding itself in the soft skin underneath. The dragon wailed in pain, raising up its other foreleg in an attempt to crush the blue mare.

Henarion tensed his muscles and catapulted himself over the beast, spinning his blade into the drake’s neck, slashing the tough scales deep enough to causing bleeding. Henarion landed perfectly and saw the wet crimson on his blade. “You made a damn good sword!” he shouted, ready for more sport.

The alicorn’s foe reared up, and shifted his body to the right. Winding up the momentum, it then swung left, bringing its heavy tail right towards Wintermail. Unfazed, she held up her sword and narrowed her gaze. Taking a deep breath, the mare accepted the full power of Eónadin’s internal magic, and made her move.

Like a lightning bolt she charged into the dragon’s tail, making a clean and precise strike. The last third of the appendage fell to the ground, still wiggling. The miserable beast roared and bellowed and screamed, staring in disbelief at his mutilation. Eónadin’s primordial steel cut the armor and flesh; the magic fire cauterized the wound.

Snorting, rearing back on her hind legs, Wintermail incited the dragon to continue the brawl. Only one of the two could survive.

“Your blade…can cut through dragonscale like air,” it finally spoke. Its voice was clearly male, colored with the shaky unease of a creature that had no idea whom it had crossed. “It was you! You slew Ironscale! You killed the Queen of Dragons!”

The drake then breathed in and unleashed a torrent of searing flames, channeling enough heat to turn lead into a puddle. Wintermail reacted quickly, far quicker than she thought she could. The alicorn conjured a magical barrier cone, shedding the intense fires as she stepped forwards. Pushing against the force of his flamebreath and maintaining her spell imposed a great deal of strain on her body and mind. The heat was almost unbearable. Her skin was rife with a burning sensation, and the tips of her pink mane sizzled black. But Wintermail remained undeterred, and finally she managed to close the distance.

Charging Eónadin with one last burst of magic, she swung her weapon and directed the trail of flames off into a random point of the forest. Sword still blazing, she pointed the tip at the neck of the dragon, seeing the fear grow in his slit eyes. The monster’s head then glowed with the alicorn’s magic, now caught in her grip.

“I am the Queen,” she intoned, pressing her burning tip into a gap between his throat scutes.

“I yield!” he shouted. The dragon then rolled over, exposing his slightly-more vulnerable belly. Wintermail sneered; a true dragon would have fought till the end. Even so, she kept her sword out, though the magical fire was snuffed out.

Stellara and Henarion approached from either side, readying their weapons in case this dragon thought it would be a good idea to feign surrender.

“You attacked my sister; I should slash your throat wide open.” Wintermail threatened, angling her sword’s edge over the body part in question.

“Please; I know when I’m beat. I was just defending my hoard.”

“We were just passing through,” Stellara said, rubbing her chest with a hoof. Wintermail noticed a faint red line from where the dragon had pinned her. The sight of it filled the alabaster alicorn with loathing.

“I should think better of attacking travelers now,” the dragon sniveled, “If the ponies have warriors like you three, I’d best stay here in my burrow.”

Henarion raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

The defeated drake swallowed, not wanting to take his eyes off Wintermail, “The great host that wishes to conquer all Equestria.”

“We know about that,” Stellara quipped, “I take it dragons are invited.”

“Yes. Several have already answered the call; a drake or wyrm could claim a massive hoard in the sacking of cities—enough jewels to last a thousand years.”

“What else do you know?” Wintermail asked, still holding her sword at his throat.

“Minotaurs and mustangs, thestrals from the mountains too. Strange striped ponies riding large grey beasts have also come, I’ve heard. And among the dragons that have joined, at least one is Qhumvraoli.”

“A what?” Henarion said in a rather irritated tone.

“A Greater Dragon; the largest, strongest, and oldest of them all—dragon alicorns, really,” Wintermail replied. She then stared down at the very much lesser dragon, “Crawl back in your hole.”

Like a frightened foal, the drake meekly nodded and slowly turned back over onto is feet, creeping back into the path of the bent trees. “My name is Messelridge; thank you for sparing me.”

“I don’t care who you are. My sister’s here and that makes me want to act on my better nature.” Ashamed and dejected, Messelridge slithered back into the damp mouth of his cave, the singed remnant of his tail the last thing to be seen.

Still scowling, Wintermail put up her sword and began stepping down the pathway again, “Come on; let’s keep moving.”

The three alicorns found their way out of the forest after a short time, seeing a new expanse of marshes before them. Still a little winded from their confrontation, flying could wait a while. Luckily, somepony had the foresight to set up a series of tall stakes outlining a route through the soft waterlogged terrain. Even so, the three would need to tread carefully; these pools were often deeper than they looked, hiding things more terrible than a common dragon.

Thankfully, nothing interesting or exciting happened in the marshes. In lieu of “entertainment”, the alicorns engaged in conversation, mostly about their encounter with that drake. Henarion sported several bruises from where he had impacted a scaly armored creature hard enough to throw it off balance. They were in fact a lot better than they could have been; he’d channeled the earth pony magic within himself to steel his body. It braced his bones and muscles, but it couldn’t entirely eliminated injury.

Stellara periodically rubbed the scratch on her chest. Wintermail kept swatting her sister’s hoof away, warning that further agitation would break the skin. Stellara simply rolled her eyes and made sure the white alicorn did not see.

The Dame wasn’t stupid, yet she opted to let the matter die after a time. She’d after all led them into the woods, and though nopony was in great danger against such a young dragon, the pain of regret still stung. Wandering by her lonesome, Wintermail grew quite adept at defending herself. But with others…there was a reason she had fled from her northern home all those years ago. Stellara insisted that all was well, and the midnight mare was in fact proud to wear the scar.

Wintermail had given a soft smile and turned her gaze back to the staked pathway. And compounding her frustration and self-directed anger, her minor burns began to itch. One seemed bad enough to start blistering, and the smell of burnt hair would fill the trio’s nostrils for the next fifty miles.

The day passed on, and the three cleared the marshes with no incident. The pools and long reeds soon gave way to scattered groves of trees. Deer lightly frolicked from a safe observing distance, retreating into the security of the woods when the armed alicorns treaded along the ruined, overgrown remnants of the ancient royal highway.

Crossing the ill-defined border from Fillydelphia into Mareposa somewhere along this parkland, Wintermail and her companions could look upon the uninterrupted grandeur of the prairie. Flat, immense, and covered in sprawling grasses, these windswept territories were oppressive in the summertime and cruel in winter. The weather was vicious, and not enough pegasi lived in these regions to control it as effectively as more civilized country.

Mareposa sat on the eastern edge of this great plain. Past her once-formidable stronghold lived the mustang bands, now unified under some unknown leader. The alicorns would not be able to fly when the city peaked over the horizon; nothing to hide behind for miles on end—by the time they’d reached the captured city, the occupiers would long be made aware.

They could sneak under cover of night, though. Wintermail looked up and saw the setting sun; perhaps only a half-hour left of daylight. They’d make camp here, in the shadow of the one boulder resting on the vast expanse of the prairie.

“Hmmm…seems homely,” Stellara muttered, dropping her bags on the ground. She trotted to the large boulder and tapped it with a hoof. “This will make a nice shelter. Alright, Nikól, get digging!”

“Excuse me?” the white alicorn asked, eyes narrowed. She placed the last of the stones into her fire pit and dropped her own things, “What? You want me to carve a hole into that boulder? I don’t even have a spade.”

“You’ve got hooves, don’t you?” Stellara said with a coy smile.

Wintermail eyed the dead tree standing in their new campsite. She motioned her forehoof for Stellara to do what she did best on their old homestead. “Do you think I’m some sort of...supernaturally strong anomaly of nature?”

Stellara swung her axe and felled the tree shortly afterwards, simply smirking in reply. Soon the trunk was sectioned up and branches broken off as kindling. Wintermail levitated up the wood and sent a small spark from her horn. The kindling ignited, and a cavitation bubble intensified the fire.

Using the logs they hadn’t thrown into the fire, the alicorns sat down. Henarion pulled out an iron pan and started frying some vegetables. He also divvied out a loaf of bread and a block of cheese wrapped in cloth. Devoid of plates or bowls, Henarion allowed his nieces to levitate the cooked food out from the pan. Uncouth, but who gave a damn out here?

A cold wind blew through their campsite, and Wintermail scooted closer to the fire. She was then given a small canteen of liquor by Henarion, a small comfort in the wilderness.

Stellara heard very distinctly two gulps. “Hey now, Nikól! Save some for the rest of us!”

A pale blue aura gripped the flask. Wintermail acquiesced and giggled, “Relax, Taby. I’m bigger; I need a little more.” The younger sister took a sip, all the while glowering at Nikóleva.

Henarion quietly ate some bread and laughed, “Now girls, play nice.”

Dinner did not last long. Nightfall had come, and the stars now shone bright and beautiful. Stellara leaned back and gazed at the great tapestry set within the sky. The way they twinkled, the way they could draw pictures…Stellara knew Prince Petrafyrm directed the sun and moon, and the stars as well. Maybe one day…perhaps just once, he’d let her—if not actually move one of the stars, at least make a suggestion for a constellation.

Perhaps when they’d returned, and were heroes—or something like that.

The blue alicorn continued staring at the blackness while her uncle and sister pulled out wooden pipes. A small bag of shredded leaves was opened, and a slight amount was packed into the bowls of each. Ensuring a proper draw, Henarion pulled a thin twig of kindling and lit the pipe. Puffing a cloud of smoke, he smiled, “This variety is from Neapony; brought in when that Sea Lady came into port. Very smooth, with a rich flavor.”

Wintermail admired the experience, and let out a deep cloud, “I’d say you got your money’s worth.”

Henarion relaxed his magic, and held the pipe up with a hoof. He stared into the fire, eerily reminding him of the dragon’s breath from earlier that day. He recalled the worry he felt when Taberanyn laid pinned underneath the drake, the rage and resolve that built up, and the force of the impact. Yet the recollection wasn’t filled with worry or anger, but with purpose. He had grown up specifically to defend the royal line, and today he had done just that.

It made the old stallion feel good, reminding Henarion of the times he spent when they were young and tender. And for this fact alone he’d consider today to have been a success.

He looked at Nikóleva, who was using a twig to play with the fire. Same as her fillyhood, the alicorn sat captivated by the movement and light of the flame. Heat touched her face and the crackling filled her ears. Henarion watched the mare for a time, her only actions the periodic drawing and puffing of pipe smoke.

Finally, he spoke up, “The dragoness; Ironscale, was it? She was no ordinary dragon, was she?”

Nikóleva did not answer right away, but did hear it clearly. The orange flames in her mind’s eye transformed to the emerald of Ironscale. She broke from her trance, “A Greater Dragon, amongst the last of her kind. Apparently she’d become recognized as a queen of dragons—in some capacity; they don’t exactly have kingdoms.”

Stellara by now was watching her sister instead of the stars. Nikóleva continued, “She terrorized a land and stole its precious items. I…did what I felt right, in slaying her, but…” her eyes acquired a teary sheen, “Someday the world will no longer know the greater breed of dragons, and I will be in part responsible.”

The mare saw the look on her companions’ faces, “But it’s not all dreadful. Among her hoard was a single egg. I was asked to care for it.”

“An egg? Has it hatched? Does it call you ‘mama’?” Stellara teased.

“I’m afraid not. A special sort of magic is needed…I think. I left it with the Librarian for safe-keeping. If it does ever hatch in my lifetime…I suppose I’ll have to raise the baby.”

Henarion cleared his throat, “Your father once brought home a strange egg. Told me it’d be a falcon, and we could train it to fetch things and fight off dogs. Kept that egg warm for weeks, turned out to be a goose.” The aged stallion then burst into a fit of wistful laughter, “Still…he tried to train it. Lad was only…nine at the time. Once it could fly it was gone by morning.”

“I remember that story!” Nikóleva perked up, “He used to tell it to me, and then Mother would imitate the goose with two leaves and make them flutter away.”

“And then you tried to chase after it. You climbed up your mother’s back and actually jumped off! Fell and scraped your knees.” Henarion said rather smugly.

As the two laughed to one another, Taberanyn sulked against the fire. Her smile drooped until but a sorrowful pout remained on her face. Nikóleva and Henarion ceased their laughter upon noticing the blue mare’s sullen mood.

“Tell me about them,” Taby commanded, voice low and almost pleading.

Of course, Love,” Henarion smiled, “I ain’t never seen two ponies so close, really. Used to do everything together. From the moment your father first met your mother, they were truly inseparable. Honestly it got a bit sickening at times—sweet though.”

The two sisters giggled. Their Uncle continued, “Right, so he picks these flowers for her. They happen to belong a bear of all things! Gets maybe twenty feet away and he’s getting chased!” Henarion told this story with an amount of animation Nikóleva didn’t think he was capable of, “Comes running down the hill as fast as his leg’ll take him. Eserindil, your mother, gallops towards the bear. I’m getting my sword ready, but she demands I put it up. I call her insane, but after a couple more times I listen.”

The two daughters of this now-deceased couple were utterly captivated, immersed by Henarion’s gestures and facial expressions. “She actually stares down this bear, and it stops dead. She then levitated the flowers out of Maiëlindir’s grip, and gives them back to the bear. Then, he starts purring, like a damn cat! Runs right along back home.

“From that moment, your father knew he’d found somepony special,” Henarion finished, leaning back and blowing a cloud of smoke.

“I’ll bet Grandfather was pleased with that,” Nikóleva said.

“Oh not at all…,” Henarion replied, letting out dark and sardonic laugh, “Didn’t like it one bit. Your grandfather Aracílnë was a heavy-built stallion, with a big red beard. He didn’t smile much; laughed almost never. I remember the day Maiëlindir brought her to meet him. He said, ‘No son of mine will breed with a damn half-blood!’ Made it even worse that she was only thirty—too young for an alicorn to marry.”

“Wait!” Taby interjected, “’Half-blood’?”

“Aye. Eserindil’s mother was an earth pony. This is inappropriate among more traditional alicorns, like your Grandfather; especially for the royal bloodline. Goodness did he give your father and me a beating. Chased off Eserindil too, but nopony could keep them apart. Though, finally Aracílnë’s heart softened, and he ended up giving his son his blessing. Besides, the earth pony blood in their children—you, would be diluted enough for you to be considered full alicorns.”

“Oh at least the precious blood purity was preserved. Why are you telling us this part?” Nikóleva asked, confused and angry.

“So you understand that when your parents came to Canterlot and were wed by that…Librarian of yours, they wanted something better for their foals. Maiëlindir grew up with little love and warmth; he wanted to make sure his children knew what they meant to him.” An ache emerged in Henarion’s chest, and he took a breath before continuing, “He wanted you both to grow up safe, and…protected from the horror he’d endured in our youth. He wanted you to grow up…,” his voiced quivered, “Not like alicorns do.”

Nikóleva and Taberanyn watched painfully as Henarion’s eye became red and glossy, “And when they were gone…” Fifty years’ worth of tears could be held back no longer. Carrying decades of regret and self-loathing, he’d worn a mask for his family. At last the mask broke, tears trailing down Henarion’s cheeks, “I couldn’t do it.”

Body wracked by silent sobs, he buried his face in hooves, his pipe long fallen to the ground into the dirt. “I couldn’t protect your parents…I couldn’t keep you safe, Tabóna…”

Taberanyn became weak upon hearing that name, the one Henarion had used when telling her stories at night or dressing her scrapes and cuts. Breathing heavily now, she lost control of her own emotions. She slid closer to her Uncle and wrapped her forelegs around him.

“And when you finally left, Nikóleva, I knew then I could have never replaced your father.”

Nikóleva had felt daggers stabbing into her heart before, but the sight and sounds before her created the sensation of a dozen such blades carving out her chest. She shook her head slowly, “No…please don’t say that…”

“I was weak…I was weak when your sister needed me most; when…” He didn’t finish through the crying.

Taberanyn held him closer, “No Uncle, you have been the kindest, gentlest soul in my life,” she wiped her eye, “I didn’t have Mother or Father, but I did have you.” A short time of silence filled only by sobs passed. Then the blue alicorn spoke up, captured by dangerous thoughts, “I started all this; I killed Mother.”

“That was an accident; Mother was…sickly…,” Nikóleva uttered, eyes burning.

But Taberanyn didn’t seem to hear it, “Sometimes I wonder…if Father hated me for it. He loved her so much…and I took her away from him—from both of you, Nikól.”

The white alicorn flared out her wings and rushed over to the two others. She took a deep breath to recompose, “Don’t you ever say something like that again. Father loved you more than you could know,” Nikóleva then almost couldn’t speak the next part, “And his la…his last words were how much you meant to him. Only a monster would hold that painful tragedy against a foal; against you.”

The younger sister simply stared at the elder. Henarion then lightly took hold of her head, “You are a Treasure, Tabóna.” He finished with a kiss to her forehead.

Taberanyn broke away, ridding herself of the last tears and sniffles. “I…I hope you feel better. You have a wife and son, who both think the world of you!” Taberanyn then stood up and stretched out her wings, “And if we’re going to get back to them in one piece…we need to be alert.”

“And not to mention your little friend!” Nikóleva added, her inner troubles let out for now.

Taby blushed and shoved her sister. Henarion rose up, “Who?” Further inquiry was postponed by a sharp pain in his right eye socket when the orange stallion tried to rub it.

“Here let me help you, Uncle,” Taberanyn said, tending to his disability. “And you, Nikóleva? Don’t tell me none of the strapping stallions of the guard haven’t caught your attention.”

“I’m afraid not,” the tall white alicorn muttered, sitting back down on a log, “I haven’t met anypony that’s made me feel quite the same as…”

“As who?” Henarion asked, jolting when Taby hit the wrong spot on his eye socket.

“A pony I knew; a Tulicë. I met him shortly after…well I fled home. He was kind, and strong, and giving…but,” she paused, trying hard to stave off so many hurtful emotions. She’d hoped she was done with this for tonight, “He was Tulicë.”

“Oh…,” Henarion intoned; he understood.

“How do you deal with it? You know Primrose won’t live past—“

“Seventy. Eighty if she’s blessed,” he then gave a deep sigh, then a chuckle, “Truthfully I don’t think I’d live to see that.” Henarion spotted Nikól trying to inhale and ask another of her irksome questions, “Perhaps we’ve had enough excitement for one day. Get some sleep the both of you; we still have a day left till Mareposa. I’ll take first watch.” He levitated up his pipe from the dirt, shrugged, and relit it.

Nikóleva and Taberanyn laid out their blankets close enough to the fire for warmth, far enough away to remain unignited. Letting out deep yawns, the sisters laid back and took in the last sight of stars and orange flickers before shutting their eyes.

“Good night, Taby.”

“Good night, Nikól.”

“Good night, Henarion,” the sisters said in unison.

“Sweet dreams, Girls. I love you both.”

No more speech, no more noise. The dark quiet kept on, even as a pair of yellow eyes watched the three alicorns.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

When day broke, Stellara was sitting on watch. As soon as golden rays shone above the horizon, she nudged Henarion awake. A pony his age took a little time to rise, but he managed on his own. Wintermail simply dropped his bags on him, following up with a giggle. Dirt was poured onto the fire pit, now filled with but a few smoldering coals.

Blankets rolled up and placed away, the trio was ready for further travel in a matter of minutes. No time to waste; today they’d reach Mareposa, and hopefully the proof they’d set out for.

Out here in the remote prairie, whatever roads of antiquity had passed through were little different than ordinary stones in this dark age. Without clear direction, Wintermail could only rely on the vague idea of traveling westwards. She’d been to Mareposa, and even further…once. Stellara and Henarion had been out on the plains, but more northwards, around Coltorado. The trio of course possessed a map, and they’d gone horizontally as straight as they could; terrain permitting.

Cartography however in the days of the Wanderer of the North was primitive. Maps were often skewed and filled with blank spaces, or worse unsubstantiated places that their makers hadn’t actually been to. Worse still, navigation was done primarily by landmarks—the only ones available on this barren steppe were rivers.

Mareposa was seated on a major one, but how would the travelers know which river when they reached it? Wintermail sighed and massaged her temple as she strode.

“What’s wrong with you?” Stellara asked. Her eyes widened after a moment of thought, “We’re not lost, are we?”

Wintermail turned her head and produced a nervous grin, “What? No, no! I just…am trying to get my bearings.”

“I thought you knew the way!”

“Oh great…,” Henarion could be heard muttering from behind.

“I do! And if we keep heading this way…we’ll come to a river.” The white alicorn then tapped her chin, “Aaand…if we don’t find something special, we keep moving. And that thing is…ah yes! A variety of blue reed; only grows on the river that leads to Mareposa!”

Stellara was feeling the effort exerted in furrowing her brow, “And it we find a stretch of the river that doesn’t have the reed?”

“It grows along the whole length!” Wintermail smugly retorted; it wouldn’t be that easy, little Sister!

The sun soon rose overhead; high noon. The trio opted to fly for a distance, passing over a small river—stream more like it, that distinctly did not have that blue reed. High in the air, the distance spread out for what seemed like an unbounded expanse. No large settlements or rivers; just little clusters of homesteads that all seemed to be abandoned when they got close enough to tell.

It wasn’t longer after that when the alicorns touched back down and stopped for a quick meal. With no wood around for miles, it looked like bread, cheese, and raw fruit. Unpacking some victuals, Henarion rationed them off.

Stomach grumbling, Wintermail took a bite of her bread. In between chews, however, she heard a slight rustling. Her masticating became slower and less frequent while her ears trained for anything else. The rustling started getting closer…

“What do you hear?” Henarion asked, scanning his ears for any sounds he could pick up.

“Shhh,” Wintermail shot, standing up and readying her blade. Isolating the direction of the noise, the knight spotted a patch of tall grass moving out of rhythm with the wind. Grey pelts…wolves were coming closer.

The trio had spotted several packs of wolves moving across the plains during their flight; they ignored them, knowing they would never pick a fight with three full-grown alicorns. This was peculiar then…

But further listening revealed not the soft stepping of paws, but harder hooves. “Swords ready!”

Stellara and Henarion obliged immediately, the three coalescing into a circle as the “wolves” surrounded them. Once close enough, the assailants could be discerned as not canines at all, but ponies wearing wolf pelts.

Dressed in the light cloth-metal armor of their culture, these foes were all earth ponies. There was no mistaking it; Mustangs, the roaming inhabitants of the further prairie. Fierce and warlike, their clans most often fought with one another. In times of unity, like in these days, they posed great threat to the civilized ponies of Equestria.

Having no permanent place of residence, they often carried their valuables conspicuously for all their allies and enemies to see. Some wore long thin mustaches; others had their manes decorated with bands and beads. Tossing aside their pelts, these ponies drew long curved blades with their teeth, eyes filled with a hunger for violence.

Wintermail grinned, ready to indulge. Eónadin flared up, magic throbbing in its steel. Stellara’s Ailéránen and Nocadecoë shroud into starfield. And Henarion’s yet-unnamed blade flickered with potent magic.

There were eight mustangs. The first to dare attack was a dull brown stallion, charging forward with all abandon. He galloped straight towards the oldest and weakest alicorn, but Henarion was no easy prey. He charged his magic and encased the earth pony in a field of bright blue, putting up stiff mental resistance. But restraining or manipulating opponents like this was a function of physical strength, and stopping a pony at full gallop was no simple task.

His movement retarded but still incoming, the earth pony readied his sword and leaped to strike down on Henarion. His magic kept the pony just slow enough to properly counter, and one slash of Henarion’s new sword caused the mustang to crash into the dirt, winded but not defeated. He rose up and charged again, but Henarion parried him effortlessly and drove the blade’s edge into the stallion’s skull, the sheer weight of his great sword cleaving the mustang’s head in two.

He suppressed the urge to gag and winced as hot blood splashed his cheek. “Good sword. I’m surprised you didn’t receive one of those cutie marks for smithing.”

“Me too,” Wintermail curtly spoke before uppercutting another mustang, slicing and searing him from chest to back. Left a blackened corpse, he was trampled over by two comrades trying to pincer the white alicorn. She jumped into the air and magical grabbed one mustang. Using all her focus to not let go as he struggled, she then threw him hard onto the other one, a mare.

Picking themselves up off the ground, the pair was beset by the giant pony. She drove Eónadin’s tip through the stallion’s face while her foreleg drove into the mare’s chest. Her ribs snapped like twigs and she seized on the ground for a few moments before dying.

Three mustangs had singled out Stellara, perhaps as some sick vicious desire for a “prize”. As one galloped forward, two others attempted a flank. They all attacked with steel, but the flankers were caught by sword and axe. At the moment the center mustang almost bit into Stellara’s flesh, she spread her wings and evaded him. Landing behind the charger, she again caught the two flankers in their second attempt.

A surge of magic coursed through her weapons and the flanking mustangs were blown back by a shocking pulse of lightning. Bright arcs jolted over their bodies, the foes moaning and screaming on the ground. And for her final trick, she bucked the center mustang while still airborne, sending the mare thirty feet away.

She was an older mustang, and a seasoned warrior from her braids and trinkets in her mane. Stellara set her sights on the warband leader, and coolly approached. As the two ponies she’d electrocuted tried to right themselves, she plunged her weapons into their chests. The great sword pierced one’s heart, and the battle axe opened the other’s ribs.

Having dropped her weapon, the venerable mustang still took on the challenge with a steeled face. Respecting the honor and resolve in her eyes, Stellara dropped her axe. Confused, it was a few moments before the mare realized and picked up the weapon. Now Stellara might have armed a defenseless opponent, but she did not hold back. One strike with Ailéránen, now held in her fetlock, pushed the mustang back to the ground. A second broke her hold over the axe.

At that moment Stellara noticed how the bucking she’d given the mare left her weakened. She struggled to get up and wheezed. Gritting her teeth, the midnight mare recalled a few words she’d learn years ago, “Urdashatsayıt midemvekh.(Yield to me.)”

Cringing in pain, the mare looked up with defiant eyes, strands of her greying mane peeking out from her helmet. She spat at Stellara’s hooves, “Jünü.(Never.)”

The blue alicorn respected her spirit, but also the warrior’s code. A swift swing of her great sword separated the mare’s head from her body.

Stellara turned and saw two more mustangs left, one in the grass meekly searching for an opening while another older stallion engaged with Wintermail.

The white alicorn had held back with these last couple mustangs if only to see if they’d flee. It didn’t seem like that’d happen; instead he shouted at her in his mustang language. Blind noise, it might as well have been. This was becoming tiring; Wintermail aimed her sword as him and concentrated all her magic. A show of intense fire, and he was nothing but a pile of cinders and a howling scream. Eónadin was now made dormant, its bearer not wishing to repeat so taxing a spectacle.

And the poor mustang rushing to try and slay the Wintermail was captured by her yellow aura. Dragged before the alicorn, he gazed in utter horror at what he now figured was an enraged goddess.

With no other option, he groveled at her hooves and shouted, “Urdashkırn!”

“We can’t leave any survivors,” Wintermail darkly replied. She raised him in her magic and aimed her weapon’s tip at his chest.

Stellara galloped and pried one of her sister’s forelegs away with considerable effort. “He yields! Gives up!”

He landed on the ground with a “thud”. Wintermail stepped aside, eyes half-lidded, “If you can make sense of his babblings…” She then approached Henarion and inspected his body, “Are you alright?”

“Never better!” He grinned, wiping the blood from his face.

The mustang colt, probably no older than fifteen, looked up like a said pathetic dog at Stellara. He was missing teeth, coat a dirty light green. Disheveled, split blonde hair sprouted from his head, his helmet long discarded. “Wogachıyıl duruvakh!(Thank you!)” he squeaked, kissing his “savior’s” hooves.

She retracted them, “İleyighetseyit üdzeyez.(Stop that.)” Stellara cleared her throat, “These mustangs must have killed those wolves and hid with their pelts. They like to track their enemies over large distances; who knows how long they’d been following us—could have been since we entered the plains.”

“Maybe even sooner,” Henarion added.

“So what do you want to do with him? We can’t let him leave, “ Wintermail asserted.

The younger sister thought a bit, then perked up with a solution, “He can show us the way, specifically how to remain undetected.”

“And we can trust him? What if he leads us into a trap?”

“That, Dear Sister, is where you come in,” Stellara then turned to the youth, “Furukhatsayıt midenezil Marapasayıshı i padazhdam. Gatıchatspan tombatam yuratam, i midenim kübesi mötösekijikseg runu ıbakanalzag.(Take us to Mareposa and get us inside secretly. Make one false move, and my sister will finish what she started.)”

He nodded vigorously, "Nölüfekhishtem, Berne Sustazha!(Of course, Great Goddess!)”

She turned back to her sister and smirked, “Oh he’s calling me ‘Goddess’.” Stellara’s attention was alerted again when he reached into his bag and produced a bright red apple. He then took a bite and offered it to his new mistress.

Stellara returned a grin and took the apple. And as she helped him up, she noticed the image of a tree with little red dots in its leaves sitting on his flank. “What do you suppose his mark means? I know some mustang tribes aren’t complete nomads.”

Wintermail did not try to hide her irritation, “Am I supposed to know that? Let’s go.” The now four-pony party began moving, the youth leading the alicorns in the same direction they’d already been traveling. What a surprise. Wintermail rolled her eyes and huffed, “How can you understand him anyway?”

“Don’t you remember? Henarion and I spent some time with the mustangs.”

“She picked up their tongue real quick. My old mind can’t do that no more,” the orange stallion said, winking at his younger niece.

“Yep! So we’ll be ready if this one tries to play any tricks.” Stellara paused and hummed, “Speaking of whom,” she cleared her throat and craned her neck beside the mustang, “Runu khönigirnighep duruyaz?(What do I call you?)”

“Khöniyetseyit midenez 'Halrıkanzha', Sustazha!” he beamed, as though being in her mere presence was enough to render him content. Well…he did owe her his life.

Stellara giggled, still loving that honorific. Wintermail heard the laughter, “What? What’d he say?”

“’Holrickendge’, Sister. And I think I’m starting to grow fond of him.”

Raiding parties always had some foolish youths hungry for honor and glory; three alicorns would earn him a great deal of respect. Wintermail replied with a low groan, “Don’t let your guard down.”

Flipping her periwinkle mane, Stellara pursued her lips smugly, “Never.”

Dozens of miles remained, and if the route were not too arduous they’d reach the outskirts of Mareposa by nightfall. There, in a den of snakes, the real work would begin. For all the excitement of the trip to the captive city, Mareposa would provide amble activity to make the journey worth it. There’d be more to see and do there than anypony expected.

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 8. Where the Monsters Dwell

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 8. Where the Monsters Dwell

A harsh iron clank accompanied the portcullis while it rose, the spiked iron bars spraying dirt as they ripped from the ground. Tall creatures regarded a unicorn sternly, snorting from their pierced snouts. The stallion kept his nerve, in too deep to back out now. His dark cloak lightly waved in the breeze; the iron crown sitting upon his head was plain—the iridean diamond was far too precious to bring out here to the den of thieves.

Each of the two guards, one dark brown and the other tawny, gave a quick nod of respect. The unicorn simply responded with cold red eyes; minotaurs seemed to have manners after all. A silver third specimen of their kind stood not far from the gatehouse, dressed in quaint trinkets of shell, wood, and poorly-worked gold. The broad horns jutting from his head were tipped with ornate orbs. He smiled and outstretched those strange hands these minotaurs possessed.

“My Lord,” he spoke with a voice higher than the pony would have expected, “Welcome to Mareposa. We have a reception awaiting you in the palace meeting hall; if you’d follow me.”

Prince Noblesse Oblige of Trottingham nodded in approval, allowing himself to be led by this liaison. “And I am to call you?”

“Khalkâs, your Highness.” Not a hint of an accent colored his voice.

As the Prince trotted behind the minotaur, he could not help but find agreeable the courtesy he’d so far received. A messenger had been sent directly here following his withdrawal from the Congress, requesting an audience with the horde’s leader on the promise of alliance. Noblesse was surprised to learn the request was met not only with warm reception, but indeed enthusiasm. A return to Trottingham to order affairs, and he set out for Mareposa.

The reports were true. Ruined buildings were colored by ash, stone edifices reduced to broken foundations. Tattered Mareposan banners lazily drifted in the wind, fixed within the rubble. Bloodstains littered the paved streets; mercifully the bodies seemed to have been carted away. Minotaur warriors sat on the dispossessed stones, sharpening their weapons or gorging themselves on oats and wine. Several snorted at the Prince, but none of these beasts dared to touch him.

The only ponies within the city seemed to be the mustangs. They shouted and chattered in their unpleasant language, and galloped about unbathed and ungroomed. Noblesse Oblige sneered at the sight; necessity only brought him here.

Amidst the streets of Mareposa, nestled behind the jagged crests of ruined buildings, the former royal fortress lorded over the “graveyard” like a silent colossus. Through their course towards the inner keep, the spire of Mareposa’s great stronghold never left the Prince’s sight, even as more interesting things came into view.

Swooping overhead, dark equine-like things flapped their leathery wings. They were training, but stopped and landed about thirty feet to his left, all watching the Prince with their eerie golden eyes. Noblesse was…intrigued; bat ponies were little more than myths in Equestria proper—it seemed thestrals weren’t complete fiction.

Khalkâs led the Prince and his guards through a couple more open spaces and courtyards, one of which housed an actual dragon; a slithering bronze drake. It slept on a pile of shining armor; obviously the dull creature thought them to be gold. They were in fact brass. Noblesse Oblige rolled his eyes, hoping these ancient beasts wouldn’t become distracted at the first ornate warhelm to catch their fancy.

Ever closer to the heart of the city, the party came before the gates through the inner walls. “Quite the eclectic force you’ve assembled here,” the Prince muttered, “Tell me; how many eye the eastern riches?”

“’Riches’?” Khalkâs began with a bright grin, “Equestria’s Reckoning is not here for simple gems and colored metals. The selfish and short-sighted of us care for such temporary things. Our prophets speak of a far greater purpose.”

The minotaur’s cryptic and brooding tone caused Noblesse to take a pause. “Land? Dominion? A new home?”

“They speak of the Gods’ mandate. The old reign of the Ponies has ended; a thousand years since their king vanished. The world descended into misery and blight. Now it writhes under its own decrepitude.” Khalkâs continued to walk forward, but turned his face to the Prince, “Newer, stronger blood will end this age in a cleansing wash of fire and steel. Those who have been forgotten or hated, relegated to this cruel land, are the ones to take the dominion.

“A leader has been called forth; a God in flesh to command our army and seize victory. A hundred thousand gather under our banners to greet the coming of this new age. Now tell me, your Highness,” Khalkâs turned back to the road, “Can our goals align with yours?”

Noblesse thought a moment, passing through the inner gate. He slowly grinned wider and wider, “I think so. I too wish to do away with needless remnants of the past.” Let this horde have their faith in dread gods; if it makes them fight better…

He looked up and saw the fortress. It was largely intact, save for some damages caused by what he assumed were battering rams. A noise then startled him; something like the blaring of trumpets. Noblesse Oblige looked to the right to find a makeshift series of pens crafted out of crude stakes. Striped ponies…what were they called—zebras, exotic transplants from far to the south, handled large hulking grey beasts with massive tusks and long noses. Every step they made seemed to shake the earth.

The Prince stopped and backed away in apprehension. Khalkâs chuckled, “Fear not, my Lord. Those are elephants. Zebra beastmasters spend a lifetime taming them; we are in no danger.” Sure enough, one of the “elephants” was placated when its handler presented a bale of hay.

Noblesse stared for a time, in awe of these giants. What sort of havoc could these animals wreak on an unsuspecting army? Khalkâs’ voice shook the Prince from his stupor. “Yes…well, continue,” he uttered, clearing his throat.

Proceeding into the stronghold, Noblesse gazed upwards at the high vaulted ceiling. The foyer possessed numerous doorways and ramparts leading to the battlements around its central tower. Right now, minotaur and mustang watches patrolled. Some traveled up the ramps to survey the city whereas others guarded chests and mounds of treasure won by presumably high-status warriors.

It was clear the stronghold had suffered during the siege, as its walls were cracked and bare. In fact, it almost seemed as though the entire thing had become ruins, only recently reoccupied. Where were the inhabitants? Had they all been killed or driven out?

One of the thresholds led to a corridor, a staircase leading higher and deeper into the tower. Past the fire pits of idle warriors and ripped remnants of the once-glorious red carpeting, Khalkâs led the guests up to the next level. In the subsequent chamber a large stone doorway stood, tiny boreholes all that remaining of the massive doors once set within. Tall braziers roared in the corners, a series of long tables dominating the meeting hall.

At the far side of the room, plates and pitchers cluttered the Lords’ table, several champions of the races here in Mareposa feasting and drinking, occasionally even chasing the female company brought to alleviate the worst distraction on campaign. Noblesse remained solemn as he strode towards the mustang seated in the middle of the table.

Several mustang mares, clad in golden bands and chains, admittedly did catch his eye. They had a sort of exotic beauty to them—no, far more important things remained at stake. Khalkâs stopped at the table’s edge and turned back to Prince Noblesse. He smiled and held his hands behind his back, “My Lord, this is the Great Warchief of the Mustangs, Chesikkeshi” Khalkâs gave a slight bow to the chieftain, “I present Prince Noblesse Oblige of Trottingham.”

Chesikkeshi…Jasicus finished sipping from his cup and stood up. “Welcome here to Mareposa.” The chieftain spoke somewhat slowly; deliberate rather, combating his accent with clear speech, “You are welcome to anything here in our hall.”

Noblesse didn’t respond. He kept his stare at the chieftain, then levitated up an apple from a plate. Rubbing it on his vest, he gave it a sniff and took a bite. Jasicus himself took a pitcher and poured two cups of wine, drinking from his first. Noblesse hesitated at first, but then accepted the gesture and drank quickly to quench his steadily-building thirst.

“Borukul midenil,” Jasicus said as he waved a hoof. Khalkâs nodded and began walking out of the hall.

Feeding on the apple, Noblesse obliged watched the mustang for a while. He was tan, mane a reddish-orange. He wore a mustache and goatee, along with a necklace of silver and rubies. A number of warrior braids hung from his mane, a couple feathers tied to them. A surcoat clasped his torso, adorned with a warm collar of wool. The distinctive cloth-metal helmet of the mustangs rested to his side, a golden diadem riveted to the iron crown of the headgear.

“A minotaur serving a pony?” Noblesse spoke at last.

“The servant of my ally; Khalkâs brought you here for the pleasantries. The Minotaur King is currently occupied. Interesting fellow, is Khalkâs not? My shamans have impressed him.” Warchief Jasicus finished his apple to the core, “He is a bullock, you know; eunuch.”

“Really… I had my suspicions.”

Jasicus cleared his throat, “Though I am sure you didn’t come for…how you say…gossip. Your messenger said Trottingham will join us. Why?”

Noblesse raised an eyebrow, “Does it matter? Know simply our aims coincided insofar as disrupting Equestria’s lords are concerned.”

Jasicus did not sneer or huff as he stood up; the only indication of his dissatisfaction was the slight increase in the intensity of his breathing. “Forgive me if I view this all with suspicion…”

“There is nothing to suspect,” Noblesse replied, willing his patience to elongate, “I have taken great risk to be here. I do have a measure of valuable information; all I ask is that you clearly define the goals of this great horde.”

“Depends on whom you ask. Minotaurs want glory, Dragons want treasure, Zebras want adventure, and the bat-ponies simply want a purpose.”

“And your mustangs? Your domain could be grand here on the plains.” Prince Noblesse then glanced at the chieftain’s humble wardrobe, “But that isn’t your ambition, is it?”

Jasicus let out a deep breath, “When I was a colt, my father told me of spirits that galloped across the sky, dragging along the winds and rains. I wondered about the worst of the seasons, and asked ‘Are they cruel?’ He replied ‘No, they are simply wild. Drowning storms and freezing snows follow the tracks they make. The burning summer sun scares them away.’ I came to understand our brief respite in spring and autumn.”

The Great Warchief stepped around the lords’ table and approached Noblesse Oblige, “But then I was brought on a raid; somewhere around Fillydelphia. We traveled deep, almost all the way southwards to the ocean. The breezes, the trees, the delicious feasts…I learned life did not have to be so cruel. There your flying ponies can control the weather; they make it easier and far more pleasant.

“Zealots of all races here preach about the coming of the God that will lead our forces. The shamans and acolytes claim to speak with it…say we’ve been given a divine mission to claim Equestria. When we march east, we will take cities. And my mustangs will pillage and plunder, as is our way. I owe them their loot.”

The tan stallion, an earth pony, soon was a foot away from the Prince. He was slightly shorter, but his accented voice carried the weight of a leader who may as well have been alicorn sized. Noblesse narrowed his eyes, watching every movement of Jasicus’ face and listening to every inflection in his speech. “These warriors can have their treasure, and glory, and crowns, and heaps of conquered skulls. Chiefs can carve their fiefs out of the ruin of Equestria. All I want is a better home for my ponies; a place where we will not starve, or where each winter we will not have to dread freezing to death. A home where we can sleep in peace without fear of being devoured by wild beasts.”

Nothing in Jasicus’ voice or face conveyed any attempt to deceive; any indication of insincerity. “A truly commendable desire. Perhaps then we can reach a compromise,” Noblesse said, eliciting a grin from the mustang.

“Yes. You’ve come all this way, to betray your own kindred. So tell me, Prince Noblesse Oblige, what could you possibly want that cannot be found in the land of plenty?”

“Equestria’s clarity,” the unicorn spoke immediately. A small twitch caught his left eye, gone as quickly as it had come, “My people hold their ancestry greater than their progeny. They are infatuated with relics of bygone times. They are held back by a mythology that deifies a defective sort. A new age must rise, but you are incorrect about what ashes it shall be built upon.”

A long, deep breath was drawn, exhaled with rage-filled trembling, “Equestrians were never the issue. Their ‘gods’ must become memories, and then forgotten. I’ve come here to this desolate stronghold because I need to save Equestria from itself. It shall be a painful transformation, and the old great houses will be bled dry before its end. If your horde can refrain from destroying the entirety of my country, you can have all the gold, silver, and jewels in those damn lords’ castles. And your mustangs can have a breadth of fertile and rich land.”

Noblesse Oblige raised his hoof and held it forward, “A new home for your people in exchange for a renewed kingdom for me. Agree, and Trottingham’s banners shall march beside yours.”

Warchief Jasicus bent his gaze to the dark orange stallion’s hoof, keeping his eyes on it for a time. The mustang thought, realizing he was not the sole authority of this great western horde. “Targınguluyushu i chudorsokushu, you have consent. But the Minotaur King remains to be convinced, and I’m sure he should love to hear whatever valuable information you’ve brought.”

The Prince of Trottingham’s mouth curled into a devious grin, “Lead the way.”

Without delay Jasicus retrieved his helmet and donned it. A slight jerk of his head and the two rulers and the Trottingham guards cantered out of the meeting hall. Past the nobles, past the champions and their company, Noblesse and Jasicus descended the staircase and proceeding back out the hallways. Emerging from the grand foyer, the stallions continued their gait through the courtyard and out the gatehouse.

It was not far from Mareposa’s stronghold to the Champion’s Pit, the purported favorite place for this Minotaur King in which to recreate. A city block further down the dilapidated and ashen streets, a crudely-erected palisade of wooden stakes intermixed with the gruesome skeletal trophies of victory enclosed a large sandy arena.

The mere presence of Great Warchief Jasicus prompted the minotaur sentries to allow the Prince and his protection into the Pit. Greeting him was a systematized spectacle of slaughter. Throngs of the warriors endeavoring towards Equestria’s downfall were tiding themselves over with blood sport. Cheering and grunting, the rawest expressions of this horde’s savagery, accompanied the wails and cries of agony.

The best champions of the races involved, be it the brutally ferocious minotaur, the relentlessly tenacious mustang, or the uncommonly clever zebras, charged into the ring and fought not only one another, but also miserable captives—what remained of Mareposa’s citizens.

Those who had not the good fortune to either flee or die in battle.

Every minotaur camp and village possessed a Champion’s Pit, the very largest tribes an entire dedicated building. It was important to keep warriors honed, and appease their ravenous gods’ bloodlust. Mareposa’s pit was likely dug within the first week of occupation.

The outer circle contained the spectators, foaming at the mouth for more brutal sport. On the other side of the Pit, a special section was elevated and covered with awnings, servants periodically ferrying drinks and food for the nourishment of participating warriors and important attendees.

At the top of this special section stood a chair, the crest of its back adorned with a skull. Could that have been the skull of the fallen King of Mareposa?

Noblesse Oblige did not like this, even less so when it was noticed no creature occupied the chair. “Where is he?” the Prince demanded, shouting over the clamor of the crowd.

“Busy,” Jasicus replied, cleaving his pathway into the audience. Noblesse followed, instructing his guards to be extra-careful.

The spectators were loud, filthy, and absolutely without manners. They squabbled in their grating tongues and seemed to fly into a brawl at the slightest provocation. More than once did some unfortunate soul actually shove his Princeship, earning a swift knock from his guards’ hooves. The crowd didn’t appear to notice or care.

It was a grueling trial to get to the King’s section, but at long last the sojourn was completed. The Warchief took a seat on one of the benches underneath the awning, leaving enough room for Noblesse.

“What are we waiting for?” he asked, but was met by a quiet “shush” and pointing at the sand pit.

In the dug pit, off to the left, was a tunnel reinforced by timbers beneath the ring of spectators. From here participants were allowed, or more often dragged, into the arena. Presently a zebra warrior, clad in the tropical hardwood armor of his homeland, cantered around the pit and yelled out boasts. Across his striped fur various scars lined and curved into abstract images, exactly as if they were made on purpose.

He was a beastmaster, wielding a whip to spur on those large mounts—elephants. Noblesse could not understand the zebra; Jasicus anticipated this and leaned over to the Prince, “My Zebrican is poor, but I believe he’s announcing the kills he’s made down south.”

Upon closer listening, Noblesse recognized the boasting as having a distinctive rhythm, “Is he…singing?”

“Among their kind, poetry is considered a warrior’s art.”

A gong sounded forth from a stand in the outer ring, and three captive ponies were forced out into the arena by the lance of a minotaur warden. Given rudimentary weapons, they were sacrifices sent to die for entertainment.

The Zebra grimaced and cracked his whip. One pony, a unicorn, tried to beg for her life. The whip caught her throat, and so restrained on the ground she was impaled by the zebra’s broad sword. The two remaining then charged, one immediately tripped by the whip’s sting. Distracted, the zebra was caught by the other’s stone dagger. The wound was minor, and the warrior simply responded with his own slash, this one fatal. The other downed pony, bearing a deep gash on its leg from the whip, cowered beneath the victorious zebra.

Noblesse Oblige had his fill at that point, and did not see what befell the captive. There would be a steep price to pay for his people’s renewal, and this was but a taste.

The corpses were dragged back into the holding pens; gods know for what. The zebra basked in the glory of his victory and retreated back through the tunnel. And then…the crowd began to chant for a very specific thing, “Aurýx.”

The name rang in the air, rolling into a grand crescendo of anticipation. Drums accompanied the chanting, and Noblesse perceived a faint twinge of dread. “What’s happening?”

“That,” Jasicus pointed at the figure emerging into the arena.

A silver-blue minotaur, built like a mountain, trudged to the center. His horns were massive, virile and imposing. Wielding a mighty glaive, he raised the weapon and performed showy maneuvers with it. Hearing them shout his name, the minotaur bellowed and snorted, riling himself into a rage to better slaughter his opponent.

“Aurýx! Aurýx! Aurýx!” they continued to clamor, the bull all too eager to flex his impressive musculature for their enjoyment. Moments later another contender ran out, a thestral of all things. It was burly and mean-looking, sickly yellow eyes boring at the Minotaur. Dressed in iron armor, it flew up and shouted at the crowd, trying to elicit cheers from its corner. From the faint voice Noblesse figured the thestral was female, and perhaps a high-ranking member of their mountain tribe.

Saddling a lance, she landed and dug with a foreleg. Looking like an earth pony knight of the east, the thestral waited for the signal.

“She offended Aurýx, and this is their way of settling the dispute. Once one is in the pit, they fight, or they die,” the Warchief whispered. Noblesse Oblige simply stared on at the match.

The gong was rung, and the minotaur took at stance, holding his glaive with the tip pointed outwards. The thestral charged forwards at full speed, aiming her lance straight for Aurýx’s chest. He parried expertly, the din of clashing steel echoing through the arena. The thestral however used her momentum and catapulted herself into the air, returning to gore the minotaur’s head.

He dodged. She circled back and tried again. He dodged a second time, and caught her leg with his glaive’s edge. The thestral then landed at the far end of the arena, galloped and at the last moment lifted off with her lance, dying to taste minotaur blood.

The thestral mare was close, but ultimately unsuccessful. Aurýx turned his body, catching the lance’s shaft in his hand. Then, directing his body to make the most of the momentum, swung the doomed bat-pony around, letting her careen into the pit’s wall. The impact broke her wing and several ribs, and she hobbled up to her legs, wiping the blood from her lips. But before she even knew it, a sharp bone-splitting pain hit her hind leg. Aurýx had thrown the lance into the limb, and grinned maliciously as he stepped forth slowly.

It was all fun by this point.

Yanking out the lance, focusing her willpower not to collapse from the awesome pain, the thestral drew her sword. Aurýx however did not need to respond with much; the lance’s tip had severed a major artery in her leg. Bleeding profusely, the mare stumbled around, soon unable to focus. Her leg too hurt to move anymore, she stopped in place.

The minotaur approached, watching his opponent struggle to keep up the fight. The nearby sand now covered in a shallow pool of blood, the thestral fell onto her side. Her breaths short and raspy, she trained her yellow eye up at her vanquisher.

Downed, weakened, and broken, the thestral mare offered no resistance as Aurýx the Minotaur King cleaved off her head with his glaive. Holding it up for the audience, he growl and bellowed like a bull during mating season.

The cheering and stomping of the minotaurs in the stands was loudest, and they bumped chests with pride at their unbeatable leader. Beating his own chest, Aurýx paced around the pit. “Ekthòrō khỳptos têrapsyseis? Ekthòrō?” he asked in Minotaurican, a clear invitation for further sport.

No creature in the stands dared to answer the challenge, except for one other minotaur. This newcomer charged through the outer ring and leapt into the pit, bearing a heavy axe and shield. He was jet black, with thick shaggy fur all over his body. Clashing his blade against the iron lining on his shield, the challenger replied, “Têrapsyti galikémathe Bovâridēx!”

Jasicus furrowed his brow and shook his head, lightly tapping Noblesse Oblige on the shoulder, “That is Sphenôkleos, a rival chieftain. Only the very strongest can lead the drove.”

The Prince of Trottingham studied the black minotaur. It was a point made in the Congress, as he understood from his agents’ reports, that many lords did not believe this horde to be stable. Constant struggles for supremacy within their ranks would certainly lend credence to this. Noblesse grew apprehensive at the thought.

Sphenôkleos immediately rushed to cut down his opponent. The crown, the honors, the glory…they would be his. He was far more heavily armored and armed, and fresh compared to the “King” who had just finished a duel. Aurýx saw his rival running closer and sighed, sidestepping perfectly when the axe crashed down into the sand. Now opened, Sphenôkleos could do nothing when the King’s glaive severed his right arm.

Now facing a surprised opponent, Aurýx pulled the large round shield to the side and lighting fast carved a gash up his viscera. Sphenôkleos lost consciousness and fell backwards, his entrails beginning to pour out. Aurýx didn’t even bother to boast or bask in his victory; he simply headed to the edge of the arena.

“It’s an almost daily occurrence for him. You’d think they’d learn…,” Jasicus mused.

King Aurýx came closer to his section, thirsty for the wine the servants brought out. Leaping over the low fence, he spotted the Warchief and some unknown unicorn. “Jasicus, thank you for coming to see me,” he grinned, making his way to the throne at the top of the champion’s box, “Now who is this pony?”

The Warchief stood up, “The Eastern Prince we heard about.” Jasicus bade Noblesse to rise as well, the two now standing before the minotaur at the base of his throne.

Now much closer, Noblesse could spot various scars over the bull’s body. A large ring hung from his snout, smaller ones pierced into his ears. Rough and defined, he had the form and presentation of a true warrior. And interestingly, around his throat was a necklace of what appeared to be dragon’s teeth. In the center of it, however, displayed as the centerpiece of the crude jewelry was a long white…unicorn horn? The Prince gulped quietly, hoping Aurýx did not wish to add another such trinket to his collection.

“Yes…ruler of…eh…Trottingham,” the King uttered, gulping from his cup. Further carnage continued in the background, its instigator leaning forward, “Why come here?”

The Prince cleared his throat, “To announce that the banners of my realm will fight beside yours, provided I can receive a few guarantees.”

“What reason for this? You are little pony,” the bull sneered in his thick accent.

“I have resources and information. Your forces are impressive, no doubt, but even so you will need every soldier available to win Equestria.”

Aurýx began to cackle, “Really?”

Noblesse Oblige now held himself with the regal dignitas and authority of an Equestrian Prince, “Of course. I can show you the best lands to plunder, the finest treasures to loot,” he took pause and smirked, “And the greatest warriors to challenge.”

The King turned to his peer the Mustang Warchief, “What does he want? What has he offered you?”

“A chance to rest…,” Jasicus intoned, “Prince Noblesse wishes the purported destruction of Equestria be restrained.” The Warchief glanced at the Prince, allowing him to continue.

“Yes, Majesty,” Noblesse then gave a slight bow of respect, if only to save face and win favor. From Aurýx’s self-congratulating snort, it appeared to work. “Enough to break the old order, enough to satisfy you and your army’s desire for riches, and enough to procure land for the Mustangs.”

The Minotaur King stroked his chin for a time, letting out a low groan. His gaze turned to the contests held in the arena, the matter still on his mind. He thought long enough for an entire match to transpire in the Pit, all the while Noblesse standing before the King, patience steadily wearing thin.

At last Aurýx grinned and spoke, “Our mission is not for us to decide. The Shamans tell us their visions, the Will of the Gods. We were told to march east and conquer.”

Prince Noblesse bit his lip, processing what he’d heard. His noble tact would be well-used here, “Perhaps we might summon the…shamans, and they can inform us of the Gods’ decision.”

“No need, horn pony. Soon we will have God of our own, in flesh. He can lead army then.”

“I…I don’t follow, Majesty,” Noblesse creaked. Those rumors…the world was filled with fantastical things, but surely there was a limit!

“In this city stood a temple. We tore it down and made altar of it. Shamans can use magic, strange ancient kind, and take from living to give dead. The God who speaks lies in Tartarus, to be made whole again.” Noblesse and Jasicus shared looks, both varying shades of perturbed, “Pony Gods place him there, now for vengeance he will give us this world.”

The Prince gulped again, “And…when is this enterprise of…resurrection supposed to be completed?”

“We use many tributes,” the Minotaur King replied in his broken Equestrian, “God must have much flesh. Soon, very very soon.”

“And when ‘he’ emerges, or whatever manner this god is supposed to arrive?”

“We follow command. We satisfy revenge and win Equestria. And slaughter any pony gods we find. What you call them?”

“Alicorns…” Noblesse answered, realizing his lips were curling into a malicious smile. “Now, am I permitted to remain here, King, until this reincarnated god arrives to discuss terms?”

“Of course! You are my welcomed guest!” The Minotaur rose from his throne and beat his chest.

“Then I suppose I shall wait until then.” The Prince began to turn and head out the arena when he was stopped by a hoof.

“Not quite, Prince,” Warchief Jasicus announced, voice full of authority, “Your soldiers will fight with us, and we shall endeavor to afford you the most favorable terms, but we need you to uphold your end. What information did you taunt me with earlier?”

Aurýx sat back down on his throne and gave the Prince his undivided attention. Noblesse read the company like a large-font book, “Yes…certainly. A congress of Equestria’s lords have convened in the city of Canterlot. Your amassing has not gone unnoticed. Indeed perhaps right now its president Prince Petrafyrm is trying to convince all the lords to rally together.”

Aurýx lit up like an excited calf, “I was afraid there would be no sport.”

“Yet, several hesitate for one reason or another. In fact, they have sent a small scouting party right here to Mareposa, led by an alleged descendant of the last King of Equestria, trying to prove herself to the Congress.”

“Have we anything to fear from her?” The Great Warchief asked coolly.

“Perhaps a bit more than other scouts; she is an alicorn.” Noblesse responded, slightly startled when King Aurýx jolted from his seat.

“There will be no Queen for Equestria! What color is she? Will her coat go good with my palace?”

“White, Majesty, just like snow.”

This caused the minotaur to tense, thinking back into the recesses of his memories. His eyes widened when he found it, “With pink mane?”

Noblesse Oblige furrowed his brow, noticing again the long white horn dangling from the bull’s neck, “Yes…”

With a forceful thud Aurýx slammed onto his throne and leaned back, tightly gripping the armrests and flashing his teeth in that same vicious grin he’d been sporting throughout much of the day. Suddenly things had become much more interesting. He chuckled darkly and spoke in his native language, “Kiathōné.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

For miles and miles, stretching on until the eye could see no more, a sea of grass. Following along the grand river, every hour or so a new village appeared. Always abandoned, and always a broken shadow of rubble and ash—dead silent, the only noise the creaking of a not-quite destroyed waterwheel against the current. It never changed, and after the first five, it ceased to surprise anypony.

Four travelers trekked further up the river, its banks curiously stuffed with that unique blue reed. The lead pony, distinctly smaller than the rest, periodically shouted in his native tongue, interpreted by the dark alicorn he rather more preferred to her giant white sister. In fact, the alabaster mare kept close watch over him, ever-ready to telekinetically send her sword flying at him should he try to escape.

But all through the day he proved rather helpful. He knew the way, and seemed to enjoy speaking with Lady Stellara, even if their words sounded like mere gibberish. The Wintermail had traveled across the known world, and learned a dozen languages, but Mustang seemed to have avoided the list.

For her part, Stellara managed to gather some information from her new “friend” Holrickendge. He was only seventeen, youngest son of a Mustang Chief. The Holrick Clan apparently was unique, preferring to find a nice fertile ley to settle and tend an apple orchard. They ran with the Mustang Warchief Jasicus because at the end of the apocalyptic war to strike Equestria, many mustangs hoped to migrate to the east.

Wintermail was always vicious to her enemies, but Lady Stellara couldn’t help but think there was more to this than first appeared…

“Genkeyesh,” Holrickendge said, pointing out his hoof. Sure enough, the faint dark outline of a large city with a tall central spire could be seen .

“What is he saying?” Wintermail asked, quickly reaching her sister’s side.

“We’re nearly there at Mareposa,” Stellara replied, looking up at the sky. The sun was getting low; only a few more hours of daylight left.

“Tell him he needs to get us inside the city too.”

Stellara rolled her eyes, “He knows.”

Henarion watched those two, far more than they might have realized. He noticed the subtle looks they gave one another, the little quips and jabs. And Henarion saw how that mustang colt looked at Taberanyn, and how it flattered her to have such an admirer. And he also noticed Nikóleva’s constant disapproval of her sister’s admirers; the soft sneers and scoffs that eluded Taby’s detection. The orange stallion frowned; that might become misinterpreted…

The sky became darker, and the city in the distance closer. Still those dead villages appeared along the way, sometimes bodies amongst their eerie ruins. Bones picked clean by wild beasts, precious items carried away by the very same savages holed up in Mareposa. Holrickendge described how the horde dispatched raiding parties in every direction. Mustangs, used to bitter cold, had done most of it during the winter. By now, he explained, nearly the entire former kingdom was deserted, its inhabitants fleeing to the relative safety of Equestria proper.

Wintermail gave a heavy sigh, wondering if ever there could be a world where ponies did not have to know this cruel sight. From the burnt buildings, shattered windows, empty homes, and bare bones, it was quite clear that should King Auburn Flare recover his birthright, there would be nothing of value to rule…

By the time the party had closed within a few hundred yards of the city, it was dark. Star and moonlight illuminated the path, and the suburbs around Mareposa afforded a measure of cover from any sentries standing watch atop the walls. Holrickendge led them through the damaged roads, coming eventually to a point in the formerly impregnable walls of Mareposa that had been shattered.

Exactly what had been strong enough to break down a solid mass of stone twenty feet thick Wintermail did not know. Perhaps a war-machine, or very powerful magic—though how could minotaurs or earth ponies have done something like that?

The three alicorns crawled over some of the large jagged stones filling the gap. The Mustang youth turned to Stellara, “Kontuyajıratsayıt elirgeyigh, i poltakhajıratsıladz.(Stay in the shadows, and they will not find you.)”

“Wogachıyıl duruvakh röjüppüreyeteyil,(Thank you for all your help,)” the midnight mare said, smiling slightly, “Hö duruyum?(But what of you?)”

“Midenim kelenekpire duruvakh rükeyenelzegek; kontugurnurpa midenim münüshü. Boruk sola; jontam midenimil tsuyul birenziyil muskakıjıksagıladz zesez törez.(My debt to you is repaid; I’m going back to my clan now. Good luck; perhaps our two peoples can learn to share this land.)” Holrickendge looked up at Stellara, the moonlight softly touching her features in the perfect way, periwinkle mane dancing in the breeze. It seemed natural, really, to see her in the night beneath the field of stars.

He shook himself and gently shoved the mare, “Elirgeyesh.(In the dark.)” The alicorns now concealed, the mustang gave a slight bow and turned around, galloping away loud enough to divert attention away from the wall breach.

Stellara made a wistful grin, “I hope he doesn’t get killed…”

The urge to say something snide was strong, but Wintermail swallowed her pride and placed a hoof on her sister’s shoulder. A tender moment later and the three regained their serious composure, well aware they were in the midst of perhaps the most dangerous place for Equestrians—alicorns at that, to be.

Expertly curving through the environment, always staying out of the light, the trio kept all eyes peeled for any sight of movement. Wintermail led the column, deciding that the largest and strongest, not to mention the most vulnerable with her white fur, ought to be at the forefront of any confrontations. Stellara was next, all but invisible with her dark blue coat. Lastly, Henarion was prepared to stave off any pursuers and buy time for his nieces. He however truly hoped that things would not come to that.

Silent and concealed, the party slithered through the winding streets of Mareposa, all empty as the occupiers were likely asleep, drunk, or both. Not a soul was heard beyond the walls, but just to be sure Wintermail paused and focused her magic. Her various trainings had strengthened her abilities, magic chief among them. The more she and her sister practiced spellcraft and exercised with ever more complex and demanding displays of their power, the stronger it became; like any aspect of one’s self, be it body, mind or soul.

And with their far greater lifespans, this gave alicorns an immense potential for sheer power. Now Wintermail was preforming the same feat she’d done many times before; the subtle sensing of magical auras. Every living creature possessed one, perhaps if only minuscule; but it could be detected.

When the white mare had first done the technique, she could barely “see” the Librarian’s very visible and impressive aura. Now a year later she could extend her range a hundred yards, and pick up auras roughly as weak as a small dog.

This would be sufficient. Wintermail detected no creatures in the area—it seemed the entire surrounding blocks were empty. Sustaining the aura-sense for too long caused a crippling headache, and she relaxed the field when the first throbbing began.

“We’re clear for now, but keep quiet, and keep to the darkness,” the Knight whispered, utilizing her slender frame for the utmost stealth. Henarion only trusted her so-called “magical sense” so far, still keeping complete awareness around him and his wards.

Stepping down the pathway, Wintermail took care not to shift or dislodged any sitting rocks or debris. One such object stayed her hoof, and she raised the other to stall her followers. Flaring up her horn with the dimmest of light, the alicorn saw a small shard of pottery, painting with little designs that surely would have made more sense with the entire pot.

Creeping her head inside an open window frame, Wintermail saw a potter’s studio, cupboards and tables broken and splintered. The window shutters hung off their mountings or sat upon the cold stone ground. And further within the shop hundreds of small ceramic chips littered the floor. A latent rage flared again within; this had been somepony’s livelihood, something they and their family had built. Perhaps it hadn’t been much, but it was theirs. And these…savages…these barbarians destroyed it for no other reason than they hated beauty—maybe out of jealousy that their own crafts could never have such skill and polish.

But shops could be rebuilt. What made this sorry sight downright tragic was the owner very likely was deceased.

Wintermail stared at the shop for a few more moments. She’d seen the “fruits” of this great horde; they were awful and terrible, but disturbingly familiar. Why then did the sight of this plundered shop inflame her so? She grew almost disappointed there were no opponents to face in the area.

“What are you waiting for?” said Stellara in a piercing whisper. Wintermail promptly killed the dim light at her horn’s tip and resumed her step.

Against the backdrop of moonlight, the trio could now discern the tall spire of Mareposa’s central stronghold. There was probably the best place to catch a glimpse of what sort of things Equestria could expect. Holrickendge apparently, if Stellara’s translations could be believed, spoke of some arcane and twisted order that inducted mustangs as shamans. They purportedly “use magic like the horned ponies”; quite absurd. What wasn’t so far-fetched but magnitudes more horrifying were the rumors of sacrifice.

The mustang youth’s words were clear enough; even if the rumors of black magic and wicked mages could not be substantiated, it was clear the horde’s relationship with their fell god went far beyond mere divining and theological debate. The shamans intended to draw “Discord” from the underworld, regardless if such a thing were possible or not.

And to do so, as Holrickendge explained, they carved out the hearts of sacrificial victims; no doubt in large part the inhabitants of this poor city.

Coming to an archway linking two adjacent buildings, the three alicorns finally spotted a twinge of torchlight glowing from a narrow alley. Soon they would leave the empty sections, and more inspired tactics would be needed to remain undiscovered. Crossing the street, Wintermail daintily crept to the edge of the building corner that led into the alley. Emanating out her auric senses again, she found only a few still bodies, likely sleeping or in leisure.

Where were all the warriors? The horde allegedly numbered around a hundred-thousand. Now to be sure Mareposa could not comfortably house so many at once, and little satellite camps contained various tribes and clans. Yet, surely there ought to be at least…a dozen in one spot.

Wintermail very low announced her frustrations with the situation. Stellara thought a moment and replied, “Perhaps they’re all…watching something. A game or other spectacle.”

Of course! Wintermail mentally kicked herself for being so oblivious. She knew damn well minotaurs loved their feats of strength, and mustangs archery and racing. But then Wintermail looked up at the sky, “Wait…at night?”

Stellara shrugged with an impatient bite. Wintermail scoffed, but before she could speak a blue glow adhered to the stony walls on the other side of the street. It lasted only a second.

“What was that?” Henarion asked, careful to keep his voice down, “A lightning bolt?”

“No; there wasn’t any thunder, and in that case the storm would be too far away for the lightning to flash like that…,” Wintermail mused.

The three shrugged it off as a chance event of nature and proceeded through the alley. Emerging into a small courtyard, they pushed against the right building, hidden in the shadows beneath the balcony overhead. From Wintermail’s sense those nearby were inside the homes; no need to change that.

The first few blocks offered actually very little different from the outer reaches of Mareposa; really only that the lighter portions were much brighter. The two sisters alternated between utilizing their sense to keep the route safe. Mostly groups of three or four; a couple instances of ten or so. One time, deeper into the heart of the horde’s occupation, a contingent of warriors rushed down a thoroughfare.

The auras were never clear on their race, and what they said could be interpreted as nothing more than faint mumbling. Yet something had alerted their attention. Had the alicorns been discovered, and it was now a race to find them?

Wintermail decided it was too late to turn back. Best to stay hidden for as long as possible.

It now in view, the trio gazed at the large spire. The alicorns knew as they grew closer, the difficulty would rise. How to continue became disputed.

“We’ve been lucky thus far…very soon I think we’ll have to fight our way some,” Henarion voiced, grim-faced.

“We’re in the hornet’s nest. If we become trapped, we might not be able to fight our way out; even with your fancy fire trick, Nikóleva.” Stellara said, less joking than not.

“I’ve been practicing,” the white sister smirked before returning to a serious demeanor. The knight however was disallowed from uttering another word when that same blue glow streaked in the sky. Wintermail’s initial suspicions were confirmed: it was no lightning bolt.

Those were jagged and branching, streaking across the sky like a celestial trickle of water. This was a straight line. Lightning traveled from the clouds to the ground; This very clearly shot upwards into the clear night sky. And lightning made a distinct booming or cracking sound; the only noise this column of eerie blue light produced was a faint and agonizing wail. A creeping current of dread flowed over the alicorns’ bodies, making their hair stand up and a greatly uncomfortable shiver rattle their bones.

Wintermail and Stellara slowly turned their heads to one another, seeing in their eyes the same thought. Simultaneously they rushed, as quickly as could be managed by two large mares who needed to keep each step silent. Looking around to check his rear, Henarion trailed his nieces, now more paranoid than ever.

Thought gave way to instinct when the sisters crept and slithered, following the turns and twists of the alleys. Wintermail periodically pulsed her aura sense, moving all the while. The strange blue beam that shot into the heavens was exactly the sort of thing the trio had wished to see. How long would it last? Would there be a third instance?

Their flight brought the alicorns to a small courtyard, kept in darkness. Yet a glimmer of light caught Wintermail’s eye; pale moonlight reflecting off dozens of tiny, shimmering items. Her curiosity mandated a glance to her right. Finding a slumbering drake, curled atop a mound of some sort of treasure, the mare held up her hoof. With Stellara and Henarion stayed, the knight made a long stride that ended in a noise so soft as to be unheard. The other two copied the motion, gliding without a sound past the dragon.

Such a task was not difficult, and was over with no issue in a few moments. But it proved true the words of that green drake encountered in the forest.

Thought about that could be spared later, though. The trek to the center of Mareposa could not delay. Deeper and deeper, the faint auras of mustangs and minotaurs—presumably that’s what they were, became denser and more frequent, facilitating less direct routes into emptier areas. One gauntlet, however, was guarded by five mustangs, reclining on a small patio. Drinking and laughing as they do, the only option would have been to travel on the wall furthest from them. Yet, by some cruel divine prank that path was bathed in moonlight.

Clearly an alternate approach was required. Wintermail patted her chin with a hoof, “We could…ascend up to the roof, and walk along there. We’d have a wonderful vantage point.”

“We’d be caught dead without anything to hide behind,” Henarion scoffed, “Besides; I wouldn’t trust those shoddy roofs to hold our weight. And I don’t wanna take the chance there being sentries up there.”

“We could fight.”

“You can’t just hack and slash your way out of every dilemma, Nikól. We cannot risk even one raising alarm,” Stellara said, studying the mustangs and their surroundings. “Sometimes one has to act a little more clever…” Scrunching up her face, the midnight alicorn exercised her most potent weapon. Not long afterwards she grinned. Locating a small rock against the base of a nearby wall, Stellara wrapped it in her magic and gently, silently, and low to the ground floated it over to the alley on the right. Losing sight of it, she charged up the telekinesis and threw it as fiercely as she could against that far wall.

It worked precisely as intended. The mustangs all grabbed their swords and rushed to investigate, completely abandoning their patio. Stellara opened her wings and nodded, producing the loud lift-off flap when the shuffling, hoofsteps, and shouting were loudest. The alicorns then darted down to the other side of the street, touching down with an elegant daintiness.

Safely tucked in another dark corridor, Wintermail looked at her sister, “That was rather smart.”

Stellara smiled widely, but Henarion’s gruff voice cut the tender moment, “You two can bond later. Keep moving.”

The mustangs trotted back to their post as the alicorns slipped away. Two city blocks further and on the air voices muddled together in an indistinct ambiance. They’d found the bulk of their army, Wintermail figured. Still hiding in the shadows, the white alicorn used her height to see what awaited in this brightly-lit and full space. Hundreds of ponies and minotaurs crowded past the buildings, fixated on some point that couldn’t be seen from Wintermail’s current position.

A faint scream could be heard, along with…chanting? Moments passed, and the air around the alabaster knight felt charged, causing loose strands of her pink mane to stand up. Then that blue column ejected upwards, howling crackling from the beam. It ceased after a second, accompanied by cheering from the crowd.

Searching the surroundings , Wintermail spotted a nearby multi-story building, the door hanging open on their side. She crept towards it, Stellara and Henarion copying the action when it was certain they would not be caught in any line of sight. Wintermail ducked to allow herself inside.

It looked like an old inn or tavern, but whatever furniture it had contained lay on the ground in splinters and shards. They had come in through the back, and were afforded the luxury of being concealed from the crowd on the other side, lest they seen the entrants through the windows that were no doubt broken.

Producing a faint beacon from her horn, Wintermail led her companions to a staircase. Pressing a hoof on the step, she heard it creak but otherwise remain solid. Sharing an apprehensive glance with her sister, the mare lowered a second hoof on the steps, and then a third and fourth. Carefully she climbed the staircase, her long strides finishing the ascent in a couple steps.

The second story had clearly been the living quarters of its former owner. A small iron stove sat against the wall, its hatch hanging downward from the abuse it had suffered from the invaders. Seat cushions were torn, and claw marks decorated the walls like a vicious mural. Shattered windows gave adequate view of whatever spectacle drew in this crowd and produced that blue light.

However, the room was not unoccupied. A lone spectator, a mustang from the looks of it. Wintermail turned to face down the stairs and held up her hoof. Stellara cocked her eyebrow and stopped. Wintermail gulped and drew her dagger. Closing her eyes, she focused her will and snatched the pony in her embrace, coating his mouth and nostrils with magic. The sickening squelch of her steel slicing his throat, and final convulses of a dying pony, and Wintermail was left with a limp corpse. She set it in a nearby room, unable to not notice it was no mustang; the stripes were unmistakable.

Zebras had come to join the fight, and Wintermail understood their ways enough to deduce they’d brought their giant grey mounts. Perhaps those are what had first broken Mareposa’s walls…

Stellara poked her head out from the stairway. Receiving the signal to advance, the young sister crawled to the building’s edge, lying down so only her head was visible. Wintermail did the same, and Henarion not long after.

From the perfect observation post, the three alicorns took in the scenery. The crowd was arranged in a circle, the inside of which was quite open. In the very center was a stone platform, accented with dull red splotches—easy enough to figure out what those were. Around the rock slab of an altar stood a minotaur dressed in some strange robe embroidered with odd patterns. Around him were mustangs. Stellara identified them as shamans, the feathers on their headdresses and beads hanging from their necks a clear a sign as there ever was. A number of figures stood apart from the crowd; a large minotaur and a couple ponies. They were too far away however to make out any discernible characteristics.

The beating of drums blared, and the crowd formed a pathway from the outside in, allowing a band of warriors to drag some sorry soul to the altar. Screaming and shouting for reprieve, the pony—a yellow unicorn, begged for mercy. A disturbing chant rose from the voices of the crowd, all ignoring the prisoner’s calls.

Gnashing her teeth, Wintermail pieced together the mystery of the city’s inhabitants. Hoof shaking, her magic began to involuntarily engulf Eónadin. Stellara placed a hoof on her sister’s shoulder, “Wait.”

Then in the scene below, a number of dark-colored…pegasi…swooped in and gave the mustang shamans hollowed-out gourds. Stellara looked keenly and realized those pegasi did not have feathers…but instead possessed wings like a bat! They intrigued her, for reasons not quite clear. They deposited the gourds and turned towards the alicorns. Ducking, Stellara then perked up once they'd passed and spared one final look at these unique bat-ponies.

Events below recaptured her attention. The shamans drank from the gourds, seething as one might do so after a very strong liquor. The earth ponies then belted out and opened their eyes, revealing…green light? A violet shroud, not dissimilar to the one Lady Stellara imposed on her sword Ailéránen, wisped backwards like a mantle of energy. The blue mare recalled that day in the Canterlot library…

The shamans put this magic to use and restrained the captive unicorn, violently dragging him through the dirt and across the hard rough stone platform to the altar. Slamming the doomed stallion on the surface, the shamans utilized their power to completely immobilize the victim, his cries for help only ending when they covered his mouth with magic.

The robed minotaur acolyte then approached, brandishing a shiny black rock. Wintermail watched helplessly; she knew what would happen. The poor pony, unable to even scream—he’d die alone, knowing nothing but agony and helplessness. The white mare’s heart pounded, almost trying to break from her ribs. An uncomfortable rawness itched her throat, and Wintermail could not stop trembling with nerves. A cold sweat washed over her, her eyes sore from not blinking. At last she felt a few tears trickle down her cheeks. There was nothing more, in this moment, or any moment before in her life, in which she had felt so torn, so trapped, and so helpless.

She could spread her wings, draw her blade, and save that stallion. It would have been the right thing to do; nopony would have faulted her for saving an innocent from death. A perfect story from the great romances in the library would have its hero save the victim, slay the villain, and live happily ever after.

This was no book. She could charge forwards into the crowd, kill the shamans, kill the minotaur, and spare the unicorn. But then Wintermail would have to contend with the warriors who seemed only to desire destruction and bloodshed, especially when an alicorn was concerned. She maybe could fight them off for a time, slay perhaps a hundred. If she truly pushed herself, Dame Wintermail could even perhaps send a thousand to their maker.

But there’d be more. Wintermail could then run or fly away—a while. One true arrow, and she’d be downed. Snared like an injured bird, the alicorn would most certainly be herself dragged to that altar. The Dame had gone on a mission, upon which a great many ponies depended. Dead, and she’d be no use to anypony. And if she died, what honestly was the chance the same would not befall her sister, or Henarion?

Therefore, against all her instincts, against her base nature to protect and help, Wintermail could not, would not move from her spot. The conflict inside made her sick, and she wanted to at least turn away. Maybe then she might at least pretend the horror to be of a lesser sort. But that would be grandly disingenuous. If she could not save him, or even try, Wintermail owed this nameless, blameless stallion the viewing of his demise. Whatever her reasons for not acting, she would know exactly what remaining in the safety of that house entailed.

“This is what we fight against…” Wintermail whispered.

The horror did not disappoint. Swift and precise the acolyte dug his black knife into the sacrifice’s chest, yanking out his beating heart. Blood trailed from its vessels, and the poor stallion thrashed and wailed as best as his constraints allowed. A terrifying, haunting muffled scream emanated from his agonized form as he arched his back in the slight hope of alleviating pain. The acolyte grinned and spoke vile incantations, holding up the heart.

Stellara covered her mouth, almost unable to process the cruelty. Henarion, having lived a life full of terrible and regrettable sights and deeds, had to take a step back himself, bowing his head and breathing deeply.

The ritual was not finished. The shamans flared their black magic, and summoned rivers of blood from the stallion, leaking onto the platform and curving with its designs. Soon the crimson turned purple then electric blue, and that begrudgingly familiar column pulsed to the heavens in a wicked perversion of the rituals of old.

The mustang shamans then channeled their magic into beams, firing purple streams that soon sprouted tendrils. They enraptured the stallion’s body, drawing from his skeleton flesh, blood, skin, and organs. When it finished, naught was left but bones and the fading chorus of…demons wailing from the depths of Tartarus, or so Wintermail could only imagine.

The light was gone. A few minotaurs approached with baskets and collected the bones to do only God knows what with.

By chance, this happened to be the last sacrifice for the evening. The tall minotaur and his two ponies addressed the crowd with words that were too faint to understand. The alicorns watched the crowd soon shuffle back out. Nothing to do but wait.

Ducked below the windows, the three shared looks of very disturbed individuals. “What was that?? It was…horrifying! I never…even imagined…” Stellara squeaked out between labored breaths.

“What did you bring us to?” Henarion asked Wintermail, his good eye bloodshot and dilated.

Wintermail heaved several times before responding, “If this cannot convince the Congress to act, then nothing will…”

As the crowd grew thin, and the warriors went off to their abodes, the alicorns regained composure, albeit incompletely. Once of sounder mind, it did not take long for the three to realize some creature might be using this building to live in temporarily. That lone zebra might have simply stayed behind to maintain the claim.

At midnight they’d try to leave, with or without any physical evidence; Wintermail would be damned if she stayed here any longer. Once the city was silent yet again, then they’d leave. But before that could happen, a door creaked downstairs and shut. Hoofsteps caused wooden boards to creak, accompanied by a strange language—a form of Zebrican Wintermail spoke a little of.

Backs against a wall, the alicorns drew steel and prepared; it was either one party or the other. The first came up, a tall male, mane proudly worn high like a helmet’s crest. There was nothing now to conceal the alicorns, bathed in moonlight. The stallion shouted in a deep voice, speaking words that summoned his companions from below. The stallion returned his attention specifically to Wintermail.

A single question was asked, with no intent to be understood by the alicorns. The white mare though recognized the meaning. The zebra was calling for his son, voice wracked with panic and despair. Wintermail’s lip quivered, feeling an utterly twisted mess of emotions. Images of every drop of blood she’d spilt in her life, of every soul cleaved from its mortal hold…even to her late father.

She let out a shaky breath and stared down the zebra, who dug at the floor and shot off with a gallop. Tensing her foreleg’s muscles, Wintermail rose her hoof and matched his careening speed with her own. Brute force sent the zebra crashing into the wall, wheezing at several broken bones.

No time lose, Wintermail loomed over him and grasped his head, using magic to cover his mouth while she jerked his neck. The crack sent a shiver through her body, and she let go of his lifeless body. Snapping her vision to the others climbing up the stairs, Wintermail saw Henarion and her sister take their opponents.

Stellara swung down her axe and decapitated one, the momentum of the zebra’s charge causing it to slam into another wall. A third pounced and pinned the blue alicorn, managing a knock to her snout. Magically she brought her axe underneath him and chopped into his belly, the mottled steel making quick work of bone. Blood seeped onto Stellara, staining her fur. The zebra’s face contorted into one final expression of agony and rage. She threw the corpse off, spotting a fourth and final attacker ready to finish his fallen friend’s work.

Henarion thrust forward, impaling the last zebra through his chest. It lost balance and fell down the stairs with a loud thud. Then with magic Henarion brought up his cloak and wiped his niece’s snout, and did the same with the blood on her stomach. Regaining her feet, Stellara located her sister, eyes telling all she needed to know. None of the three felt like remaining in the building any longer; time to escape.

But outside such an action could not be permitted. A ruckus had stirred above the streets, cracking wood and faint grunts coming from the upper story. An orange-brown unicorn and his associates, a tan mustang of great import and a towering silvery-blue minotaur, could not help but notice the commotion.

The mustang shrugged, figuring it must be a dispute between two different races, not altogether uncommon. The minotaur didn’t really care; the night was still young, and a feast awaited him in his new fortress. But the unicorn was of a more savvy and clever sort.

An agent, a spy could have peered on something they should not have. Had they been killed in the struggle? Why take the chance? Charging his horn, the unicorn swept a field of detection magic directed at the building. Three points of highly concentrated and powerful magic came to his sense.

Prince Noblesse Oblige recognized the scent like a red flag. Building up with rage, he endured the stabbing, stinging agony in his forehead. The arcane, ancient cosmic magic inducted into his horn, he stomped a hoof and directed the violet force at the foundations of the building.

Crackles of magical energy snaked up the walls, and soon the supports gave way. A thunderous crash echoed into the plaza as the home’s dislodged pieces piled up in a mound of rubble. Dust exploded forth, obscuring the vision of the Prince, Warchief, and Minotaur King.

When everything had settled, the final splinters of wood finding their place in the rubble, Noblesse spotted the three ponies hovering above. Smoke billowing from his horn, the fatigue of maintaining his connection to the cosmic well proved too great, but he managed to flash it once more, yanking the largest flying one to the ground. Bruised, she was dragged to just a foreleg’s breadth away. The violet shroud vanished, and the green sclera of his red eyes turned white once more.

“You,” he grimaced, wrapping a fetlock to catch hold of her pink mane.

Stellara and Henarion landed, brandishing weapons and readying to fight as much and far as they could. Wintermail though stood in shock, staring at the sight of that miserable pony whom had just done her harm. The alicorn grit her teeth and flashed her horn, conjuring up a slight pulse of magic that knocked the Prince back.

Furious, Wintermail drew her sword and ignited it with her magical flame. “Noblesse, I spare to call you Prince, you’ve cast your lot in with these villains! You have betrayed your people; sentenced them to destruction!”

The unicorn hobbled back to his feet, cracking his neck, “I’ve made the greatest sacrifice for them, and blackened my soul.” A resurged wave of energy crackled in his horn, the purple shroud returning; time to see how far he could go. “And I will not allow three alicorns to ruin everything!”

He fired an unstable beam of magic, arcing from horn to Wintermail in an erratic fashion. Simultaneously she channeled a cascade of fire to reduce the traitor to cinders. Both met halfway, and overpowered the other. The attacks dissipated in a fierce, orange-purple blast, and the two combatants were thrown backwards with titanic force.

Picking herself up, Wintermail readied for a second attack, but shifted her attention when the blue minotaur caught her vision—the very one who had nearly killed her over a year ago. He grinned and laughed, helping Noblesse up and slapping him on the back.

“You find her! Now at last, I can finish what I started!” King Aurýx said, a cruel smile preparing him for glorious sport.

Of all the minotaurs she could have encountered, it had to be him. Surprised, Wintermail slowly narrowed her eyes and prepared her stance. The alicorn had done a lot of growing since she last saw this creature. She’d learned quite a bit, and was now ready to put it into practice. There would be no humiliations tonight.

Noblesse drew his own blade and cantered forward, eager to murder this damn alicorn. A large hand stopped him and held him in place. “No,” the minotaur commanded, readying his glaive, “She is mine.”

The Prince was not happy, but could not object much to his new ally. He acquiesced through gritted teeth and turned his sickly green eyes towards the nearest other alicorn: Lady Stellara. Noblesse Oblige anticipated little with her; he would be sorely mistaken.

Meanwhile, the minotaur king stepped slowly, savoring each moment of the dread building in Wintermail. But to his displeasure, the alicorn did not display any fear or apprehension. Surely after their last encounter this pony goddess would be hesitant to fight. Instead, she held herself with the dignitas and honor of a Canterlot Knight. She snorted and waited for an opening, spotting the long white trinket around his neck, “I want my horn back.”

As the Heir of the Alicorns and the Minotaur King clashed, Noblesse rushed Stellara with his sword. She caught it with her axe and great sword, knocking her opponent’s weapon to the ground. He retaliated with a pulse of dark magic, thrusting the blue mare across the ground. Yet she held fast and rushed to attack.

And lastly, Warchief Jasicus brandished his curved saber and singled out the orange alicorn too left without opponent. The one-eyed stallion noticed and responded with his own great sword. Jasicus gave a slight bow and took stance. The twang of metal echoed as they locked blades.

Wintermail studied the minotaur’s steps, slow and careful as they were. Raising her wings and fanning them out, she calculated the perfect opener. Flapping her mighty white feathers back, the alicorn propelled herself at a speed far too great for most opponents to counter.

King Aurýx was different. He managed to catch Eónadin’s steel with his glaive, using the polearm to leverage Wintermail’s path away from him. She landed gracefully, twisting her momentum and engaging again. And once more the bull caught her blade, moving with her trajectory to prevent the far stronger metal of Eónadin from slicing his glaive in two. This time however the flames of her magical sword singed the top of his fur.

He grinned, patting down the smoking hairs. Then Aurýx stamped with his hoof and executed his own offensive. With blinding and almost supernatural speed the minotaur slashed and stabbed and parried. And with equally mystical talent Wintermail caught and redirected each maneuver. Side guards, hanging guards, close guards…he was not able to strike the Flamecaster.

And King Aurýx could not have asked for better.

Stellara and Noblesse fought with great ferocity. His sword strikes could not match the alicorn’s sheer reach and versatility with two weapons, but performing a relentless assault of his dark magic bursts he ensured Stellara was perpetually on the defensive. Ailéránen’s magical shroud absorbed and batted away the pulses and beams, but the Prince of Trottingham showed no signs of letting up.

The cosmic energy coursing from his horn into the rest of his body felt…intoxicating. Every attack, every shield conjured…the sensation of some part of him burning away like an impurity, only to be replaced by something…stronger. The pain…the pleasure…it all merged into mere…sensation.

Enraged and filled with lust for battle, Noblesse felt no ache in his mind. In truth, any more exposure and it could have been fatal. Sheer force of will kept the poison from claiming him all at once. He could recover at its end; now was the time to enjoy such power.

Emanating overpowering magic, an arc of purple lightning sparking from his horn at erratic intervals, Noblesse trained his green eyes on Stellara and cackled. She responded with a sneer, along with a leap that saw her two weapons take subsequent slashes at her opponent. He parried both, the great sword with a magic shield and the axe with his own sword. But he was momentarily vulnerable, and Stellara galloped and bashed into him, throwing him onto the ground.

He managed to throw up only the merest of defensive shields when Stellara towered over the Prince and sent a thunderstorm of lightning from Ailéránen. Her horn had been charged to the point of smoking at the conclusion of the channeling, and Noblesse was reduced to a smoldering body, jolting at the last couple arcs of lightning.

He rose though, the dark magic repairing some of the worst damage; it would not let its host die. He prepared to engage the blue alicorn, but spotted the white one with the minotaur king.

Aurýx had managed a shallow cut on Wintermail, and she nicked his leg; such was the extent of their combat. The minotaur though became too overzealous, and stabbed down his glaive, missing the alicorn entirely, and giving her an opening. Folding her hind legs as tightly as they could go, she sprung forward and slammed into Aurýx with such force they both went tumbling backwards. But Wintermail could fly, and she salvaged her fall and lifted into the air, readying her flaming sword.

Pushing her magical channeling to the limit, the knight focused solely on the fire. Noblesse saw this spell about to be cast down on his ally, and made a choice. He sidestepped Stellara’s slash and jumped in the way of Wintermail fire-burst, holding it for a fraction of a second in his magical field before directing it back to one of the building lining the plaza.

It burst into flames, the stone melting down in a glowing mass of plastic rock. Wintermail heaved, trembling from the spell. She’d made a gamble and lost. The Minotaur rose up and beat his chest with a fist at Noblesse, who couldn’t respond in time before Stellara’s Ailéránen swung down to cleave his skull in two. The Prince caught it with his sword, but the force and make of the alicorn blade shattered Noblesse’s weapon.

Dumbstruck, the Prince was saved when Aurýx drew a sword from his belt—one he had been carrying as a sidearm.

It was Hordebreaker, the heirloom sword of the Mareposan Kings, and Aurýx’s war-trophy. “It might last a little better,” the Minotaur King shouted before trying to find Wintermail. He turned around and saw her galloping to the altar, sword ready to slice through it. “No! You will ruin everything!”

Aurýx ran after her, tackling the mare and proceeding to begin punching her in the face. Wintermail was no less vicious in the brawl, proving to be perhaps the only opponent he’s ever encountered strong enough to compete in melee. Now realizing at last he might not be able to hold her down forever, Aurýx called out to the shamans standing by the temple platform, heretofore watching the fight. “No time! Complete the ritual! Summon—“ his speech was cut off when Wintermail swung him downwards; now the alicorn was on top, smashing her hooves down on his chest.

The shamans looked at the minotaur acolytes, sharing glances of fear and concern. Tender was needed for the ritual, and it seemed there was no time to retrieve any prisoners from the cells. Upon their faces the same thought emerged…but which one of them would it be?

An auburn minotaur rose and nodded to his compatriots, then led the procession to the altar. Wintermail, in between giving and receiving blows with the Minotaur, saw the wicked clergy begin the ritual once more. Eyes widened in horror, she shouted after a rather exceptional left hook to Aurýx, “Taberanyn! We cannot let them finish! Stop it!”

"Yes, Sister!” the blue mare yelled in reply, parrying a slash from Noblesse’s new alicorn steel sword. Her axe Nocadecoë was made of a weaker substance, and would likely break under further direct contact. Therefore she led with Ailéránen and assisted with the axe, trying to leverage Hordebreaker from the Prince’s magical grasp. It glowed an intense green, the dark cosmic energy pulsating like a corrupted wound.

Stellara saw his bright eyes, cancerous and manic. There remained only the desire to defile and destroy within him. If even only one alicorn died by his hoof, he’d become that much closer to his perfect world. He charged his body with magic and slammed into Stellara, knocking her onto the dirt. Winded, she couldn’t stop him from pinning her. The foul unicorn grinned and bared his teeth; a ravenous predator standing over his kill.

But Lady Stellara would not go quietly. If today she were to fall and breathe her last, it would not be without dragging this unfortunate bastard with her. Her eyes trained on the altar, and already the minions were beginning the sacrifice. As Stellara turned her gaze back to Noblesse, she thought. Nikóleva was counting on her to stop that unnatural and putrid ritual. Untold numbers had suffered, and whatever this horde had conspired to pull forth could only be an unimaginable terror.

All of Equestria depended on this mission, more than perhaps they even knew. And Taberanyn would not let her sister down. “Taby!” she heard further away, coming from the dusty pile that was Wintermail and the minotaur king. Her will was now arrayed, and heaven alone could move it. Drawing from the stores within her, Stellara concentrated that magic in her horn. Throbbing, bursting…it energized her entire body long enough to utterly throw Noblesse twenty feet away.

Stellara’s eyes glowed an overpowering searing white, and she spoke with a voice like a chorus of gods, “Tremble, pray, plead…you’ve committed the crimes of treason against Equestria. By resolve of Lady Stellara Nightwrath, you shall become but memory.”

Prince Noblesse indeed trembled, but raised Hordebreaker to catch Stellara’s great sword. So full of power, Ailéránen made contact with the steel and forced it away, her sword’s tip sinking just below Noblesse’s skin. He wailed in pain before readying another burst from his horn.

But the blue alicorn was drawing her entire body’s worth of magic, comparable to the cosmic potential of a Tulicë; how mighty could the mare have been if she could summon the alicorn magic? The two locked horns, and Stellara won. Overcharged, Noblesse’s horn fizzle out, leaving him temporarily powerless. He writhed in impotence, spitting at his vanquisher.

She raised her axe, but not in time.

Off away on their own, the Great Warchief of the Mustangs and that old alicorn Henarion had been fighting. Their engagement was not marked by fancy displays of magical talent or supreme feats of physical capacity; rather, it was a pure duel of steel and mettle. Both were quick and skillful. For each’s age, they kept up remarkably well, and managed to catch one another with their blades.

Their own tasks were simply to prevent the other from joining the fray with the others. And they performed spectacularly. It was an elegant dance, almost rehearsed; every strike one made the other countered with little event. But sooner or later one had to emerge victorious.

Unless an interruption came. Warchief Jasicus saw his ally Noblesse defenseless against a raging alicorn goddess. He would surely die. Thinking only once, the earth pony broke off from fighting Henarion and galloped straight into Stellara, knocking her off balance and causing her to lose focus on her intense magic.

Henarion cared not a bit for this, and immediately uppercut to the chief, who performed a stunning hanging guard. Their dance continued.

Noblesse Oblige felt awfully ill, the effects of such prolonged use of alicorn magic creeping in with aching viciousness. He placed a hoof on his mouth and regurgitated the contents of his stomach. Weak and struggling to even stand, he was an open target.

But so was Stellara. She’d exhausted her magical reserves, and without the anaesthetizing effects of magical energy her bruises soon caught up with the mare. She spotted the altar, and the minotaur sacrifice laying on the stone, chest cut open. The shamans were conjuring up their violet beams, and the blue light was shining upwards.

Caught between finishing off Noblesse or stopping the ritual…Wintermail’s faint cries pushed Stellara towards the latter. Galloping as well as she could in her state, Stellara brandished her sword and decapitated a shaman. The remaining ones pounced at her, collectively knocking her back with magic she couldn’t defend against right now.

“Won…wonderful…,” she managed between wheezing coughs when she saw the Prince trying to fight her some more. Ailéránen could use more exercise…

Wintermail and Aurýx continued to brawl. She’d lost track of her sword, and couldn’t spare a moment to sense for it. The crude tumbling and trashing of their fight however did bring her in view of it. Attempts to grab it kept being interrupted by Aurýx, but Wintermail always retaliated with extreme ferocity.

Both battered and bruised, their attacks lost some of the dazzling speed of which they’d become characterized. Finally however Wintermail got a chance to bring Eónadin to her grasp, and with her fetlock curled around its bejeweled hilt she swung the blade down to drink minotaur blood.

Aurýx used his bare hands to grab the steel, accelerated just too little so as to not slice through his bones. Wintermail pushed down with all her might, but the King returned the effort. Then she tried to use magic and move his arms, but he held fast. Struggling and getting tired very quickly, Aurýx thought for another solution.

Wintermail forbade the chance, and channeled some of her remaining magic into Eónadin, bringing back the fiery shroud for a few moments. It was enough to inflict severe burns on the Minotaur. It backfired, however, and Aurýx redirected his pain into an additional boost of strength, throwing the sword and Wintermail a few feet away.

Both breathed heavily, covered in bruises, blood dripping from their snouts. Aurýx smiled and limped closer. “Whoever dies tonight, the other had to earn; eh, Kiathōné?”

The alabaster alicorn breathed in deeply and corralled her anger into more production energy, “Don’t call me that.” Such a crude, uncouth, disrespectful word was not becoming of a Knight of Canterlot.

A blast of red misty air shot from his snout, “Oh I can do much worse, Kia—“ when in a renewed inspiration of purpose and resolve Wintermail burst forwards and wrapped her foreleg around his right horn. It was long, thick, and proud…but the knight was able to use it as a point to swing him all the way around her. At the end of the circle, she suddenly jerked back.

Aurýx’s momentum however did not allow him to stop with his horn. It was sheared off, and Aurýx was left on the ground coming to terms with his deformity. A minotaur may have as many scars as they earn; proud marks of war and glory. But no creature, pony or otherwise, is to touch a bull’s horns.

“Fair’s fair,” Wintermail mocked. Aurýx bellowed and charged forward; the mare smirked. As he was about to descend upon the alicorn, she rolled onto her back and curled her legs. Wintermail bucked him in the chest, sending the bull flying twenty feet overhead before he crashed onto the ground. Hobbling back to his hooves, he immediately had to support himself with a hand while he used the other to clutch his side. He looked absolutely furious.

Shaken of that monster, Wintermail galloped to finish the business of the altar. One shaman was dead, but the rest focused on their hellish task. Brandishing her great sword, the alicorn cut down one mustang with no incident, and then an acolyte. After facing the Minotaur King, no opponent could prove as great a challenge.

The shamans flared their magic and restrained Wintermail. She was becoming tired, and couldn’t shake off the hold quick enough. The auburn minotaur sacrifice was nothing but bones when she could move freely again. The alicorn impaled another servant of evil, ready to slay a fourth.

Then Aurýx, an eternal foe by this point, grabbed her pink tail and swung her around like she had done him. “You cannot stop the new age!”

“Taby!” Wintermail wailed, fighting off the minotaur’s blows. Lady Stellara wiped the blood from her lips and walked away from Prince Noblesse’s beaten body. Before she even reached the altar, though, one more shaman had succumbed. The alicorn magic required for this fell perversion of nature took its fatal toll; they were not supposed to perform any more sacrifices tonight.

Collapsing as bloody cracks opened in his face, the dying shaman’s last act was to slow down Stellara. Once free, she impaled the final minotaur acolyte; leaving only one shaman to complete the ritual.

She stared at him like an angry goddess; like one of those above who had condemned Discord to an eternity of suffering. And now she could not abide their trying to free him. Completing the ritual required a living body—the corpses around them would not do. But the shaman was all who was left…

He figured it out, and faced the goddess with grand resolve. The shaman, a tawny aged stallion, hair grey with the stress of time and work, gave himself to the power flashing in his eyes. An earth pony was never meant to wield magic like so, but he’d learned and now was about to perform the most fateful deed since the Elder Days. It was all for a purpose…

Letting the cosmos empty its store into him, he held Stellara in place, her thrashes amounting to naught. The shaman, Oratargın, trotted over to the altar; his body would last less than minute under the intensified strain of alicorn magic. He grabbed the stone dagger and lay on the altar, trembling as he did. One final sacrifice, one final pain…this was for his people, for the mustangs and their new home. For every foal that died in the winter from cold and hunger…for every youth who died on a raid just so his clan could have enough food…it was promised Discord could help…

Crying out, Oratargin plunged the black obsidian knife into his chest, arcane magic the only thing keeping him conscious, and indeed alive. With zealous devotion he endured the precedentless hell of carving out his own heart.

Stellara saw it for herself, in all its gruesome detail. To watch it from a distant building was horrible in itself, but up close… The midnight mare knew her dreams would be haunted by this for some time to come. Shouting feverishly she tried to break the mustang’s hold on her. His fading life however soon lessened the magic restraint, and she broke free.

Wintermail now had finally placed the minotaur on his back, and sent two high-power jabs at his face. Too battered to rise up, Aurýx did nothing as the now-free white alicorn galloped to the altar.

The sisters caught sight of one another and each sent a beam of magic at the blue energy column, now mixed with the purple crackles of the shaman’s spell. It was no use; when their shots hit the column it bit back with a zap at their feet. Only barely did they manage to avoid the shock.

Wintermail then raised her sword, “Stand back, Stellara!” The primordial steel of Eónadin cut through the magic right as the last of the mustang’s flesh and skin were drawn into the stream. Arcs of pure energy spread from the path cut by the Royal Sword, and when it bit the slab of the altar, the stone cracked like a dried riverbed in the summer sun.

The explosion threw the alicorns back to where they had been at the start of the battle. Wintermail painfully stood up, wincing at every motion of her body. Stellara did the same, retrieving her weapons and dreading the current state of affairs. Aurýx and Noblesse recovered just enough to join the onlookers to where the temple had been.

Henarion and Jasicus, still locked in their duel, ceased hostilities when the shattered rubble of the altar had a blue glowing orb above it.

Wintermail’s pupils became pinpricks, “No…”

The Minotaur King made an evil, toothy grin, “Too late!”

The blue orb then enlarged and morphed into a cube. As it grew ever bigger, a second cube appear inside, the vertices of both becoming linked. Then in a manner that defied natural law, it…”turned” in such a way that the inner cube emerged on the outside and the outer shrunk in. From one of the ever-shifting faces of the...shape, a slithering white…clay? Some alien form escaped, rapidly becoming something more identifiable.

The white substance twisted and flattened, elongating and curling. Soon it took the shape of a skeleton…like a dragon? Pony? Maybe even minotaur? With bones, the new presence grew organs and then muscles and veins and sinews. Within a few minutes it had skin. Then it grew both hair and scales.

What finally revealed itself in the plaza before six shocked individuals was a chimera, a mix of creatures so eclectic it was if somepony had rolled a die to determine what each part of it would be. Without reason, without rhyme, without meaning…the arrangement was truly bizarre. A grey equine head atop a brown serpentine body ending in a scaly red tail and a little tuft of white fur. It did not match; the being was not symmetrical. Atop its head were adornments, one an antler and the other a gnarled horn. The left foreleg of a bird…the right of a…lion? A left hindleg ending in a hoof, the other like a green dragon’s. It flapped two tiny wings, a left blue bird’s and a right purple bat’s.

Upon its chin was a slender white beard. A lone fang hung from its lips. And beneath two bushy white eyebrows were yellow eyes of differing size and shape. Its red pupils suggested many things…the clearest mania and malice.

Lording over the plaza, the otherworldly creature breathed in, spreading out its arms. “Yes!!” it screamed, voice rising into a cackle as thunder and lightning appeared out of nowhere.

Tartarus had been no fun…and here was a whole world full of toys to play with…

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

“We had failed,” Celestia muttered, taking ample pause. Frowning as she gazed into the fire, the Princess of Day listened to the faint scribblings Twilight Sparkle made in her book. Only when it stopped did Celestia continue. Downing a full glass of water to refresh her throat, the white alicorn spoke again, “Luna and I looked at the fiend crawling out of that doorway, assembling itself with all the matter captured from those poor victims. Arcane and primal magic was needed to draw Discord forth, and only the same could send him back. We knew not how to wield such power…we did not know what we could even do…

“Beaten and bruised, blood dripping from our wounds, my sister and I simply stared in disbelief and shame. With the cruel and terrifying horrors suffered to bring Discord from the other side…what now could transpire with him in our realm?”

Twilight gulped, feeling a looming sense of dread, “What happened next? What did he do?”

Princess Celestia cocked her head and simply met the lavender winged unicorn’s eyes for about ten seconds. Then her downturned mouth curled into a coy smile, “That’ll have to wait until next time.”

“What?? You can’t stop right there!” Twilight Sparkle shouted a little louder than she meant to, “I…I…I must know!” The filly began stressing out; Celestia felt a little bad about finding her protégé’s current state even a tiny bit humorous.

“It’s very late,” Celestia said, glancing at the clock. “This last part went on a little longer than I intended…memories tend to come back at inconvenient times,” she giggled and went over to her desk. Magically unlocking a box on top, she pulled a small sheet of paper and levitated on her reading glasses.

Twilight Sparkle raised an eyebrow and lightly chuckled under her breath; Celestia took more than a second to adjust her spectacles. “Perhaps it’s time for a visit to the optometrist?”

“Don’t be absurd! I just needed to find the proper focal length.” Celestia cleared her throat and looked over the page, “It would appear we’ve reached the…halfway point on my story outline.”

“You wrote an outline?”

“Of course! I need to keep to a basic structure—there is a method to all this, Twilight.”

“Could I see it?”

Celestia replaced the sheet and locked the box, “You wouldn’t want to spoil anything, would you?” The purple mare huffed. “Now; off to bed. Tomorrow I’d like to take a break from this story…relax and focus on more pleasant things.”

Twilight groaned, but as she accepted Celestia’s wish she procured a second thought, “I could use that time to look over my notes and clear up any questions I have.”

The Princess’ ears drooped and she scrunched her face, “Yeah...yes that’s…right.”

Bright-faced and with a spring in her step, cheery Twilight Sparkle trotted out of the lower apartment’s living room and into the bedroom. At Celestia’s behest the lavender pony took the actual bed, while the white Queen opted to just remain on the couch—it was a gesture of kindness she didn’t mind making, and the couch would be comfortable enough. Twilight finally agreed to the arrangement about an hour before.

Celestia would stay up for a little while longer; a few missed hours of sleep never hurt her. The fire was dying down, and she’d refrain from adding any more logs. A faint laugh escaped her lips; right now she felt as though she were back over a millennium before, her sword and armor against the wall.

In the morning the Prince of Canterlot would summon her to court and she’d lead some sortie for the defense of the realm. She sighed, finally recalling that his duties had becomes hers long ago. He was deceased, passed away from the troubles of this mortal world—lucky bastard, singing and laughing with the angels above.

It was bittersweet embarking on this recollection of her past with Twilight. Filled with tragedy and sadness, but also adventure and good friendship. Perhaps most were no longer here to laugh and drink with her, but they could at least live on in the stories she told. It really was the least she could do for many of them.

Wintermail Flamecaster was now but a memory, but Celestia knew well memories were powerful things. Perhaps sometime soon she could visit those old places…reconnect with her past in a way simple storytelling could not.

And outside, underneath the starry sky, a dark blue alicorn perched herself atop the highest spire of Canterlot. Currently allowed some time to herself before returning to duties, Princess Luna gazed up at her bright full moon—well not quite full. Her mind alone, Luna thought of Celestia and all the things they’d endured together. The memories of long-lost friends and allies were still fresh in her mind; the events of a thousand years before felt just as they had the day after.

The most painful memories did not dim with the passage of time…uniquely so for her.

Princess Luna spotted a lone courtier canter out onto the castle wall, clearly looking for her. Spreading her broad wings she leapt from the spire and swooped down, ready to resume the work of royalty.

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 9. A Different Sort of Cruelty

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 9. A Different Sort of Cruelty

Princess Celestia echoed a low groan, letting the pages of brief gently land on her desk. Levitating off her reading glasses, the Sovereign of Equestria eyed the document once more, gazing at that long solid black line for far too long. A piece of legislation had been prepared for her by the Office of the Royal Cabinet, approved by Parliament. All she had to do was sign.

Celestia grumbled some more; she did not like the words on this piece of paper. She did not like the coalition of representatives that had drafted it. Many of their ringleaders irked her to no end. And of course she especially despised the Members who agreed to the vote against their purported alignments.

She began tapping her hoof on the desk, staring at her pen’s nib. The proper thing, the expected thing would be sign the paper. Celestia could not in good conscience do so; as she saw it, to endorse this sort of policy would betray her vows as Queen…sacred and inviolable vows made long ago, but still just as relevant and revered. No…no a memorandum would do. Taking a clean sheet, Celestia gracefully composed a short statement in her beautiful writing clearly outlining the Crown’s stance on such a bill.

Centuries had eroded the preeminence of the Sovereign in Equestrian government, but Celestia still had the right to dissent.

Drying the ink with a gentle blow, Celestia folded the page and placed it within an envelope. Marking the hot wax with a royal seal, she then placed the memorandum on the top of a small stack of correspondences. Properly addressed, the letter along with the bill would first thing in the morning find themselves on the Royal Secretary’s desk to be typed and presented to Parliament.

And if by some chance the serpents conspired to overrule her royal veto, then a few more…calculating maneuvers could be made.

The alabaster alicorn sighed, taking a moment to reminisce. The tellings of tales of past deeds and adventures, of the days when nobles wielded swords and Princes led armies…a bitter nostalgia crept up to annoy Celestia further. It took another moment to remind herself she did in fact enjoy her work as the ruler of Equestria, and would be lying if politics did not intrigue her in ways few other things could. She had spent the last thousand years tirelessly serving her ponies and country, and if she should find herself with a thousand more, Celestia would continue with the same toil.

Still…as her eyes wandered to the elegant but dormant furnishing of Eónadin on her chamber’s wall, Celestia got the oddest thought that the sword itself might be a tad restless. Swords and lances have since given way to cannon and powder; intimate workshops to vast mechanical manufactories.

A cruel laugh left her lips: a mare of the Old World was perhaps being slowly left behind by the newer one she helped create…

A knock at the door broke her brooding. “Please come in,” Celestia responded, internally elated—she knew who it was, and was excited to distance her attention from the droll proceedings of state.

And naturally through the opened door trotted that little purple winged unicorn. Bright-eyed, grinning and brandishing her ever-trusty tome and quill. She made herself comfortable, as Twilight was wont to do after four nights of this routine.

“Please excuse me, Twilight; I have just a little more work to finish before we can begin,” Celestia mentioned as she looked over a few dispatches from various ministers.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” the lavender pony said, herself looking down at that book, “I can do some adjustments here. And….here.” After that, faint etchings of pens controlled the ambience of the room.

Sealing the last envelope and closing her message box, Celestia removed her spectacles and retired from the work of statecraft for the night. She then allowed herself a small glass of wine, offering a measure to her protégé. Twilight of course respectfully refused, the younger mare preferring her mind as sharp as possible.

Loosened up and a little happier now, Celestia sat herself on that large reclining pillow. Stretching out her great white wings, the Princess groaned in a quiet relief.

“Lovely day out, wasn’t it?” Celestia asked, referring to their morning activities. With a mind to enjoy a little bit of leisure, the two had caught Princess Luna at the tail end of her “watch”, convincing the dark alicorn with minimal effort to postpone her retirement to bed.

Because around ten o’clock that morning the three opted to go bowling, and Luna loved bowling. Some months ago Celestia’s sister had gone to Ponyville and joined Twilight Sparkle and her friends’ team at their behest. And the lanes were a perfect place for Luna to retreat should she find herself with little to do during the quiet night.

Princess Luna learned the rules quickly, and developed a talent for the game. Armed with her own custom dark-blue bowling ball and wearing the shirt that Rarity had made, Luna undoubtedly commanded the two games they had played that morning. She’d even managed to score a triple-strike—a turkey in the parlance of bowling.

Twilight Sparkle did well enough; she too donned the trappings of her team and competed with her own ball. Celestia however had not bowled since…well wooden balls and dirt lanes were used. A minor quip about the “Gutter Queen” was muttered by a certain somepony, and Celestia’s place was a distant and faint third.

Nevertheless, Celestia did not mind; she’d gone to have fun, not to win. Centuries of hard life experience taught her that one didn’t have to come in first all the time—just most of it. Besides, Luna finally got a chance to shine. Once the midnight Princess overcame the whispers and watchings of ponies surprised by their rulers coming down to their level and doing an activity as mundane as bowling, Luna glided gracefully into her status as champion, dazzling onlookers with strikes and even a pickup of the dreaded seven-ten split.

Celestia spotted several times her baby sister get the most adorable smile—three gutter balls was worth that.

And between frames, Twilight was able to engage in her studies of alicorn. It really amazed Celestia, truly, how intelligent her student was. With an iron will and determination, Twilight could put her study skills to the task of learning just about anything.

Armed with probably the only Equestrian-Alicorn dictionary ever published and an alicorn grammatica actually written in that ancient bygone tongue, Twilight progressed through her studies with great earnest; in addition to all her other duties and obligations.

Consonant mutations appeared to still give Twilight a measure of trouble, but…foal steps.

At the conclusion of their two games, the trio retreated to a nearby ice cream parlor. When that was finished, Luna finally bid Celestia and Twilight farewell and went to bed, spirit light with fond memories just made. Twilight trotted off to the castle library, while Celestia was left with a “free day”. She’d informed the castle staff that she intended to take a personal day, but after an hour or so of light reading the Princess became bored and restless. That same fiery energy that enabled her to lead vast armies and rouse whole lands to her banner in olden days still burned.

So it was back to ruling, and making appearances, and signing orders. But that was all over for today.

Twilight placed down her cup of water, using the lull in pleasant conversation as an opportunity to title the newest page in her book. With her big violet eyes shining, the winged unicorn gazed up at Celestia, prepared to etch away as the first words left the alicorn’s lips.

“Right,” Celestia began, a twisted half-smile forming at her mouth, “I should get to it, then.”

Almost by habit, Celestia placed her hoof over the little silver necklace she always wore, fiddling with the ancient sun cross. A wave of unease and hesitation found the solar diarch. She was stalling; she knew where the story was. There had been much unpleasantness thus far...time to dive back into those hostile waters.

“There we stood: myself, Luna, and our Uncle, along with the three leaders of the Great Horde. Before our eyes was a sight that had not graced this world for millennia; a fell being bonded in flesh that had shattered the very foundations of civilization in his day.

“It slithered, it writhed. It cackled and grinned. A whole world set before it, before Discord, a being that saw all creation as mere entertainment. A cruel child playing cruel games, yet wielding a power only those of the soberest discipline should have the right to.”

Twilight didn’t blink as she wrote down her notes. She didn’t speak or interrupt or even lay in a snide comment. A growing sense of both dread and anticipation squeezed her heart. Discord had been malicious when Twilight had met him—in that brutish age of Celestia’s prime, what sort of monster could he have been?

“At the moment Discord was freed from the depths of the underworld, no longer a mere wraith of passive influence, the War for Harmony had begun. How it could be won…none of us knew. A god had emerged and declared for our enemies. The ponies of Equestria had no such aid. Allfather did not come; the champion of the gods Lionheart did not come to finish what he’d started in the myths.

“Nor even did the Alicorn God, that peculiar formless and nameless concept, raze the sea or crack the earth as it had done in our stories. And as I looked into Discord’s eyes, I realized…what could mere mortals do against a god who had existed longer than the ground I stood upon?

“What hope was left for us?”

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

The serpentine fiend hovered over the plaza, surveying what was to become the epicenter of its new dominion. Touching down with nothing but the dainty sound of his claws hitting stone, Discord spread out his mismatched arms wide and proud to receive the adulations of a thousand devotees.

It had been quite the journey, but after so many tortured souls selflessly gave their precious flesh, Discord could finally feel the ground beneath his feet. He relished each slow, plodding step as he awaited the impending cheers for his glorious return.

He paused, raising an eyebrow. A snap of bird-like fingers caused his ears to grow large; had voices become higher in the millennia he’d been gone from the mortal world? A few moments later he discovered that they had in fact not. Discord frowned, taking note of the six individuals cowering before him.

Quite the welcome: a large minotaur and five little ponies. Discord rolled his asymmetrical eyes, “Where is everyone?”

The voice wasn’t laced with a cold brooding tone, but instead an affable and jovial sort. The six were thrown aback by the unexpected turn. A dread god was envisioned to be a tad more…covered in blood? Wrapped in iron chains? Wielding unfathomable horrors? They did not know how to think…

“I did not disappoint, I hope,” Discord added, arms crossed and foot tapping.

None responded. Frustrated, the great Draconequus leaned in closer to the minotaur. A slight tremble captured the bull. Discord curled his index finger and let go, thumping King Aurýx on the head like a misbehaved child. “I find your behavior very rude.”

Aurýx immediately dropped to his knees, groveling with a mark of humility heretofore thought incapable of the minotaur. “Forgive me, Great Discord!”

“Hmmmm…,” the fell god replied, stroking his chin, “I’m not sure. Your crimes warrant a fitting punishment. Should I burn you at the stake?” A snap of his fingers, and a wooden stake appeared over a fire pit, Discord holding a lit torch. “Or flay you alive?” A second click and he instead was holding a giant razor blade. “Ooooh, how about boiling??” and a clap signaled a bubbling black cauldron of pitch sitting before the minotaur, its immense heat radiating harshly onto his skin.

Shaking, terrified, and utterly without words, Aurýx was about to lose all his composure. Then Discord dispersed the conjured pot and burst into a giant guffaw. A forceful smack to the bull’s back knocked him over. As he hobbled back to a kneeling position, the shrunken king let out nervous laughter.

“We all went through a lot of trouble for me to be here tonight; how about that welcoming?” The minotaur nodded and grabbed the signaling horn hanging from his belt. He blew in it, and the sound alerted the warriors now comfortably in their lodgings for the night. A second boom, and they began to wander outwards into the area of the plaza.

Minotaurs, mustangs, thestrals, zebras, and even dragons all marched in, clad in a panoply of adornments and equipment. Most had been roused from their slumber, and could not have been more irritated. Low grumbles and faint complaints whisked about, dozens asking in their manifold tongues what had prompted this disturbance.

The queries and frustrations died when the horde wandered into that open plaza, presented by the towering sight of something none had ever seen before. A thousand brisk paces cooled to a lumbering awe. When the first ranks reached their leaders kneeling before the newly-retrieved god, they followed the gesture, and like a wave the warriors moved forward and then low, showing due reverence to their begotten Deliverer.

Giddy, Discord smiled widely at the love and appreciation he was being shown. Unable to contain his excitement, the god clapped his hands together and began giggling. “Thank you so much for joining us tonight!” he spoke in a curiously sincere tone, “I’m sure you must all be rather confused.”

Snapping all his fingers in a bizarre cascade that should have been impossible, Discord acquired a new outfit. An earth green minstrel’s costume covered his long winding body, complete with giant pleated trousers, jingly shoes, and a gaudy hat with an oversized feather. A clap later, and he conjured up a golden lyre, wholly different and unique from the kind any had seen before.

Instead of a simple frame tied with strings, Discord’s lyre by conviction had to curve and curl and twist upwards into a ridiculous parody of instrument-craft. The strings too could not simply travel down one end of the frame to the other; instead they had to draw shapes and patterns. Discord began to strum it, producing a sweet progression of notes that exemplified the good theory of concordant music.

That would not do. Wiggling his fingers into the strings, Discord caught a few and began to twirl them into proper tune. He then split his avian fingers like the branches of a tree, and once more tangled them about and began plucking. The resulting “melody” lacked all manner of harmony or rhythm. It could only be described as a terribly unpleasant noise, yet Discord played on with the same composed and dignified expression of a musician of far higher talent.

He cleared his throat, “This is a little something I’ve had prepared for a long time, and I hope you all enjoy it.” And thus he began to sing.

“I’ve really lost count, over these many years,

Just how many days I’ve wasted in boredom and tears,

It really became too much, all the doom and the gloom,

I wanted to stretch! There was simply not enough room,” he pantomimed being trapped inside a box, the lyre still playing be itself.

“But a little prick, and a little blood here and there,

A dash of magic, and I’d get to enjoy the fresh air.

And now you all have done so well,

And now I have been broken from Hell.” A line of fires erupted behind him.

“So I shall be very plain,

Against hail, snow, and rain,” and precipitation fell over Discord and the immediate crowd.

“You’ve all the pleasure of first sight,

To a new world of chaos and blight!

Everything you know, everything you thought was certain,

Put it away, lock it up and draw the curtain!

You’ve been all very kind, releasing me from my bonds,

And we shall go and right those wrongs,” Discord sang while broken chains hung from his wrists.

“The ones who put me away,

Their children, they laugh and play,” he made a cute face, batting overly-lashed eyelids.

“We give them a visit, we pay them in kind,

We break the body, we poison the mind!” The Draconequus’ singing became more forceful and violent, laced with a malice that had been repressed for ages.

“We tear down their world and leave them for dead,

Tarry and watch the flames as we paint their towns red!” He conjured a brush and splattered crimson paint into the air.

“Treasure and land and glory be yours,

As we cleave from here to distant shores!

Witness the dawn of a new age, you at the top!

Rape and pillage and plunder, oh you shall never stop!” Now he conjured a series of doppelgangers, all playing large brass horns along the side of the plaza.

“Rules and orders, they’re things of the past,

Really, were they ever meant to last?

So know upon this rock on which I stand,

A freedom sublime shall grace this land,

From this day forth the world shall never grow bored,

Because finally unfettered and unleashed we have Discord.” The last few notes were lowered to a dark pitch and held. The serpentine hell-spawn curled his mouth into a devious smile.

“Thank you! Thank you!” he began to shout, bowing as generated roses were thrown at his feet. The copies he’d made put away their horns and began cheering and clapping. The rest of the plaza was silent.

Another snap, and his costume and copies disappeared. That smile though never did. “I’m sure you are all very anxious! Soon enough we’ll go over to Equestria and…give them a nice greeting.” Discord began to move forward, the great crowd clearing a path for His Chaotic Eminence, “Burn and steal, and kill to your heart’s content. I, the Great God of this world, give you its riches!”

He allowed some moments to pass. The horde started to ease up, now over the initial shock of this primordial entity made flesh. Random cheers popped up, soon followed by more cohesive chants.

“We’re going to have a new way of doing things,” he then looked up at the sky, “Here’s a little taste!” Clouds rolled in from nowhere, hiding what had been a crisp clear night sky. A crack of thunder, and it began to rain.

At the front of the crowd, frozen in terror and confusion, three of the five ponies Discord had noticed earlier grew increasingly apprehensive. They had stayed too long, and now that they started to process the strange creature that had crawled forth from that portal, it dawned on them the gravity of their situation.

The tallest one, Dame Wintermail, panicked internally, finding herself in the midst of the horde. If they dawdled any longer, these three alicorns would not be able to escape. “We have to leave,” she finally spoke to her two companions.

Henarion and Lady Stellara nodded. They could run forward, where the crowd wasn’t standing. Aurýx, Jasicus, and Noblesse Oblige could hopefully be distracted long enough for the alicorns to slip past. By the time they were noticed missing, enough ground could be put between them and Mareposa.

The raindrops then started to irritate Wintermail, and she arced her head upwards to the sky. A few landed upon her lips, and the taste migrated to her tongue—it wasn’t water.

“It’s raining beer?” Henarion thought aloud, spotting the crowd cheering and laughing as they got drunk on the weather. No time for fun; Stellara nudged them both by cocking her head to the side, and the alicorns lightly stepped away towards the emptier and darker portion of the city ahead.

A lone shouter caught their attention. None of the three could hear the individual’s exact words, but they seemed to be dissidence against Discord’s new regime. The fell god plucked the creature—a minotaur, from the crowd like a newborn kitten, eyeing it with his sickly misshapen eyes.

“So…you don’t want all your comrades to achieve glory and conquest?” With a condescending creak, Discord pouted, “That doesn’t seem very friendly. Let’s see what everyone else thinks.” With a meek and frankly dismissive flick he threw the minotaur back to the horde warriors. From the wrenching and screams and cracking, the bull who’d dared speak out was bludgeoned to death or ripped to shreds.

Wintermail’s pupil’s shrunk. Stellara and Henarion joined the white alicorn in full gallop. Pushing against their bruises and aches, the battle-worn ponies single-mindedly charged to their destination, lifting off shortly after beginning to hopefully not attract attention by the clopping of hooves.

Discord must have had very astute hearing. Leaping back to the site of his emergence, the serpent slithered and curled through the air and twisted into the path of the ponies. “Why in such a rush? Stop! Take a rest; enjoy the festivities!” The Draconequus snapped his clawed fingers and produced three goblets, each decorated with some horrid macabre face of agony.

First smiling widely, like a longtime friend, Discord’s grin vanished when he bothered to take a closer look. The goblets immediately exploded into metal shards and spilled drink. Raising an eyebrow he inched his head closer to the largest pony. “Alicorns?”

Wintermail hovered in the air, frozen as nothing had even in deepest winter. “I’m…very surprised there are still some of you left.” Disappearing, Discord reappeared back at the plaza, using his body like a giant shovel to push the three apparent leaders of the horde forward. A minotaur king, a mustang chieftain, and a rogue Equestria prince all once again met the visages of their hated alicorn rivals.

Discord stood between the two groups, tapping his foot, “Fine job. I believe one of the tasks I relayed to your acolytes was to wipe out the alicorns. Oh they get under my skin!” Hearing no response or excuses, Discord leaned forward into the intimate personal space of Aurýx, “Weeeeell??”

“They are a stubborn race,” Noblesse Oblige blurted out, boring his red eyes into Wintermail. “This shall be quick,” he then drew his newly-acquire blade Hordebreaker—perhaps in need of a different name.

Aurýx, though still reeling from the first round of combat, took up his glaive and snorted, “I will take more than her horn this time!” Wintermail trembled silently, unsure if she could fight again, and against this new hell-spawn.

“You seem angry,” Discord teased, seeing the minotaur was missing one of his horns. A mocking chortle escaped his chest, punctuated by the chimera clutching his sides, “Don’t tell me; she did that to you? An alicorn? One of this dispossessed, landless, paltry peasant race managed to harm a mighty King?”

Remembering the new hierarchy, Aurýx knelt to his new god, “I ask your permission to kill those alicorns.”

Prince Noblesse copied the gesture, “As do I.”

Discord furrowed his bushy brow, then looked at the mustang, “What about you?”

Jasicus took a time to answer, focusing his eyes on the alicorns, “I’ve no bad blood against them, but you are my Lord.”

“Hmmm…this must mean a lot to you both, eh?” Discord giggled, “Alicorns, you’re free to go!”

The six others gaped in disbelief, none more than the three flying above. Discord continued to laugh, “Go now, and let everypony know all the fun and joy we’re going to bring to your country!”

“What?? No! You cannot let them leave!” Noblesse Oblige’s voice erupted, his face lost to malice and hatred, “If—“

An agonizing scream left the unicorn’s lips when Discord pointed a finger at him and let loose a bolt of lightning, “Do not interrupt me.” Blowing out his smoking talon, Discord resumed, “Tell your princes and all your little ponies that I’ve come to stay. Close those shutters, latch those doors; I have quite the entourage right here, and they’ll be headed your way,” he practically impaled Wintermail with a poke to her belly. She had to cough and reorient herself in flight.

“Equestria’s age is over, the days numbered. This world belongs to me now,” he conjured a large piece of paper, a faux deed to the Earth, “And I think I need to make it more homely. Now go! Tell them what glorious future awaits! Oh big changes are coming, and they cannot be stopped!”

As he cackled to himself, the alicorns still stayed put. Discord shooed them with a materialized broom. They fled like frightening birds, cheeping and fluttering away. As they became smaller in his vision, Discord managed a few final words, “But I’m in a good mood tonight! So rest assured that you’ll be around long enough to see the final gasp of your decrepit, vestigial sort! That’s a Discord promise!” The Draconequus rolled over in a fit of laughter more hearty than had been seen before.

Once done, he stepped down on the ground beside his new lieutenants. Prince Noblesse mustered the courage to speak up. “My Lord, great…Divinity, the Chaotic,” he spoke waveringly.

“Mmmmyes?” Discord replied, taking more interest in his nails than the unicorn.

“If I may…”

Discord stopped and leaned in close to Noblesse, “Get on with it.”

“I think it…misguided that we let them go. I our element of surprise—“

“Oh I love surprises!” A small wooden box then appeared in front of Noblesse, out popping a paper dragon in a myriad of colors. The Prince felt his heart stop. Discord then pushed the dragon back into the box and pulled a section of his brown furry chest out, somehow revealing a pocket that he stuffed the box into. “Sometimes, though, that isn’t the right course.”

A clap later and the Prince found himself tied to a large wall, limbs spread out. A panic setting in, he wrestled with his bonds. Discord cleared his throat, “Now take for instance if I were to distract you with idle talk, and eventually engage you. You’d eventually become easy, and know there’s no harm here. Right?” The unicorn nodded as the dread god traveled behind the wall.

“And consider while I’ve got your attention, a couple little hands appeared,” Noblesse felt his head being cupped by such things. Discord’s voice lowered to a sinister quiet, “And I were to simply…snap.” The Prince’s heart was now pounding. The serpent squeezed with slight pressure, but soon let up. “It’d be quick, unexpected…a surprise.”

Moving to the front of his plaything, Discord stepped away and watched Noblesse continue to struggle. “But, if I just left you there, and told you someday I’d crack your neck…how would you feel? You cannot move and you cannot run away. All you can do is thrash and scream and shout…as that day becomes closer and closer.”

Noblesse now gazed at his new ruler, eyes filled with absolute horror. As he trembled, Discord kept the same look of reserved poise, like that of a university lecturer. “Tomorrow? Next week? A month? Who could say? Maybe I wake up in a poor mood, or perhaps you start taking up too much space. Or maybe I just get bored.”

Gracefully slithering through the air, Discord closed the distance with the unicorn. Then a snap, and the wall and bonds vanished. “Understand?”

All four hooves on the ground, free to move as their owner dictated, Noblesse simply nodded and craned his neck downwards. An uncomfortably long time passed while the humbled princeling regained his composure.

Discord didn’t pay attention; he instead starred at the night sky, thinking to himself how it could be improved. Still…a nagging thought kept bothering him. He looked down at the plaza stone, tapping his single hoof. “Although,” he mused, cupping his mouth, “Perhaps I did let them leave a little too easily. I think they deserve a little parting gift.” A toothy, deranged smile shined from the plaza, and Discord leapt off as his comical wings caught the wind and propelled him forth. How rude a host who does not give his guests a token of his hospitality!

King Aurýx, Warchief Jasicus, and Prince Noblesse all watched their new master depart. The minotaur observed with a cruel grin of his own, tightly clutching the long alabaster horn he’d won in fair combat. The two ponies, one earth the other unicorn, possessed however far more anxious dispositions. They exchanged fearful glances. For the remainder of the night, and some nights thereafter, they would ponder what exactly they had done to achieve their goals.

What sort of blood pact had been signed, and what sort of mercenary had they bought?

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

A dense fog covered the expanse beyond Mareposa, clouding all but the nearest proximity of the three travelers. They found themselves now cloaked in the silver mist, the blackness of night the only thing discernible past what little the moonlight illuminated.

No landmarks, no sight of the river or city; nothing to navigate by—even the stars provided no help hidden by the dark clouds. The chill of night too had set in. Wisps of hot breath left the Wintermail’s snout.

She paused and looked down at her feet. The only thing to be seen with certainty was the dirt beneath her hooves; where now were they to go? The breach through the walls they’d entered was on the west side. Which meant where the alicorns had flow over was the southern side. And as they’d been traveling a straight line since, then to the left would be east—if they journeyed far enough in that direction sooner or later the trio would reach Equestria.

“This way,” Wintermail said, trudging bravely through the mist. It was cold, but with no wind their cloaks and fur coats sufficed enough. Yet as they trotted further and further, the air grew colder; almost unnaturally so. The grass around them soon formed small bits of frost. Winter had ended…this fog was the work of magic; not of a pegasus sort however. The fog became thicker. “Stay close,” Wintermail commanded, telekinetically drawing her companions closer.

More and more they walked, but the fog only turned more opaque. “He’s hunting us,” Henarion said with a grimace. Wintermail could not have looked more frightened. She turned her head left for reassurance from Stellara; something like a smile from her baby sister, anything to give her mind something happy to focus on.

There was no such sight. Wintermail’s heart plummeted—nothing but a blanket of pale grey. Stellara was gone, and not a sound had signaled her departure. “Taby?” the white pony called out, terror piercing itself into her spirit. No answer. “Taberanyn!” she shouted; if this were some juvenile prank… “Lady Stellara! Now is not the time!” Nothing.

Wintermail turned back to her right to speak with her uncle. A realty contemplated but not accepted then made itself irrefutable: Henarion was gone too. The fog was now so thick when the mare looked down her hooves were lost in the shroud. If she could not feel them, Wintermail would have been certain they’d disappeared as well.

The Knight was now trapped, confined in a wall-less prison. “Henarion! Uncle! Taby! Anypony!” No responses greeted her, and a slight tear ran down her cheek. Alone and lost, Wintermail stood helpless, no doubt being stalked by a manic fell spirit. Isolated and despondent, she’d be easy prey.

Then a nagging voice, ever-present in her mind, spoke up. Blood of Kings and iron-willed, Nikóleva could not give in. She had a mission here, and now was the time to complete it. Dame Wintermail would bat away this accursed fog, find her family, and bring them back home. She’d sworn an oath to the Alicorn God, in view of her Sovereign Lord—this could never be reneged.

First, however, she needed a moment to think. After crashing her foreleg into a nearby rock and belting out a series of curses, Wintermail decided to use the stone was a resting spot. Having overcome the trembling in her bosom, the alicorn released a heavy sigh. Then, closing her eyes the mare remembered a spell that might come in handy.

The action generated in her mind’s eye, her long white horn glowed yellow and released its energy, curling with the loose moisture of the fog. The shroud began to recede, and once again Wintermail felt comfortable enough seeing the immediate several feet beyond her person.

The alicorn jerked her head back, a sharp pain digging into her forehead. The spell was abandoned and the mist returned in great force. Rubbing her ache, Wintermail sneered—an uncommon and powerful magic controlled this fog.

“I have to get out of here,” Wintermail thought out loud.

“Oh…but I’d miss you,” a creaky voice cooed. The alicorn gasped and rose to battle. She drew her sword, and spun around in a slow but constant fashion, trying to catch any sight of her foe. Eónadin’s blade glowed bright white, and she could feel the magic pining for release.

“There won’t be any need for that,” the voice continued in a pale echo, seeming to come from everywhere at once.

“Show yourself!”

“You wouldn’t play nice. That’s a pretty trick you’ve done there; an alicorn blade?” Wintermail growled, still checking her surroundings. Soon a measure of the mist retreated again, forming a circle around the mare. A spot of it swirled together into shapes, then to resemble the face of that fiend Discord. A low din of a laugh accompanied his crooked smile, “And why would you want to leave?”

Wintermail slashed her great sword across the misted face, but only a puff of air followed. Another appeared as easily as the first. Discord’s avatar raised an eyebrow, “Here I am trying to have a nice civil conversation, and you try to cleave my head in two! I just regenerated my face, and I’d like it to last at least a couple hundred years.”

Taking stance, the knight gnashed her teeth, “Where are they?”

“The other ‘Triple-Kin’? Around…getting a break from somepony so serious.”

“Bring them back to me, and we’ll be on our way. If you’re truly as polite as you like to think, you’d do this courtesy.”

Discord smiled widely and leaned his mist-form closer, “Oh I am. And it would be most inappropriate to interrupt their ‘soul-searching’.” He fluttered conjured fingers about to dazzle the mare. “Perhaps you could stand to do some of your own.”

She remained unamused. Discord eyed her further with those misshapen orbs set in his skull, “You wish to stop me, right? What did I ever do to you? I even let you go.”

Wintermail was caught off guard by the comment, but recalled her mettle. “You’re…Discord, the spirit of chaos. You’ve set a marauding horde against my homeland. I think I understand well enough what your coming means, and as an upholder of the law and justice, I cannot allow you and your ilk to wreak such havoc over Equestria.”

Discord groaned, “So high and mighty. Typical alicorns; so absolute, so self-assured. You’re an intolerant bunch, decrying heresy against any god that isn’t your precious jealous ‘unseen and unknowable’ deity. How do you think that makes me feel?” he pouted, pressing a hand to his serpent’s chest.

“I think it makes you want to usurp Lórian.”

“Hah!” A burst of mist revealed the true Discord in his earthly vessel, “That old stuffy god can have its clouds and angels and…vague somethings. I don’t want to rule.” Wintermail kept starring at him, not liking any of his words but still choosing to listen.

“Too many taxes,” he said, conjuring a small coin chest and stacks of books, “And dull court sessions of listening to boring, uninteresting peasants complaining about they’re boring, uninteresting lives,” he sat on a broad throne dressed in regalia, half asleep with his head resting on his lion’s arm. It all went away, and he curled upwards into the air with shocking enthusiasm, “No! What I want is a world where we don’t have to deal with being bored! All these rules and regulations and orders and ‘go there’ and ‘do this’…we don’t need that.”

He leaned in closer, mindful of the sword she wielded, “Tell me, alicorn; if you could nap or drink all day, wouldn’t you do it?”

Wintermail thought for moment and the grinned, “I rather enjoy my position and purpose. I tend to become restless when idle.”

Discord started to laugh, “Oh of course! ‘Purpose’! Every pony, every bird in the sky, every fish in the ocean, every pebble in the dirt…it all has a place in the grand design of the alicorn god!” The Draconequus sneered, “But woe betides he who steps out of bounds.”

He spotted the small silver necklace Wintermail wore, “Why do you wear this?” She immediately placed a hoof over it; Discord smiled. “You praise a god that destroyed your kind? The alicorns are a dying race, all because they dared to strive for more than they’d been settled with.”

The alabaster mare furrowed her brow, “They grew proud and cruel. Their greed and lust for power forced God’s hand.”

“Is that right? Did that blessed isle sink when they enslaved their enemies? Was it sunk when they wiped out civilization after civilization? The greater dragons were far older, but even their age didn’t win them any mercy.” Discord’s speech was now vicious and biting, “Your people ravaged the world and its inhabitants for millennia, and what did your god do?”

Wintermail gave no answer.

“Sit high in his cushy little heavenly kingdom. Only when ponies outgrew such an indolent king, and threatened his lofty comforts, did he act. What can you say to that?”

She gulped and breathed quickly, pressing harder on her necklace. Oséo Yenemë, Oséo Maiënucanemë, Oséo Oncasnatosemë. “Nothing.”

“Because you can’t argue it. All I want to do is break the chains, and you want to remain shackled.”

No. No; Wintermail would not allow his trickery to break her. Her word was her bond, and she was a servant of Canterlot, a defender of the innocent and meek. And Discord threatened the security knights and guards like her fought for.

Discord watched her face as she wrestled with her thoughts. From unsurety to realization to resolve, he could tell she was of a stronger sort. He cracked his knuckles, “Hmmm…well whoever your lord is, he must be very pleased to have somepony as loyal and acquiescent as you. It seems I can’t dissuade you from fighting against the one who’s trying to liberate you. But what can one do?”

He feigned leaving and opened a door made out of the mist, “I suppose you should go gather your friends.” He stopped, grinning evilly while Wintermail could not see his face, “On second thought, better let me do it; such a sensitive matter needs a...certain finesse.” Her eyes gave it away. Discord knew the type, she was like an egg—a strong hard shell; crack it, and the gooey vulnerable yolk dribbles out into a puddle.

He turned around, swimming eel-like through the air. “You’re a powerful warrior, aren’t you? Vanquishing the big monsters must be second-nature to you, yea? The mighty White Alicorn with her magical blade and spells cannot be assailed!” he bellowed in a grand herald’s voice.

“Big things can be solved easily, right? Yet…the little things, maybe they tend to get away from you,” Discord was now swirling behind her, groaning voice right beside her ear. “They are so hard to see, sometimes they seem of little importance, right?” He rose, putting some distance between them, “But little things can mean so much to the ones we love. You’re large and clumsy; stick with the big matters.”

Wintermail was tired of his endless self-aggrandizing soliloquies. She pulsed magic into her blade and slash at the fiend, missing by a mere hair.

“Oh ho! Careful now. With a temper like that, no wonder they took a break from you.” The mare’s face was growing angrier and angrier; right where he wanted her. She enflamed her sword with magic fire.

Discord simply snapped his fingers and brought into the world a long stick, capped with an apple he began roasting over the fiery weapon. “How many promises have you broken? How many ponies let down by your lack of self-control?”

Her rage built up further. Another slash and a wail of fury, this time sending a lob of fire at Discord. He twisted his long body into a circle, and let the fireball pass through the opening. He then rang a gong and laughed. “How many?” an aggressive shout asked, “of those you pretend to love have you hurt?”

That most painful regret bored its way to the surface, flashing each terrible image in her mind for all her conscience to behold. Her will wavered, and the fire died out. Wintermail’s breaths became sharper, and her eyes reddened.

“No...I’ve made mistakes, but…I’ve done right by them,” she muttered, more to herself than Discord. “She loves me, and I love her—we’re sisters.”

The Draconequus wrung his hands together with a sadistic giddiness, “You think you could ever make up for them? Ponies hold grudges, it’s their nature. And for somepony as impulsive as you? Everypony starts so patient, but eventually that runs out.”

Wintermail looked up, her eyes swollen. Taby…had forgiven her, right? Why was this even a question?

“After all, how much mercy is in your heart?” Like an arrow through the chest, Discord’s final statement pierced deep. He was right. Wintermail fell to her knees, a loathsome despair taking hold. If Taberanyn still held resentment, could Nikóleva blame her? And to make matters worse, she’d dragged along her sister to this den of monsters, where very likely they could still meet their end.

For what? Some vainglorious quest to validate herself in the eyes of lords? A way to prove she was worthy of her own bloodline?

“Well like I was saying, I’ll go retrieve your friends. Stay here, and try not to break anything.” Discord then bolted off into the mist, cackling all the way. And Wintermail did stay there, feeling smaller than ever before. Once again she was a mere peasant girl, playing games she did not understand, in way past her depth.

An empty ache filled her chest. Had she simply stayed away, her sister and uncle could be living peacefully at their homestead. Henarion could raise his son and love his wife, and Taby could find a husband and settle a family of her own. Even when trying to do right, Wintermail only brought her loved ones out here to the most dangerous place in the world, and put them right in the midst of a spirit who valued their lives like discarded toys.

For the past year Wintermail felt she’d grown a great deal, learning more about herself and her abilities; slowly turning her youthful arrogance into a more mature confidence. But lying upon the ground, she asked herself a poignant question: had she really?

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

“Nikól! Henarion!” A dark blue alicorn called out in the fog, growing ever more uneasy in this bleak landscape. Quite a while she’d wandered about this surreal place, certainly not of a mundane devising. She’d called out her sister and uncle’s names to no avail before, and nothing much suggested this time would be any different.

Lady Stellara sighed; What was this all for? Had Discord released them only to murder them out here in the wild, isolated and afraid? To be sure, it’d be good sport, all the better being cruel. Another soft crunch of frosted grass, and Stellara walked further through the shroud, picking her direction on a mere whim.

But then, a dark spindling shape broke through the mist. A dead tree, its naked branches creaking in the chilling wind. Stellara frowned; trees deserved to be lush and full, a pure expression of nature’s beauty. Old pines were her favorite, kept their needles—kept their green. Approaching the blackened trunk, she knocked a hoof against the crumbling bark. Dry and hollow, probably infested. Well, it’d burn easily, and she could use a warm fire.

The sound of rushing water then caught her ears, and not far from the tree the land descended down to the bank of a wide river that once gave Mareposa life. Coming to the edge, Stellara dipped her hooves in the water and splashed a measure on her face. Levitating out a small cloth from her pack, the alicorn removed some of the dirt and dried blood.

The water was deep blue and clear; had the stars been out tonight they’d shimmer spectacularly on the surface. She took her canteen and dipped it. Stellara drank down the water, feeling almost like she had been dying of thirst. Satisfied for now, she refilled the canteen for later and replaced the cork.

Still standing at the river, she could not help but see her reflection. In it Stellara gazed at a bruised and rough alicorn, lost and frightened. This journey hadn’t gone like she’d hoped, but then again what exactly had she expected? She’d gone along to look after her sister, but Nikóleva was a knight, a trained soldier. Lady Stellara had only gotten her position at court by virtue of her bloodline, which six months ago she hadn’t even known about!

“What a fool I’ve been…,” she murmured, running a hoof through her disheveling mane.Some small pebbles and dirt still found their homes in between the strands of hair. Her eyes were sore and her body ached…she could light a fire with the dried wood of the tree and rest for the night. She let out a sardonic laugh; maybe the fog would clear by morning?

But if she worried about Henarion and Nikóleva, Lórian knew they could only feel the same concern ten-fold. She couldn’t give up now—she’d just taken a break, and it was just about over.

“Where have they gone?” she mused out loud, looking around at the same utterly dull fog.

“They’re already a couple leagues away.” Stellara practically jumped from her skin. Slowing her panicked heart, she turned around and spotted something reclining on the branches of the tree. Like a grand loafing cat, Discord was perched atop the upper reaches of the tree, his scaly tail waggling about.

Resting his head on his lion’s paw, the chaos god smiled, “You just missed them; already set out eastwards.”

Stellara drew Ailéránen and Nocadecoë, ready to tear into this “draconequus”.

“I see you’re a mare who appreciates the finer, pointier things.” Discord kept that smug grin.

“Do not lie to me; I’m in no mood for your games!” Stellara watched him, looking for the slightest reason…the slimmest cause.

“’Lie’? No, my dear: they’re gone.” Before the blue pony could retort or curse or say something “brave”, Discord mimed pulling on a thick cord—a cord connected right to Stellara’s head.

The alicorn belted when the sharp pain erupted from the center of her skull. It felt like a terrible pressure was trying to cave in her head, and blinded with pain she slashed her weapons out, trying to catch her tormentor.

“Just…let it happen!” Discord grunted, yelping when the edge of one of her blades caught his arm. It was too small and shallow to worry about, and sealed up within seconds. Meanwhile the pretend cord he’d been yanking on became a very real tendril of pale blue light. He drew more of it from Stellara’s mind, wrapping it up like gate chain.

The last of it came up, and the tendril finally separated from her head. She collapsed to the ground, left heaving and drying the slight tears on her cheek. She looked at Discord, eyes filled with fury.

“What?? I was just getting to know you, but without all that dreadful…talk.” The tendril was condensed into a ragged book, one that Discord then set about flipping through, “Interesting…hmm…oh that’s a good one!”

Taking her weapons once again, she flashed her already-strained magic and sneered, “Where are they? And no riddles!”

“Dear, put those away: you could hurt somepony.” Discord then closed the book and snapped his fingers to make it vanish, “And I don’t know what you want from me. They are gone! Left! Departed! Elsewhere.”

Stellara kept staring brutally, ready to pounce at any moment.

“I know she’s your sister, and sisters stick together.” Discord knowing that, and perhaps even more things about her only enraged Stellara further. “But…she’s also a knight, with a liege; sent on a mission. And it’s her responsibility to report back as soon as possible.”

“She’d a spare a moment.”

“Really? Because I am pretty great; she’s probably at full gallop to tell her lord all about me!” Discord slithered off the tree and laughed, rolling backwards in the air. He stopped suddenly, and his eyes became dead of feeling or mirth. “Though, I know I’d leave somepony behind who got lost while they were right beside me.”

“Because of you!” Stellara shouted, taking a swing at Discord—it missed.

“Oh it’s the weather; you know how unpredictable wild weather can be out here—it‘s why I love it so much!”

“I doubt you can feel love for anything but yourself,” Stellara quipped.

Discord touched on the ground and placed his hands on his hips, “You’re right, and it is a selfish love ponies like you could only dream of.” He stroked his chin, “Although…maybe I could grow to find some affection for that sister of yours.” He conjured a small image of the Wintermail, posed in battle and sword drawn, “Look at her: tall, strong, cunning, and simply…delightful to behold.”

A small vial popped into existence, and Discord splashed its contents onto his fingers before dabbing it on his neck, “Think I have a chance?”

Stellara now felt nauseous, and a small crawling sensation on her back. “Don’t speak of her like that.”

Discord perked up, looking like his interest had gone elsewhere, “Hmm? Oh don’t worry, you’re nice in your own…way. You have a…homely look to you, with a cute name: ‘Little Moon’. You are like…a lesser, more approachable version of her.”

The pony took a deep breath, “I will find them myself.”

“You won’t.” he grinned, “You’re a grown mare; they probably assumed you could find your way back. Oooor they figured you were dead weight; can’t say I blame them.”

“I’m capable enough to trounce you.” Flaring her wings, Lady Stellara hovered in the air, weapons ready to drink the fell god’s blood.

“Like you were back in that cave, all those years ago?” The mare froze, knowing exactly what he was referring to. “Against those diamond dogs? Your sister had it well under control, but you just had to be there.”

A tear dripped from her eye. He knew her life now; that violating, disgusting procedure had made her secrets bare.

“Then, like now you felt needed, but we both really know why you went. And what did it get you?” Stellara recalled those painful memories, things she’d buried deep down. Discord came in close, fanged mouth just inches away from her ear, “You, alone with those curs, completely, utterly—“

Stellara shrieked, and a bright bolt of blue magic shot from her horn, catapulting Discord into the dirt. Her breaths were now quick and erratic.

Discord groaned, smoldering but otherwise undamaged. He rose back up and dusted his fur, “No wonder she left; the Wintermail probably figured you’d be a liability. She wanted to see the world, and all you could do was cut down trees.”

Darting ahead, Stellara flew straight at Discord, slashing both weapons. He narrowly escaped losing some important part of his anatomy. “I understand; I have my own older sibling. My brother; probably heard of him, or seen statues or heard stories. I play one prank on him, and it’s the only thing anypony ever talks about.”

A vile smirk then cursed his lips, “Though, I admit I never killed my mother.”

The blue alicorn stopped, falling down a foot to the ground. A blank stare crossed her face, her eyes unfocused and wavering. “I…I never did that…”

“Pity, really; she loved you enough to go through all the trouble and pains of birthing. And how do you repay her? You murdered her!” he exclaimed, towering over the filly, cackling as he prodded and picked.

Stellara shook her head, raising a hoof to hide her tears, “That’s not what happened.”

“They had something good, just the three of them. And you come and tear that family asunder! I’m really proud of that, actually; I couldn’t wreak that much havoc if I tried!”

“Stop…please,” a quiet sob now came from little Taby.

“Your sister was glad to be rid of you back then—she’s happy to be rid of you now. All you’ve ever done, all you ever can do, is get in the way. How can you be anything more than a shadow, when you even disappear in the dark?” With a cruel swiftness Discord put out the immediately light with thick clouds above. And sure enough the alicorn turned invisible in purest night.

His misshapen, sickly yellow eyes glowed now, and he slithered closer to the crying mare, her head buried in the dirt. Lost to sorrow, this so broken mare was too precious…delicious even. An evil, toothy smile went unknown in the dark, “Good night, Tabóna, because your dreams are the closest you shall ever reach to being somepony special.”

And just for fun, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek. He savored the salt of her tears, and receded back into the black mist, his low laugh becoming dimmer and dimmer.

Even after ages of wasting away in the gloomy, miserable pit of Tartarus, Discord hadn’t lost his touch.

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 10. Forward

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 10. Forward

Henarion stood still. This fog was very clearly a trick. Over his long life the orange stallion had heard tales and stories and legends and myths of something called “Discord”. Had he believed them? Well…he hadn’t not believed them. From what few snippets he remembered, this fiend was some sort of trickster, an evil-doer, a fundamental opponent to the light and goodness.

The stallion long ago realized that all myths contained a grain of truth—he was no stranger to some of the more fantastical things of the world. Alicorns appeared in stories, dimly remembered from ancient days. Regardless of how much of the legends were true, the alicorns were real enough; he had come from somewhere.

And if that were true, and a few of Discord’s tales could therefore be trusted, then Henarion had an idea. Recalling a campfire story he’d once been told by an elderly pegasus, he developed a certain hunch for what might be done. But to pursue that plan, Henarion first needed to find his nieces.

But through this interminable fog, that would prove a challenge. And it was not lost on Henarion that this Discord was doubtlessly just beyond the alicorn’s range of sight. Certainly, if he were to merely stick out a hoof in the right spot, he’d touch that furry, scaly body. A cold shiver ran up his spine.

Henarion stayed put. His single eye scanned the surroundings, watching and waiting. Perhaps it was unwise to remain, but he had few options, and just enough hope. A coltish smirk appeared on the gruff stallion’s face, and he levitated out of his pack his trusty pipe and some filling. A strike of flint—the sisters could keep their fancy magical ignition—and he drew in. He’d found himself at a nice patch of grass, and laid down on his stomach, legs curled underneath. With an even pace, he enjoyed the smoke while he drew his new blade and studied it.

So far it had served him very well; Nikól had become a fine smith. The copper-hilted weapon though deserved a name; what would be a good one?

He thought and mused a time, his pipe becoming half-empty when a slight rush of wind perked his attention. A faint giggle…or chuckle…or some other self-important sinister laugh groaned from the mist. Henarion ignored it and continued his smoking.

Predictably the Draconequus emerged from the shroud, curving through the air in an erratic dance only he could appreciate. The sight greeting him was less than expected. Discord frowned and planted his knuckles against his hips, “Well, you seem comfortable.”

Henarion paid no mind. Discord turned around and conjured up the book he’d composed from Stellara’s reaped memories. Sifting through its pages, he found whatever he was looking for. The codex vanished and he flipped back to the reclining alicorn.

“You don’t seem to be in too large a hurry to find your girls.” Henarion spared merely a glance and returned his sword to its scabbard. Discord scuttled closer on his little legs, “They are yours, aren’t they? Raised them up after their own parents,” he leaned in with a vicious grin, “Were departed.”

“Aye,” Henarion said, puffing a cloud into Discord face. He batted away the smoke, grumbling as he did.

Discord then sat beside the orange pony, leaning back on his hands, “If I may be frank, you did a poor job.”

Henarion removed his pipe and knocked some of the ashes onto the ground. “By alicorn standards, I think I did well enough,” and he resumed smoking. “Is there something I could help you with?”

Discord smiled, “I think I’m simply trying to figure out why such a hard-working and selfless pony would have wasted any time on those ungrateful fillies. Really, after all you’ve done for them.” Discord draped his yellow avian arm across Henarion’s shoulders; the pony sneered but otherwise let it be. “No matter how hard you try, they’ll never see you as their father. You have a family right? Wife and son? Shouldn’t you be with them?”

Henarion’s breathing tensed for a moment, and he swallowed—how did he know? The breach in composure was fleeting, and Henarion soon regained himself. Discord noticed the alicorn’s eyepatch, “Which one of them did that to you? The white one? Remind me why you put up with them.”

“Do you have children, Mister Discord?” The Draconequus could only cock his head in confusion. “It really changes your world.”

“But they’re grown up; they’re not even your blood! Come now, Henarion; nothing’s keeping you here. Just go home, and here: I’ll even send you off with a new eye.” A snap of his fingers, and a small white orb appeared. Like a potter in his studio, Discord began molding the new “eye”, pushing a pupil into the malleable…substance. He then painted a pretty blue iris. “We could make it glow in the dark, or see through walls, or even fire beams of magic!”

Henarion simply drew in the smoke once more, smirking as he did, “I’ve grown fond of the patch.”

Frustrated, Discord made the new eye disappear. “The way you just sit there while your nieces wander aimlessly around…it’s no wonder you’ll only ever be second best. Why, seeing you so indolent…really is it any big question why you cannot protect them? And what about that family of yours?” Discord snatched the pipe from Henarion and made puffs of his own, “The horde’s coming; they like the fillies—some even little colts. Run off now, and you can probably flee far away—maybe far enough.”

“Not without my nieces,” Henarion spoke very plainly.

“Why?” Some of the air’s moisture condensed and then gathered in a small divot in the ground. A pool formed, reflective enough for Henarion to see himself. “I’m trying to be nice,” Discord continued as an image flashed, the scene of the alicorn’s homestead set ablaze. Primrose and Eldowas crawled out of the burning cottage, screaming and bloody. Vicious warriors approached, swords in hands, as his great treasures curled together and cried, lamenting where their savior was.

It was a cruel gesture, and Henarion utilized his great discipline to refrain from showing just how much the image, the mere thought of his precious family coming to such a terrible end, wracked his mind and soul. He could live another two-hundred years and be perfectly content never looking into that pool again.

“It’s coming. Like a great tempest, Equestria’s reckoning cannot be stopped. Countless will share this fate; you can at least save yourself and yours now.” Henarion breathed with a quiet tremble, sweat dripping down his face; Discord would pay in time. The serpent resumed his fork-tongued whispers, “You cannot protect those fillies forever. Either you’ll forfeit your life or theirs; it’s only a matter of time.”

Henarion stared ahead, contemplating all his life, all those he’d met and care for. What path had he trodden? What ruins in his wake? A little voice in his head…or was it outside? Something whispered against Discord, against Henarion's own self-doubt. It was no command nor capture of his mind…simply a reminder of wisdom he’d possessed for a long while. A very soft but assured chuckle echoed from his throat, “You’re right.” Discord raised his eyebrow. “But it’s not about succeeding or surviving, is it? I’ve lived a long time, longer than some who deserved it more. Kept living…could’ve ended it. Got a shiny dagger that’d fit real nice in my neck.”

“Oooh I like where this is going.”

“Ain’t never doing that. You know why?”

“Enlighten me,” Discord replied in a bored tone.

“I’ve got too much to live for—always have.”

It started as a giggle, then a chortle, then Discord erupted into a fit a laughter, amused to the core by such a droll statement, “Really? Well better get moving, or the puddle’s premonition will become fact.”

“Not without my girls,” Henarion spoke confidently, staring straight at Discord as though a mere mortal were his equal.

“Even after the white one leaves you half-blind? Even after she runs away from your care? Even after the blue one laments her parents, when you gave her everything? Sooner or later you will be replaced and forgotten. Eventually nopony—“

“I don’t do it for recognition, or money, or power, or honors. I know one day I’ll fail; I’ll muck it up just as I do. But that’s fine, because it’s all done out of love.”

Discord could not understand, and only found it hilarious. He laughed some more, an immature ingrate posing as a god.

Henarion grinned, “You’re not quite as clever as you think. You have your fun picking at what ponies hate most about themselves, don’t ya? You ain’t used to ponies like me though. Tell me I’m a failure, tell me nopony likes me. Tell me I should have died instead of their dad. Tell me Eldowas deserves a better father, and Primrose a better husband. Ain’t going to do you a bit of good, ‘cause it ain’t nothing I don’t already know.” Discords laughing had ceased, and he simply stared at Henarion like a made-up creature even the Draconequus could not conceive of.

The fog had started to thin, but not as it did in wild nature. This clearing was forceful and appeared deliberate, as if the dark force keeping it was waning. Soon Henarion could see two figures lumbering through, faintly mumbling to themselves; they were safe!—at least uninjured enough to walk. “I know who I am, and I’ve figured out who you are.” His good eye discerned Wintermail, and he eyed the hilt of her sword. If he was correct and the story true, Henarion could execute his plan. He had only one shot.

“You’re pathetic, you know that? It’s like hunting a wounded animal with you; where’s the sport?” Discord sneered, shoving Henarion with his bird-hand, “It’s a wonder anypony managed to survive in your care.”

“Guess I didn’t do so poor a job after all,” Henarion quipped. With reckless abandon for his own life, the stallion then channeled his magic in his sword, drawing it at such a speed as to be unseen. The slice was clean and utterly precise, hitting its mark with bright colors. A ghastly shriek bellowed from Discord, and he recoiled with a violent spray of blood from the stump of his left arm. His other, the paw, clutched the bleeding wound, his severed hand falling to the ground.

Henarion did not let his victory rest vainly, and he focused magic on the dim silhouette of Nikól’s great sword. Suffering not-insignificant strain, Henarion pulled Eónadin from its sheath across a number of yards in between him and Nikóleva. The alicorn executed a hanging guard in just enough time to catch the hell-fiend’s retaliation.

Looming lofty and enraged, Discord let forth a cascade of dark energy, intent on reducing Henarion to a memory. Eónadin’s black steel held true, however, and deflected the magic safely away. The stallion’s heart beat like a feverish war-drum, and beads of sweat dripped onto the ground as he realized his incredibly risky gamble had in fact worked. “Meviléd Henarion Tumacsindirdalí!(I am Henarion Son of Tumacsindir!)” he proudly yelled, matching Discord’s ire with his own resolve.

Tired of such insolence, the Draconequus snapped his fingers, a smug grin on his long face. And then...nothing. Another snap, and the same result came. A shallow panic set in, and soon he noticed some of the more flamboyant characteristics of the great sword. “I know this weapon…”

Henarion smirked, and swung at Discord’s slithering body. The mere tip caught his skin and cut a short gash; Discord again recoiled, the sound of something burning emerging from the point of contact. He fell to the ground clutching his belly, gnashing his crooked teeth. The alicorn stallion took another swing; Discord used his remaining hand to stop the blade.

It worked, but again Eónadin’s uncommon make burned the fell god’s palm. Fighting through his searing pain, Discord pushed the blade back and retreated. Comfortably now able to use his brand of power, he threw down a pellet of magic and caused a large smoke cloud to appear.

Henarion bared his teeth and waved Eónadin in the air, “Éca-gyrdanilúsíncof hélta bhenë semlon, she syc-palébilúsédodë mulca dhenë she eytarilúsédodë taroncá dhenë tuln lono hanodumë!(Touch my family again, and I’ll cleave off your head and use your skull as a drinking cup!)” The smoke faded, and the scaly tail of Discord could be seen disappearing into the dark.

From yards beyond, Nikól and Taby approached, dazed and in clear lack of spirits. “Uncle?” Nikóleva mumbled.

He said nothing, instead focusing on Discord’s severed hand. It wiggling unnaturally back to life, Henarion quickly pressed the flat of the blade down onto the hand, hearing it sizzle as the last of magic burned away. Seconds later, it was a charred, dead thing. He placed it in his pack and returned Eónadin to its owner.

“Bet you didn’t know it could do that,” Henarion let out a nervous laugh, “I didn’t either!”

But Nikóleva did not laugh; she teared up and began muttering, “I did this…I did this. I should have let you stay home. I gambled with your lives, as I always do.”

Henarion sighed and frowned, realizing what was going on. He approached slowly, returning his sword back to its home. “Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s true…I’ve done it with my soldiers, I’ve done it with Taby, and I’ve done it with you,” she squeaked out, her voice wavering at points.

The two stood quietly, Nikól averting her eyes and Henarion focusing his single one on her alone. “You think you’re the only pony to make mistakes? Your old dad had his fair share.”

The white mare raised her gaze, “No…he was—“

“Flawed; mortal. He got it right with you, but ya only knew him five years—I knew him for a hundred and twenty-three. I ain’t getting into that, but you can’t bury or run from your fears. They’ll rise up or catch you in the end, and you’ll be at their mercy.”

“What do I do, Uncle? Every time I close my eyes, I see death and blood…”

“Accept it,” he replied plainly, “If you’re anything like me, they won’t go away. And it doesn’t get any easier…but you have to manage.”

Nikól felt this awful despair, brought about by words she didn’t want to hear.

“I ain’t never heard a truth that was kind.” But Henarion then placed a hoof under her chin and lightly drew her face up. He stood tall and proud, and slowly she repeated the action, even taller and prouder. “That creature though filled your mind with all terrible things. You’re more than a string of bad decisions; you’re our country’s best hope.” He chuckled, “Normally I’d make a snide comment about it, but that’s saying a damn lot. Your bloodline’s gotten you a ways, but who you are got you even further.”

And then, as if the dark influence was flashed away, Nikóleva’s spirit grew light and invigorated. Even her coat seemed to shine whiter than before, her mane brighter and more flowing. “Thank you, Uncle,” she smiled, her senses now returned.

“You have a lot to be proud of, Sister,” Taberanyn said morosely, lazily stumbling forward, her head low and pitiable. Beautiful, strong, talented…how many other words could the great Wintermail be described with that did not apply to little Taby.

“You both do,” Henarion reassured, taking moment to look at Tabóna’s face. Her eyes were red and inflamed. He frowned with a terrible compassion; Discord would pay in time.

“I should leave you two…let you finish the quest without my burden.” She pulled back in shame.

“You think? ‘Cause you’d miss out on the welcoming we’re going to get. You earned it, deserving as Nikól ever was. Without you, her and I’d be hanging somewhere being drained for our hides. If you think what you do is ‘get in the way’, then…stay put. Watch your sister, keep her on edge.

Henarion backed up and looked at the two sisters beside one another, “Because you two are a pair. You need each other, like…why the sun and rain, or the moon and sea. You need each other to push yourselves, to support and drive. You both are strongest together; a harmony is reached when you sisters are side by side.

“And at the end of each day, you two are blood. Despite any disagreements or troubles, that bond can’t be broken.”

As with Nikóleva, Taberanyn felt the spell break. Where once had dwelt feelings of cold abandonment became replaced with a spring of warm belonging. Taby rushed forward and wrapped her forehooves around Henarion, nuzzling into her Uncle’s neck as she had in fillyhood.

“Right! Now are we ready to head back?” Taby pulled away and nodded; Nikóleva did as well. “Good; if I give you anymore complements, your heads’ll swell up like damn watermelons!”

The trio turned eastwards, traveling by light of the moon and stars. Soon dawn would come and make their journey a bit easier. Before he took another step, Henarion used his magic to retrieve the pipe snatched and then dropped by Discord. He brushed it off and returned it to his pack.

Beside the Wintermail, the orange stallion drew his blade, “I think I got a good name for it now: Bálebemoséo.” The God-Cleaver.

Its maker giggled, “About time.”

East-bound they went, Stellara behind. Yet as her Uncle had said to her sister, the spurs that plague her mind would never truly go away. Discord’s magic created nothing that wasn’t already present, and indeed only revealed what had been festering in dark corners. Something born of horrid emotions and feelings dwelt deep within Stellara; a beast of her own making, though currently still small and malnourished.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

It was morning. A fine morning, few clouds in a bright sunny blue sky. A gentle breeze; yet warmer than yesterday. A cup of tea was appreciated, if unfortunately of a lesser brew here out west. It was still hot, and sat on a table while its prospective drinker stood out on a balcony.

Noblesse Oblige, Prince in title and right, was not exactly feeling princeling today. A terrible burden weighed on his heart; sleep had been warded off by it. Mareposa’s ruin was tragic and of little comfort, but memories reminded him that this city had only become the most recent in series of broken stones.

Equestria was littered with them. From the northern mountains where laid the skeletons of ancient border-forts to the silted-up harbors of the south, this fractured kingdom bared its legacy with a cold frankness. Cities like Trottingham and Canterlot were special; even within their own borders classical remnants loomed over as cruel shadows. Dozens of cities still laid, large enough to house a hundred-thousand, yet only ever giving lodging to a tenth of that.

There had been something great in this corner of the Earth—there could be something great again. His ancestor Prince Sablecrine, the Terror of the East, cut a path of blood and fire to corral the jealous lordlings into bending before a new Equestria, and her new King come again. Every Trottingham prince learned of the last battle against what remained beyond his rule. Sablecrine's life was ended, and so with him dreams of a strong, vigorous new realm.

Thus walls remained broken, the aqueducts dry, the borders weak, roads overgrown, forts empty, and ponies in peril to raiders and bandits. Had things been different, had gods favored the pony race, then Noblesse would sit upon a throne. And that dangerous nonsense of the alicorns could be forgotten.

But the circumstances Noblesse found himself in could not be. At what price would the Prince go to unify his people, to make them strong and secure as they hadn’t in a millennium? Death and bloodshed was coming to the very places he’d wished to ultimately protect. But what great King was wholly blameless? What conqueror or lawmaker or judge could claim to have no blood on his hooves?

The House of Platinum, the only true rulers of Equestria, before the sodden and anemic “Triple-Kin” captured the crown, knew the sacrifices of kings. Through their harsh but wise leadership that kingdom grew and prospered; the alicorns, their strength utterly exhausted, allowed it to crack and dwindle, until the last fool of them fell against mere dogs.

And then the Prince remembered his discussion with Jasicus, a truly honorable stallion amongst the barbarians: the war shall wash over Equestria like a smith’s fire, tempering good stock and burning away the degraded and toxic. Only by showing them their weakness, only by shattering their insular delusions can the lords be expected to begin rebuilding their fallen civilization.

But when they’d won, and a true king of native blood and loyalties could be named once more, some other matters would remain. Noblesse would bide his time and play the part. He did not smirk—he had little joy in his thought. His red magic retrieved the cup, the hot beverage soon burning his throat.

Then, from out of view a small stone began floating about twenty feet above the ground. Not long after an entire building uprooted from its foundations and flipped upside-down, hanging suspended by some unseen magic. Stone gargoyles sprung to life and leapt off their perches from high towers, swooping down to snatch the caps of passing warriors.

They had better not try the same with the Prince.

The bizarre scene of floating buildings and other effects soon became commonplace across Mareposa, and the beautiful clear day was interrupted by dark clouds. Noblesse furrowed his brow; it started raining upwards. “Discord must be awake,” he murmured.

And on perfect cue a young mustang knocked on his suite’s door. “Speak,” Noblesse said in his deep voice.

“You have been requested at the plaza, my Lord,” the mustang relayed through the door, his accent thick and just able to be understood.

Noblesse fastened his cloak and soon descended the stairs and ran out into the streets. His bodyguards in tow, the Prince endured the spiteful weather and odd sight of levitating edifices. His cloak actually provided little respite from the upward-falling rain; his vest was now soaked and uncomfortable. Along the side small wildflowers that had sprouted up from cracks began fighting over and chomping down on passing insects.

With reason to keep a brisk pace, he reached the plaza quickly enough, greeted to the sight of the slithering Draconequus reclined on a long chair, King Aurýx and Warchief Jasicus standing in front of their new god, kindly leaving a space between them for his Princeship.

Noblesse gazed at Discord in all his otherworldly grandeur, legs crossed in leisure and his right hand holding a glass filled with some kind of dark glowing liquid. He brought it up to his lips and sipped up the glass itself, leaving the actual drink bound by nothing but air. A look of disappointment crossed Discord’s face, and he threw the strange liquid at the poor minotaur who had served him. A moment later the bullock began scratching all over, as if the glowing substance had irritated his whole body.

“It’ll stop soon enough…eventually. Now get me another!” The poor creature went off to hopefully not receive another “bath”. A low groan came from the small table he had beside his chair; a lowly dragonling not even shoulder-high to a pony was wobbling underneath it. “Honestly, for all the good you do me, I might as well replace you with a piece of wood!”

Discord then turned his diseased eyes at the three leaders. “You’re here finally,” he said after leering at Prince Noblesse. Shifting himself, the serpent displayed his left arm, now quite clearly devoid of anything at the end. “I have to wait a bit for it to grow back!” Discord then leapt off the chair and pressed his face against the unicorn Prince’s, “Did you know about her? She’s not just some alicorn wanderer, is she?”

“The white one?” Noblesse asked, trying his best to stay any fear.

“Yes! The...uh...Wintermail; methinks a descendants of somepony I found most disagreeable.” He fell back onto the chair, “Status report, my Lieutenants!”

The three looked at one another. A few moments later Aurýx elected to step forward first. “My clans are ready to shatter bones, shed blood, burn cities, and tear down the temples to those lesser gods!” the Minotaur King boasted proudly, clanging his glaive onto the plaza floor and beating his chest.

“I love your enthusiasm. What about you, Yurt herder?”

Jasicus ran a hoof down both ends of his long mustache, “My people are used to traveling quickly and on short notice. We’ve in fact become restless, Lord.” Discord was fluffing his pillow while the mustang spoke, heard little but still waved his hand in detached approval.

It was Noblesse's turn, but Discord was more than willing to speak for him, “Now I know your contributions are off in Equestria, so we’ll pick them up on the way, Princeling. In the meantime, tell all the warriors, tell all the camps and chiefs that we’re to move by dawn .” Discord rose from his chair and stepped forward, “This place is nice, but I feel we need a larger…audience. I wish to showcase my greatness from here all the way to the Sea!”

“At last!” Aurýx gave a hearty laugh.

“That’s right! Now I want you all to play nice and respect each other’s plunder, alright? But most of all, have fun on the march!” Discord stood still, staring at his subordinates until they stirred, “Go now! Tell them. I’ll give a rousing speech next morning, and we’ll be off!”

Noblesse Oblige turned around, walking beside Jasicus. “Not you, Unicorn.”

The Prince stopped immediately and bowed before Discord, “My Lord?”

“You…are special. You know the country well, so you are going to help us pick the best routes,” the Draconequus curled closer, “And the ripest targets. This all depends on you!” Noblesse met his gaze. Discord continued, “Do this right, and I know you will, and you’ll be rewarded beyond your wildest and most depraved fantasies.”

He slung his paw over the unicorn’s neck, “Anything you want! Gold, land, titles, honors…mares!” Discord flashed a coy smile, “Stallions? Bah, either way, anything! Although…I think there’s something in particular I could grant you.” A snap of his paws, and some new shiny trinkets covered Noblesse.

A large crown, almost too heavy to wear, and a royal red cloak with a black and white collar. And held in his fetlock was a long golden scepter, a small bust of himself topping the wand. “King Noblesse, King of Equestria!” Discord’s words became sweet like honey, nectar for naked ambition to grow strong and single-minded.

“Yes…,” Noblesse muttered, losing himself to daydreams.

“All I need, one tiny little errand I need done, is that pretty sword the alicorn carries.”

The Prince snapped back to the present and raised an eyebrow, “The black steel blade? That…is the sword of Kings, an heirloom of Equestria’s rulers. It belongs—“

“No!” Discord hissed, clutching Noblesse with his paw. A second later he smiled and relaxed, patting the pony with a dainty tenderness, “I’m starting a collection, you see. I’ve had my eye on it for a long time. Besides, it’s an alicorn weapon; you don’t want one of those. We can get you a much nicer one, fit for a King!”

Prince Noblesse thought. He was no fool; he understood there was something special about that blade, and whatever that might be Discord wanted it for more than mere decoration. He hazarded a glance at the god, seeing a small burnt patch of fur along his stomach, and the same on his palm. “Then you shall have it, my Lord.”

“Oh wonderful! I think this is the beginning of a very profitable relationship.” Discord said, lying back on his chair and shutting his eyes.

“I should say so. If you require nothing more, might I take my leave?”

“Hm? Oh sure, yea get gone,” Discord waved off, taking to his nap again.

This was perfect; the Prince had been given an explicit mission to encounter that damn alicorn again. Equestria’s future, or his throne, would never be secure as long as she drew breath. He’d slay her…he’d slay her as her race should have been slain ages ago. He’d recovered the sword, and collect his prize.

His sins would be great, but greater still the good wrought from the brutality. He’d wait and play good boy; do as he was asked. The moment would come in time. Sablecrine’s defeat and humiliation would never be in vain again, and pony civilization would one day shine brighter than those island degenerates ever had.

In the meantime, as he plodded through the queer up-raining weather, Noblesse began planning the route this horde would traverse. He was not sure where the first target would be, or even the last. But he did know one of the most important ones would be a little white castle home to a little haughty unicorn who talked bigger than his voice and walked longer than his stride.

Prince Noblesse Oblige's power would grow, and his enemies would tremble, his people rejoicing at their savior. There’d be a King again, even if only ashes remained.

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 11. Call the Banners!

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 11. Call the Banners!

“If you, my Lords, held reservations before,” Dame Wintermail announced, her voice resonant and reaching, “Cast them aside now. With our own eyes, Lady Stellara, our Uncle, and I have all gazed upon what awaits us in the West!”

The reassembled Congress of Equestria murmured amongst itself. Five Princes and Princesses sat quietly in the marble stands of the high chamber, digesting the alicorn’s words and studying her.

Wintermail allowed some time before continuing, permitting them to create their thoughts and let the ideas of terror implant themselves into their minds, “It is worse than we believed. It is worse than imagined. We reached Mareposa, and saw the Enemy! We witnessed its strength and extent!”

That city’s exiled King sat uneasily, hanging onto the Wintermail’s words with a painful anxiety. She saw in him fear and despair, and she could say nothing to abate his suffering, “A hundred-thousand warriors reside now. Soon they must advance. And what’s more, this is no mere company of minotaurs and mustangs! Within their ranks can be counted zebra beastmasters atop giant grey mounts than can shatter walls! The thestrals, the bat-ponies of the mountains fly under their banners! And dragons, lusting all the gold and gems within our borders have been called around a single Darkness.”

“What binds them together? What prevents them from murdering one another at mere sight?” asked Princess Nephele of Cloudsdale. Her deep maroon eyes told the alicorn well enough she was unmoved, but not stalwartly so.

Wintermail steeled her mind and recalled the greatest happening of that trip, “A peril over all the others. Whether by fear or sweet promises these varied foes unite around a single point of terror: the rumors were true.”

Those of a more mystical inclination recoiled in horror, understanding well what had transpired. More cynical lords raised eyebrows, crinkled their snouts, and crossed their forelimbs.

“Discord has returned. And he means to ruin our land, make no mistake.” Wintermail let the mood sink in.

Prince Wealthford of Detrot’s eyes dilated, and he replied in a wavering voice, “How was this done? What brought that fiend back into our world?”

Lady Stellara, donned in her armor and weapons, stepped forth, “The poor people of Mareposa were kept as feed for the blood rituals shamans and acolytes have committed. Discord was born of malice and death, and we can expect nothing less from him.” The exiled King Auburn Flare felt his face pale, and he placed a hoof over his mouth as his chest thumped like a great drum.

Wealthford turned to his attendants and spoke in murmurs. Others followed, the Congress devolving into dozens of small conversations about this news.

The Grand Mayor of Baltimare however sneered, “I suppose we should make sacrifices to our own gods. Perhaps Lionheart might declare for us.” He scoffed, “Let us not focus on Discord. This horde can be broken apart and dealt with in pieces.”

“We are not here to suffer your wit, my Lord,” Wintermail shot, glaring at the pegasus, “We saw him! We heard his words, his fell whispers. His power is terrible, beyond what we have known. Uncle,” the knight turned to a stoic Henarion hidden behind his nieces.

The orange stallion moved forward and undid the clasp of his saddlebag. Reaching in with his magic, he pulled from the bag a blackened claw, the trophy won in the outskirts of Mareposa. He threw it with a forceful burst onto the floor, and glowered at these pompous nobles. “I am Stronghoof, and I cleaved that from Discord himself. He is as real as I am, as much flesh and bone as us all.”

Some lords gasped, others became uneasy but were too prideful to admit their folly. “Certainly…that must be something else…,” said a nervous Kalleia of Neapony.

“And what may it be?” the Prince of Canterlot at last spoke. He stood from his throne and knocked his scepter, “A thunderbird? No…this is proof of what we’ve known for quite some time, but have refused to accept. The time for debate is over; there can be no denying it now. This foe, one we’ve thought lost to time and myth, has emerged again. Only by consensus here; by solidarity, can we defend Equestria now.”

“And Horsava shall make good on its word,” Princess Brynhilda called out, her voice far more powerful than her tiny size suggested. “I pledge my sword to the defense of Equestria!” With the sound of striking metal she raised her massive alicorn great sword above her seat; her vassals in attendance did the same.

“Perhaps we may not need to fight,” offered a craven Kalleia, “If we give them what they want—“

“You should be thrown from the ramparts, you damn coward!” Rufus of Fillydelphia shot, “They want only to lay waste to us! War is our only course, for it is not our choice.”

The Dogaressa of Manehattan stood up in all her indignance, “Quick to draw the sword, are we? I will not have you Princes throw your titles and honors about and disrespect one of my peers. Sea Lady Kalleia has reservations, understood enough, over spending her ponies’ lives when gold might save thousands from death!” The Sea Lady gave an acknowledging glance at the Dogaressa.

Tulip Hollow of Trotterdam, for really no more reason than to subvert every single one of Manehattan’s moves, joined the debate, “Typical of you islanders; not every problem can be solved with gold and spices! “

“Better than bouquets and furniture from your diseased marshlands!”

“Bite your tongue, you—“

“Silence, the both of you!” Petrafyrm asserted, unleashing his commanding presence over the Congress, “Our rivalries and grievances must be postponed, and I should hope Equestria’s best has the maturity to do so.”

This worked very well, and the two squabbling city-lords quieted like caned foals. Canterlot’s Sovereign hardened his gaze, “No amount of tribute can stay the barbarians for long. You would bleed dry your holdings to appease them, and still their thirst would never be satiated. A Cult of Evil ensnares them, whispering into their minds promises that seduce their darkest desires. Discord shall spur them ever onward until whatever designs he possesses are fulfilled.”

Wintermail spread out her wings and flew upwards, a flash of magic capturing her throat for a grand voice, “We have a choice, my Lords. We can adjourn and return to our homes and look to our own defenses. But that will not stop Discord. The cities and castles will fall, one by one, as their ponies fight with every ounce of valor in their bones. They would be last stands to sing of, if there remained those to sing them, for however brave and honorable their falls, these ponies will die in the end.

“And the map of our fair land will be scorched black. Discord will poison our hearts with fear and jealousy, harvesting our memories,” she spat, Wintermail and her sister meeting eyes for a moment, “To turn us away from all that is good in this world—simply for amusement and sport. Through his ‘games’, the weakest of us will be forever lost, and the strongest then outnumbered and outmatched.”

She landed on the floor, but kept her voice powerful and fierce, “Or we can rally together as an Equestria with the means and will to push back this Enemy!” A number of ponies in their seats shouted and stomped their hooves, throwing out cheers and appellations of the Wintermail and for unifying Equestria. Many others however remained hesitant.

“And what of the Prince of Trottingham?” came the voice of Cobalt Stone, King of Coltorado, “He is not here; Noblesse Oblige is not a fool—surely he sees the coming threat as clear as day. What does he know that we do not?”

“On the contrary, Noblesse Oblige is the greatest fool of all ponies. He is a traitor.” Wintermail paused, feeling a low rage in her chest. “He has betrayed his kind, his lands, his honor, and his vows. He has cast his lot in with the enemy, and sworn allegiance to Discord.” A gasp rose over the crowd. “We fought him at Mareposa; as a token of their new alliance, the Minotaur King granted to him an alicorn blade,” she looked at Auburn Flare, “The captured heirloom of that city’s rightful master. In fact, it was only by Noblesse’s intervention that we could not disrupt in time the black magic which brought forth Discord. That so-called Prince has placed all our fates on a razor’s edge.”

Lady Stellara took over, “And in light of his betrayal, we ought to expect the host of Trottingham to be against us. Noblesse knows our country, and none should doubt he’ll draw the most vicious path through the lands of whom he has grievances.”

The sisters looked at one another; now was the moment, Wintermail decided. “So, esteemed Lords of Equestria, Heirs of Houses and Bloodlines greatly revered, I call upon your goodwill and honor to stand with one another! I ask this not as Queen, nor as a knight, nor even as an alicorn. I ask in grandest humility as a pony who does not wish to see her country plundered and burned; I have seen those horrors, the ghastly rituals and the cruel fiend to come of them, and I shall fight whether an army stands behind me or not.”

Dame Wintermail pulled Eónadin from its sheath and raised it. Stellara drew Ailéránen in concert, and Henarion’s Bálebemoséo following third. “Who will stand with us?”

Without delay Prince Petrafyrm took hold of Manycsudë, the Southern Keen, in his violet aura and rose from his throne, “Canterlot will! The Mountain-borne Keep shall give whatever it can to the defense of Equestria!”

Brynhilda needed no more prompt. The strong pink filly rose Rectitude high with her uncommon strength, “You already have our answer! The Lances of Horsava’s Hussars shall ride to war!” Her entourage erupted with battle-cries and bellowing; a mere taste of the formidable ferocity they could be trusted to bring to any battle.

Stately and venerable Princess Nephele stood up, “A great host shall be mustered, as not seen in an age! We’ve lingered too long in our decrepit state; a new Kingdom must rise, and Cloudsdale will see that it is not killed in its cradle.” Nearing a century of age, Nephele nevertheless still possessed the vigor to draw her own heirloom sword Bánucfasíl, Thundermaul, and fly upwards as war-ready pegasi do, “An echo of the Elder Days casts itself over us! Heroes and their deeds were needed then; let us be those heroes in our time!”

Prince Wealthford possessed no named blade of great repute, but pledged his weapon all the same, “The forges of Detrot, this Arsenal of Equestria, will arm our host! There can be no more righteous cause than the one laid before us!”

“Dame Wintermail and Stellara speak truthfully; we cannot delay any further! Fillydelphia will stand with Equestria. With her reaches, our armies shall not know hunger!” Prince Rufus called out wearing his long beard and warrior’s braids, joining the others in their salutes.

“Hoofington concurs with Princess Nephele’s sentiment. Our country must be reborn, and what better subject for the poets than against these foes?” the impeccably-groomed Luminescence spoke in his mellifluous voice, producing the blade Foródyl, Evenstar, to join the concert, “We shall take the field!”

King Cobalt Stone cast his support, knowing his people would be among the first to feel the wrath of the horde. “Mine are a hardy folk; you all would do well to have them in your ranks. The Kingdom of the Foothills and Valleys consents!” He stomped his great hoof, hard as stone and proud as the peaks he’d been raised under.

Hillwick King of Poneva followed, understanding his father would have done the same in his day. Valedóreva, Snowdread, settled comfortably into the arrangement of bared steel. “Let the Horn of the North sound deep in the night, for in the dawn her banners shall answer the call!”

The exiled King of Mareposa at last stood and summoned the courage he’d forgotten all this time, “By life or death, I shall reclaim my land, and avenge my people who were made instruments of evil!” He drew his mundane blade and grimaced, “And take back Hordebreaker my birthright sword! But, let this one suffice for now!”

The lords of the Free Cities, hesitant for a time, finally caved when dozens of eyes leered at them. Dogaressa Marina rose first, stomping her richly-decorated hoof and proclaiming the riches of Manehattan will fund the armies, and its great harbor and many ships will ferry soldiers should the need arise. Trotterdam’s Tulip Hollow was not far behind with similar promises. Kalleia of Neapony then pledged her city and its resources to this common cause. Prince Rufus then offered her a heart-felt sincere apology for his early outburst; the Sea Lady accepted with a slight smile.

And with much pride hurt and swallowed, the obstructive and dissenting Fenraker finally agreed to bring Baltimare into this new coalition; after all, merchants cannot sell to the dead.

The Lords had now reached consensus, and the Prince of Canterlot smiled with a fullness he’d seldom displayed in his years. The urge to shed a tear of joy was strong, and he glanced at his side to the Librarian, who smiled in kind. After so many years, so many reigns, the dream of uniting Equestria was all the closer.

But one body remained unconsulted. Wintermail looked to a corner of the chamber, spotting a number of figures that towered over the rest. They had been quiet, their leader having learned now to listen and wait in silence. Wintermail stepped forward and looked at the green pony among them, beside whom a lavender mare sat.

“And you, Benecëai, Triple-Kin, Alicorns of here and beyond; I call upon you as your Exilarch, as descendant of your bygone Kings…will you join us as Equestrians? Cardúnón, Lís lostánilúsíma dim-menëai?(Will you ride with us?)”

Eshna nor-Osademesaca, the Leader of the Downfallen, rose and narrowed his silver eyes. Cardúnón cleared his throat and began in his deep voice, “Yes, Majesty. There remains still fire and strength in our kind’s blood; let us remind our foes why they trembled before the Alicorns!” His sister Rhílë joining him in standing, and then the rest of the attending alicorns—more seen in one place by Tulicëai since their king had been slain.

Ponies who had heard the stories of the alicorns, of their past glories, could not restrain their excitement. A new purpose was instilled in every heart within the chamber. Soon that sentiment would reach beyond to the furthest reaches of Equestria.

“Then it is settled!” Petrafyrm announced with a magically-charged voice, “The Host of Equestria shall march once again! Call the Banners! Every knight, every levy, every citizen who can wield a weapon must join us! With Providence and no short supply of valor, we shall cast down Discord and his army!” The Prince knocked his scepter.

The cries were deafening. Old friends flew from their seats to embrace one another. Swords clanked in the air and hooves smashed upon the floor. Pegasi soared above in a room that was not big or high enough for such stunts. Petrafyrm sat back on his throne, lowering his scepter at last. Little Lord Vale perked up and smiled at his father, who picked him up and placed him on his lap while stroking his mane. Princess-Consort Coruscina tenderly grabbed his foreleg and kissed her husband, laying her head against as grand a Prince as God ever made.

Henarion wrapped his forehooves around his nieces and pulled them in, planting kisses on their cheeks and laughing. Wintermail, not to be outdone, snared them both in a large embrace and squeezed with her mighty strength.

Cardúnón swooped downwards to meet Stellara. They shared a smile and went off to talk. Wintermail thought she might have heard him expressing how much he had missed her sister; tender talk like this didn’t interest the white alicorn much. Divorcing herself from the main crowd, she came to the foot of the marble platform upon which Peter sat. A light impact caught her attention.

Delbedasir, the Librarian, coughed and grumbled like the old stallion he was. “You’ve done well, Nikóleva. I daresay you’ve even impressed me.”

Wintermail giggled, “Shall I receive good marks for that?”

“Not a chance; you’ll need to study as everypony else.” He looked at the lords and their ponies, “This was the easy part; raising a force comparable to that which approaches is not a task that can be done overnight.”

“The horde was still in Mareposa when we left. We do have time.”

“Even so, that’s not what concerns me.” The Librarian said grimly.

Wintermail furrowed her brow, “What does?”

“We can discuss this in time; there are some very important lessons we shall start tomorrow. Enjoy the good sentiments here for today.” He gave a weak smile and headed off to attend the duties this Congress had prevented him from.

The white knight didn’t like this, and spent the rest of the day feeling uneasy about his cryptic words. Yet, if she could trade this feeling for the ones she’d endure in a very close future, this uncomfortability would have proven far more agreeable.

She delved back into the crowd, accepting words of praise and dispensing honors and thanks.

Meanwhile, at the back hidden in the dark where the braziers and torches were not so stern, a lone alicorn brooded. It was a curious fellow, blue with a green mane and grey eyes, face utterly ageless. Stallion or mare? Well…what an impolite thing to ask. The pony spotted that white mare. It took a sip from a wooden cup and grinned, slipping away once business was concluded.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

“You asked to speak with me, my Liege?” A wave of the Prince’s hoof invited Wintermail forward, stepping into the light of the candles strewn about his study. His Highness stood over a grand table, pouring over atlases and charts and all manners of papers. The item he was currently inspecting was a list of the forces each of Equestria’s sovereign lords could provide.

The Dame approached the table, upon it sprawled a large map of Equestria decorated by small wooden markers. A point was marked roughly in the center of Equestria, and around it were many such figurines of different colors. The Prince muttered to himself and magically moved two more from Canterlot, one figurine settling on this “rendezvous point“, the other finding itself on “Trottingham”.

Wintermail studied the map a second before meeting her lord’s eyes. “I’ve called you here, Dame, to tell you of some of the developments my commanders and I have made.”

“Equestria’s banners are to rally near Hoofington, correct?”

The Prince smiled, “It is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” He placed down the pages and trotted around the table to meet his knight, “Though…I wish circumstances were different; it is a pitiable but not altogether unexpected thing that Equestria should only have united when faced with a grim war.”

Wintermail cleared her throat, “You place a great amount of stock in the idea that our new-found unity will not simply evaporate at the conclusion of hostilities, my Lord.”

“That remains to be seen. And when the time comes, I should hope the right ponies are in the right places,” he said, giving her a knowing glance.

This upset her, but she did not let it show. “Will the Guard march with our host? Or will it remain to defend the city?” She then levitated up the marker on Trottingham, “Or, is there another assignment for Canterlot’s Elite?”

Petrafyrm took the figurine and put it back where it belonged, “The Guard is the backbone of our force; we intend to show our neighbors and enemies the Pikes of Canterlot!” The two laughed, but then the Prince steadied himself and stared at his vassal intently, “But I have another task for you in mind.”

Wintermail did not respond, only serving her undivided attention. “I offer you field command of Canterlot’s Banners. You have marched under the Six-Pointed Star; will you lead it?”

The white alicorn did not speak. Her eyes widened and she glanced all around her surroundings. Eventually she slowly walked to the Prince’s balcony, looking out over the river valley’s harbor. The numerous boats had since departed to return to their own homes and prepare for war as Canterlot’s smiths and soldiers were doing. She tapped her hoof and thought, finally summoning the voice to reply, “You don’t expect me to refuse, do you?”

Prince Petrafyrm appeared beside her and felt the cool nighttime spring air in his mane, “The Heir of Sun Flare, of Thunderhoof, cannot be absent. If these lords are to follow you, then it shall be in battle before in court. A crown has yet to be forged, but we are so close!”

A time of silence passed. “My Lord, may I speak frankly?”

“Frankly enough that you may dispense with ‘my Lord’,” he replied warmly.

Wintermail sighed, “As your vassal, as a knight in your service, besides protecting your estate and answering your call to arms, a duty of mine is to provide counsel. I feel…that you are being awfully…presumptuous. When you first met me, I did not know my heritage. Even after learning of it, I was not the candidate you sought—still seek. Even after a year and a half, I am still not that pony. Kings were my ancestors, but I am not them, nor can I pretend to be.”

She finished and meekly stood awaiting whatever harsh words awaited. Contingent of his generosity was the expectation she would become the Queen he desired. The Prince looked at here for a while, his countenance neither punishing nor forgiving; simply…present.

“In my blood resides remnants of your race; you know this. I am taller than most, stronger and more adept with spellcraft than unicorns ought to be. My years will be greater—half again more than pure-bred ponies, if chronicles and traditions are trusted. I inherited a great sword, now loaned in perpetuity to Lady Stellara, and a mighty crown over a strong realm. I should be foolish to think none of these descended to me in no small part due to my alicorn ancestry.

“We call ourselves ‘Strong-Bloods’, and we’ve held ourselves mighty since the coming of the Exiles, mightier still after the King fell.” He paused to think, “Quite a lot of expectation, isn’t it? A Prince, an inheritor of a grand legacy of not one, but two very different worlds and peoples.”

The Prince returned inside, and stood at the head of his large table, “The gifts my descent grants unto me are varied, but I don’t think I should ever be deserving of them. Our ancestors cast great shadows that we find inescapable. But the wise don’t expect their children to surpass them; merely to look at their examples and live their lives as best as can be done—as best as those that came before knew how.”

Again he paused, turning to face the fire roaring behind him. “Flesh is weak…mortals are weak. Flawed and brimming with iniquity. But God did not make perfect creatures, for the perfect cannot grow, cannot add more beauty to this world. To strive as close as we can to the light is all Lórian asks of us. It is all we can ask of our children.” He broke his gaze from the fireplace and turned to Wintermail with tender eyes, “And it is all I can ask of you, Nikóleva.”

“Then I should tell you: lesser queens benefit few. I’d serve the light best keeping out of business that concerns me not,” she said, a dry tone in her speech.

Peter chuckled, “Perhaps. But the time is still young; we have a while, and an arduous climb still lies before us. In the meantime, shall you lead my banners?”

“If my Lord commands as such,” she said bowing, “But should not Canterlot march with its Prince?”

“Quite right, and indeed it shall. But its Prince is not the fiercest of warriors, nor the most clever of generals.” Wintermail could not resist a smirk.

“Lady Stellara might fulfill your needs better there.”

“In concert, then, shall you two act.” He returned to looming over his maps and charts.

Wintermail looked at the war-planning again, and that figurine on Trottingham, “And what role does Marshal Helmraed play?”

“On a different assignment, one that holds less glory and more suited to somepony as…long-toothed as he.” The Prince replied, finishing rather curtly.

The alicorn’s curiosity was not finished. “What sort of plan involves Trottingham?” she asked with a brooding tone.

“There are valuable resources we cannot allow the enemy to secure. Her Prince is a turncoat, and possesses the means to turn Trottingham’s weapons against us. A threat like that in our rear could be catastrophic.”

“And you think its ponies will support him even in his betrayal?”

“I hope and pray they will not, but oaths are powerful things, and not lightly forsaken by most. Vassals have pledged to Noblesse, and even in his evil they are bound by their word.” Petrafyrm’s tone became forceful then.

Wintermail narrowed her eyes, “What do you intend to do about that?”

The Prince looked frustrated, “Extend an olive branch, or prevent them from harming us in our struggles.”

“By what means?” she asked, a terrible sinking feeling in her heart.

“It is late, Dame. I expect an early rise to drill the troops.” The Prince kept his voice dark and low.

“I am not tired.” Wintermail knew enough to understand what her liege intended for Trottingham. “I hope his Princeship recalls the arms of his realm are for the defense of ponies.”

The Prince’s eyes became filled with pain, “Ultimately, yes. But as a knight, you need not concern yourself. The Marshal’s appointed task is a most unknightly one; I shan’t have mine betray their vows for the sake of pragmatism.”

“Helmraed’s mission will not stop at seizing the armories, will it?”

“If Trottingham’s ponies are of a less tenacious sort.”

“Not to blood and fire would they bend.” Wintermail added, her brow tensed.

“No,” the Prince admitted. He looked at his knight in all his dignitas, “Does my strategy disturb you? You have the right to let me know.”

Wintermail sighed, “I am in the business of killing. I have been for almost as long as you’ve been alive, my Lord. Death and war I’ve regrettably grown accustomed to, if not comfortable.” The Prince opened his mouth to respond, but the Dame cut him off, “But as a knight, an alicorn, and a pony, I am not without my honor. I will kill a soldier if need arises. I will raise my sword against those who would do others harm. But when they’ve thrown down their weapons in surrender, the killing stops. Mercy is not something I have always practiced—that does not make it any less right.

“I draw the line at defenseless peasants slaughtered before their families; at scorching fields and homes so they starve and freeze come winter. I have seen much of this, and wish no part in it. You have not asked me to wage war on Trottingham’s ponies, but I still voice my opinion, as is my right: Equestria’s enemies are not within, unless we make them ourselves.”

The Prince stood quietly, breathing heavily, “Would that it were so. I seem to have been lacking in my instruction of statecraft to you. We now have the resources to achieve our goals, chief among which is defeating the incoming horde. If that can be done only by removing Trottingham as a player on the board, then so be it.”

“Beware, my Lord, that the evil beyond our borders does not pierce through, even if Discord need not lift a finger.” Wintermail paused, taking a chance to think, “Or…is what Prince Noblesse said before not entirely incorrect: The opportunity to dethrone your great rival has shown itself at last, and you’d be loath to let it pass? Do not let your ambition—“

“Ambition!?” the Prince shouted, enraged as Wintermail had never seen him before. His hooves were shaking, his eyes filled with a combination of anger and sadness, “You have the right to dissent my wishes. And I am remarkably tolerant of those in my service and protection besmirching my name or actions. I have suffered more ridicule than you know for taking a wandering smith into my court and naming her knight.” He approached, just a hoof’s breadth away from Wintermail, “But what I will not suffer is a questioning of my motives or ambitions. My entire reign, and even before that, has been devoted singularly and without rest to Equestria; to my people! That one arrogant unicorn could betray his kindred and it be no small affair is a bitter reminder of how far I still have to a new kingdom!”

Wintermail felt the sincerity in his words, but a stubborn thing in her mind would not let her wholly supplicate, “My suspicions were then misplaced. But even so, you cannot set your soldiers to wreak havoc on the defenseless!”

A sardonic cackle squeezed from the Prince’s lips, “So now she pretends to be Queen? Well then…be a Queen, and command me to stand down!”

The alicorn shook her head and gnashed her teeth, “I never wanted to be Queen! I never wanted any part of this! I was quite content as a smith, completely ignorant of who I was. I would happily while away forging for three-hundred years and then die! And now you’ve…brought me into this perilous web of politics, and expect me to hold my peace when I see wrong be done!”

“You could not escape it forever,” Petrafyrm said, sitting on his chair. He sighed and took a drink from his cup. He removed his spired iron crown and placed it on the table, running a hoof through his mane, “The horde would have come either way. But now you possess the means and position to play a great part in this terrible turn of events.” He looked at her, white face illuminated by the orange glow of the fire, “You know quite well of battle, but little of war. Those that wear crowns and are trusted with the lives of their people often do not have the luxury of acting when it is right, or abstaining when it’d be wrong. All we can do…is our best.”

He stared forward then, lost in thought for a long time. Finally, as Wintermail was thinking herself, the Prince swallowed and spoke once more, “You’re right. But there shall be demons in our ranks, as no doubt there are angels within the enemy’s. But my decision is made because I fear what greater evils will befall us if smaller ones are not committed. In the end, as with all others, I shall pay for my sins.”

The white knight craned down her neck and whispered, “And what am I to do? How can I ignore these wrong-doings?”

“If you trust me, Dame Wintermail, then trust these words from somepony born into a different world that you now find yourself in: I fear that I will lose myself to evils that I believe will lead to good. If they consume me, and I no longer abide by fair counsel, would you forsake your oath of loyalty to me for the ponies of Canterlot?”

She inhaled to answer, but was cut off, “If ‘yes’, then would you endure the stigma countless will assign to you? Would you suffer names like ‘Oathbreaker’ or ‘Traitor’? Your regrets have caused you to seek good works, and to avoid the poor decisions born of fear or hatred that caused you to flee home all those years ago. You’re young, for an alicorn, and fire still reigns in your blood, along with great ideals. It is fading in me, though I’ve kept it better than most; the world is showing its ugly side more and more, though I endeavor to see otherwise.

“Good deeds may have evil consequences, and so too the opposite. And try as you might, you cannot avoid them. You will in time have to make choices that are painful indeed, some of which there is no clear good or evil. We follow laws, both earthly and divine, for most things, and try our best for what remains. And you will find never more elsewhere than in politics and leadership.

His words would in time prove prophetic. The mare thought them over, hearing the wisdom within. Wintermail had now cooled, as hot iron glowing red dims to a hard black. “Then I apologize, my Prince. I am…wont to stumble in with flame and passion, especially when I think I’m right.” She gave a meek smile.

“And who says you aren’t? Your love for others is not something to be counted against you. And you need not apologize; it is dissent and fury like yours that remind me why I shall not sleep well tonight—nor for many nights to come.” His face turned penitent, especially as he looked up at his giant knight, “I hope you don’t think less of me, though I should understand if you do.”

“I don’t give you enough credit. I know good stallions are brave, wise, and just. Now I suppose the great ones understand how much further they can still rise, or fall.” A very nice smile, full of warmth and goodwill, curled upon her lips, “I am truly honored to be in your service, and all the kindness you’ve shown my sister and me. I shall go as you command me, because you’ve removed all doubt that what you do is for our country; for others and never yourself.”

“And you, Nikóleva, have a good heart—one that shall be needed in the times to come. Never stop seeing the green in trees, or feeling the pleasantness of a springtime breeze. And never forget your love for your sister.” A while longer they sat in light conversation. A little more was spoken of the strategy and the great rally, and a few words of Discord and his terrors. At last, Wintermail bid her liege a good night with a courtly bow, while he replied in kind with a low supplication, as befitted royalty.

The alicorn departed to her chamber, and the Prince to his bed. Uneasy sleep covered both, as predicted. Fell deeds remained, and whatever good should emerge from rides and raids, a steep price would be paid.

The Prince stirred; he understood as much far too well.

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 12. Ruin and Wrath

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 12. Ruin and Wrath

“A fine day,” thought aloud a stout earth pony. Tan of coat and wearing a tangled vermilion mane, he trudged along dragging an iron plow through the rich black soil of his homeland. Winter had wrapped up nicely, and now full blooms covered the countryside, birds nestling in the trees and the nearby brooks softly babbling. Oaken Bough was not alone; others around the Lady’s fields were hard at work under the kind morning sun.

The sound of hooves clopping upon cobblestone caught the earth pony’s attention, and he ceased his movement to spare a glance towards the road. He heard voices, speech of a fairer sort, more colored with learned words and dignity. An entourage accompanied a very pale violet unicorn, a beautiful mare. She was dressed in a simple light blue robe, lined with a silver thread. A small circlet of iron tipped here and there like dew-kissed grass with precious stones and flecks of gold rested elegantly on her flowing scarlet mane.

A beauty far beyond any other he’d beheld, the Lady Chamomile spoke with her courtiers, with now a single strand of her mane falling out of place. Oaken Bough soon fell into a daze, a dumb wide smile on his face. She continued to discuss whatever higher matters concerned the noble-blooded, occasionally batting her rich ruby eyes off towards the field. One time too many, and she finally noticed a lowly tenant farmer positively gawking at her Ladyship.

Oaken Bough flew into a panic, and galloped off with his plow in tow, cutting a deep swath through the earth. Lady Chamomile grew intrigued, and divorced herself from the business of her courtiers, jumping over the low fence that delineated each tenant’s lot. Careful not to disrupt the tilled soil, Chamomile spotted the pony who was working this particular field.

Oaken Bough’s heart pounded in his chest, set to erupt and mercifully end the poor stallion’s life. This did not come, and he was therefore forced to receive his Lady’s presence. She came with a remarkable stride, the light shining from her face like the illuminated stained-glass windows of the manor’s temple. She gave a quiet smile, looking almost nervous.

“I have noticed your labors, er…Oaken Bough, is it?” He could only nod and try to focus on plowing another length of the field. She kept in step with him, following him as he moved the many yards to the fence. “You work quickly. My liege has asked me to provide for a great host this summer.” She spoke with a shyness that perplexed Oaken Bough; she held an iron grip over his livelihood—what could she possibly be unsure about? “And…not that your services aren’t essential…but…well, they’re very good…I—“

“I am to join the manor’s militia, my Lady?” Oaken Bough said, earning a grin from his landlady.

“Yes…I need strong ponies to march with me…and you seem rather fit. When called, we shall join the Count, and he to Prince Rufus. I don’t know everything,” she mumbled, digging her pristine hoof into the soil, “But I understand Equestria is going to war, and Fillydelphia has answered that call.

“So…can I…do you accept?” her speech stopped wavering as she finally found her authority.

Oaken Bough had the feeling of butterflies swarming within his gut. His foreleg began shaking, but he stayed it with the other, and craned his neck down.

“Wonderful! Tomorrow, after midday, we shall drill in my courtyard.”

His voice caught in his throat, and he could only creak “Ye…uh…my…,” but she had already headed back to the path, likely to recruit a far more memorable and suitable stallion. Oaken Bough let out a heavy sigh; whom was he fooling? A simple peasant, a poor tenant farmer possibly entertaining the notion that a noble lady, a pony born of refinement and privilege, could be interested…he’d have less heartache simply driving a dagger through his chest.

The earth pony resumed his work, if nothing else than to not disappoint his lady.

But then, a most peculiar thing started happening. Small pebbles on the ground moved without notice, and a faint rumbling emerged from beneath his hooves. At first he thought it might have been his stomach, but he knew better a few moments later. The rumbling grew fiercer, and the ponies around stopped at its approach. The Lady Chamomile squinted into the distance, trying to discern whatever the disturbance might be.

Upon the wind came strange noises, not heard in these parts for decades. Angry, terrible noises, high-pitched screams and cries in a language nopony knew. The rumbling grew stronger…louder, and the Lady’s eyes widened when dark shapes appeared over a far hill, kicking up dust as they went.

Not long after, a bell rang in the manor village, and all capable warriors retrieved whatever weapons they could. Oaken Bough for his part dropped the plow and seized a billhook he had used earlier to clear brush. The tool in mouth, he galloped to the Lady’s side, other farmers too rallying around her. Her face immediately grew stern, and she drew her sword with a red field of magic.

“To me! To me!” she cried, a host of a dozen or so finally forming at her back. The Lady’s eyes told well enough what peril awaited them. She’d heard the tales her dear old father spun about the western nomads, the savages with their curved blades and utter lack of mercy. Mustangs, clad in their wool and iron armor, were galloping into her land.

Her first duty now could come to light: defend her property and the ponies within.

The raiders advanced in force, numbering far more than what was available to match. Nevertheless, Lady Chamomile stood fast, grimacing when their unwashed manic faces entered her sight. Most of the farmers had managed to safety; a few though suffered being cut down or trampled by the barbarians. It made their Lady’s blood hot.

The mustangs were closing on the pitiful levy, but each held valor in far excess of their opponents—it was hoped. “When you can spit on the bastards, give them hell!” the Lady shouted, raising her blade. As sure as sunrise, when the two bodies clashes, not an ounce of mercy was spared for the attackers.

Lady Chamomile uppercutted first, cleaving a mustang’s head in two. She finished the move off by slashing through the neck of another. There was no shortage of enemies to combat, and Oaken Bough found himself rushing headlong to prove his worth to his lady, and himself. His billhook was vicious, ripping pieces of flesh from wherever it stuck. Agonizing screams left his victim’s twisted mouths; a second attack with the hook silenced such noise.

The splashes of blood covered his face, not a few landing upon his lips and tongue. It was enough to make him gag, almost to wrench and purge his stomach. In truth, the smell and sound of death was more than he’d been prepared for; it’d haunt him for nights to come. He kept strong though; now was not the time to shy from his first battle—least of all while his lady was present.

Chamomile was valiant, and dispatched foe after foe. But her retinue and the farmers fighting beside her fell one by one. A young page, no more than twelve, suffered the cruelty of his head being sliced along his mouth, through the cheeks and out the back. Another endured his body crushed by stomping hooves; a third a curved mustang sword straight into his gut. The Lady avenged her fallen with a brutal efficiency, but it was too little.

A second band of mustangs passed to the right, heading into the manor village and the precious stores that they coveted. Chamomile grew in despair, knowing there was nothing she could do to save her ponies. A Lady, charged with defending this land, was caught powerless and off-guard—what crueler drink could fell gods conceive?

Lost in her despair, Chamomile did not notice one of the first band charge her, sword-point aimed between her eyes. The shout began, but when the mare finally noticed her danger, the assailant was on the ground, injured and writhing. Oaken Bough stood over the mustang, billhook in mouth, and growled. He pounced, trying to finish the job he’d started.

In the struggle, Lady Chamomile saw the stallion as he was, heroic and brave. A light seemed to shine behind, his red-orange mane flowing in the wind. Alas, had circumstances been different… She joined him in combat, the two driving their weapons into the mustang’s chest in tandem. The two shared a glance. Even covered in blood and dirt, the Lady was still the most beautiful creature a mere peasant had the good fortune to ever gaze upon.

They concluded their bittersweet glance and engaged more foes. Their strength though wore out in time, and soon all others had fallen. Surrounded, the two looked at one another and turned to their opponents with an abandon utterly lacking in heed. It was a valiant effort, the kind to sing songs of, if any were to survive to sing them. But ultimately, when the last of mustangs in this first band had fallen, the unicorn and earth pony had suffered grievous wounds. They collapsed onto the dirt, envisioned to be a sowed field only this morning, now a blood-soaked pale of earth.

A dagger had pierced Oaken Bough’s lung; a sword cut a deep gash in Lady Chamomile. She cried full tears—her lands and ponies were now undone, to be plundered and razed by these marauders. The unicorn trembled, wracked with terrible sobs. Oaken Bough looked up and wiped her eyes so that she might see him clearly. Not a word was spoken, only a quiet stare that seemed to last ages. Their lives were draining fast—both could feel it. The pair then cradled one another in their final moments, feeling their breaths hot and heavy until both breathed no more.

The manor village went up in flames. Little foals wailed loudly over the corpses of their slaughtered parents, the raiders either indifferent or choosing to end their suffering. Homes were plundered as smoke rose into their air, all valuables seized at the pleasure of the mustangs. A leader of them though shouted in her native tongue, reminding the raiders of their mission.

The manor house too erupted in a brilliant orange fire. The conflagration would spread soon, reducing the fields and even the woodlands of the manor a mere blackened waste. The granaries were emptied, whatever could be carried placed in the mustangs' bags and stolen carts; the rest was burned along with the manor.

The raid leader stood atop a hill, blowing her horn to signal their job was finished. The flames reflected in her deep hazel eyes. These ponies had put up a good fight; many of her clansponies had fallen. They would be left out in the open, as was tradition on the prairie. The Great Horde was marching eastwards, Great Warchief Jasicus along with them; they were to travel back to give the food to the multitude of warriors.

Dozens of such mustang raiding parties, quick and precise, were now fanning over the regions. They were to collect food and supplies for the Horde, and deal as much damage as possible to Equestria’s capacity to resist. Over days and then weeks hundreds of small manors and towns would share the fate of this poor nameless and now forgotten place.

As they had been doing for centuries, the borders of Equestria would recede further, marchlands drained of ponies to call them home as they fled or fell before the marauding horde.

When the first raiding parties came back in the days to follow, the horde had advanced. Abandoning Mareposa, it took a long while for its scattered and varied hosts to depart. Even once on the march, it could only move as quickly as the slowest components: bipedal minotaurs and zebras’ lumbering elephants. It would be a while yet before Discord’s great forces could be brought to bear upon the pony-lords.

Mustangs were quick and seasoned raiders, but their specialties rested on flat open ground. Rough terrain confounded them, and as such their wave broke against the mountainous realm of Coltorado. But it should not be supposed that kingdom was wholly safe—the narrow passes and crags that slowed down the prairie-folk were natural battlegrounds for the airborne thestrals and even dragons.

It was there the first true battles took place. King Cobalt Stone had sent word quickly enough to his land for them to prepare. On the whole a nation of pegasi, the hardy Coltoradans matched blow for blow the invading sorties. Little ground could be taken, the inhabitants entrenched and fighting back with arrows and rocks and spears. Many burned alive against dragonfire, but heroes were made in those valleys and passes. Not a few young, arrogant dragons were slain, and an entire clan of thestrals wiped out by a poor stroke of fate as they tried to flee through a blocked pass.

News reached the horde, now a day or so from the marshes that separated Fillydelphia’s borders from the prairie. Discord was happy, exceedingly so, of the raids’ successes. Curiously, but decreasingly so, Warchief Jasicus found the great Draconequus, that Deliverer of the forgotten peoples, actually laughed over the difficulties his own soldiers were facing northwards!

The Warchief sat out beside his lord, under the faded twilight and rising stars. He frowned, slowly realizing the dreadful position he now found himself in. Earlier that day the several bands had returned, laden with grain, fruits, and vegetables. A light banquet was held—mustangs were not prone to luxurious displays. Jasicus personally doled out a large measure of the food to his tribesponies. A hard winter had left many weakened and close to their end.

The Warchief’s heart had swelled for every small filly and colt that left his tent with even a small piece of bread—they all looked at it as if it were a precious gem or bag of gold. Too many offered praises to their leader, words of grace that Jasicus cared little for. When the slaughter was over, and times happier, Noblesse would make good on his word and grant a pale of land for the mustangs to settle upon.

In return, no raids were to be done, not a single piece of gold plundered, from Trottingham’s domain. The Prince had galloped off with an entourage of guards and even a large escort of mustangs to muster his forces. In his absence, Jasicus was left in the company of Aurýx that bloodthirsty brute, and Discord.

“Isn’t it lively? All those points of activity, swarming and scouring and scattering!” the serpentine creature laughed, kicking about and wiggling in mirth. His avian hand had already grown back and his mood was high. Everything was going exactly like he wanted, with the bland, boring, and rigid receding to his free and fun “changes”.

“Certainly, my Lord,” the Warchief quietly replied, staring at the survivors of the raids; injured and maimed, they’d won their plunder only with great struggle. Jasicus frowned further.

As a component of his due tribute, even though his godly powers seemed able to conjure substance from nothing, Discord collected a great mound of food upon which he sat and bit at all night. A coreless apple was thrown onto the ground, followed by cherries without their pits and crustless bread; all the foodstuffs the Draconequus had finished with. “It’s all coming along nicely, wouldn’t you say?” he asked, picking something from his teeth.

“Nicely enough, I should hope. There will be quite a lot of land cleared by the time we’re ready to settle,” the Warchief muttered with a sardonic chuckle.

“That’s right!” Discord said, poking the grown stallion on the snout, “Do not fret, my little nomad friend; we’ll get there.” His fanged mouth curled into a grin, “Do remember when I first spoke out to your shamans? They were a talented bunch, very receptive. All those stories of the hard prairie and cold winters…and no food! Ooooh how my heart went out to you poor, poor ponies.”

Discord made a pout, “Soon though, the verdant country of Equestria shall be laid before your hooves! Imagine the pristine lakes and rivers, the lush trees, the golden fields ripe for harvest! So…clean and neat!” he shot through clenched teeth. “But to build a house, you need to cut down a tree; to gather a castle’s stone you must hew a mighty mountain. There is method to all this, and in the end your people shall have a home.”

Discord said his peace and returned to lazing about. Jasicus replied with nothing and simply stood and watched those around. It was clear by now what sort of entity they’d made their pact with, but nothing now could be done. Serve faithfully, and in the end the mustangs might survive, and perhaps with little molestation from the new Master of this world.

Noblesse’s judgement better be sound in his planning, for a poorly-though out campaign could cost a multitude of warriors. Jasicus now knew what stock his liege placed upon his people; casualties would bother the Draconequus little if it meant he came closer to his goal—whatever that might be. It therefore rested on their own leader to preserve the mustangs.

The Great Warchief of the wild prairie-folk retired soon afterwards, mind heavy with a terrible burden. He did not sleep easily, and each day brought more anxieties. By the end of it all, the little fillies and colts of his kindred might know a less cruel life, if the gods hadn’t in fact been so callous to have banished their worst to this earth.

As he laid his head upon the simple cot he slept on every night, Warchief Jasicus grinned , realizing that thought ought never to be muttered aloud—he doubted he’d finish it before the old stallion was smote.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

“Storm the armories! Take as much as you can!” a booming stallion’s voice called across the town courtyard, its owner standing behind his soldiers as they held off the inevitable retaliations the courageous militia offered. A month of training and drilling had done well to transform peasant conscripts into capable-enough troops prepared to pillage.

Trottingham’s lords did not heed the warnings. Marshal Helmraed approached each settlement, each stronghold with the same news: “Your Prince has betrayed you, and sold us all to the marauders of the west. Join us, or be branded our enemy.” It hardly worked. Many held to their vows or claimed there was no proof of these wild allegations. Indeed, had the Marshal been in their position would he have heeded those words?

A bitter irony of little comfort was the fact lords who had defected to Equestria’s banners were the most faithless of all, eager to dislodge their sovereign or gain some power over him.

A few weeks now they’d been at this sordid business. A good thousand soldiers had traveled with Helmraed; attrition was setting in though, and a good deal less might return home. But strongholds, forts, and towns had been disarmed—rendered inert and incapable to field troops for a time. The rear threat of Trottingham’s betrayal grew less and less each day.

Helmraed trusted his Prince, and did as he was bid. Yet he found no joy in this mission, but if it was as his liege wished, then it would be done in totality.

“Hold!” the old pegasus commanded, his line of spears withstanding the revenge, righteous enough, of the locals. Behind him others were stealing weapons and placing them on carts. Whatever couldn’t be carried would be burned. Through the course of this raiding, Helmraed had done his best to simply disarm the ponies of Trottingham’s reaches, not to kill or destroy their homes and farms. But levied peasants did not possess as high a discipline as the Guard, and it became impossible to prevent every abuse.

Military hangings became daily as his own soldiers were convicted of terrible crimes they’d been expressly commanded to refrain from. The task was made easier with reinforcements from turncoat holdings in the princedom, but Helmraed held no power of discipline over them.

An hour passed, and a flank from their rear routed the peasant militias, allowing Canterlot’s party to finish their mission in the town quick enough to set out for the next target before sundown. It was not a kind hour, filled with screams and cries and death and blood, all permanently burned into the mind of the Marshal. He had not smiled, nor laughed the whole of this mission; merely carried his heavy heart as best as he could.

Laden with swords, axes, polearms, bows and arrows, the regiment’s carts withdrew to their camp, where small detachments would ferry them back beyond the borders into Canterlot, the roads cleared of any hostiles. The citizens, having yielded, were allowed to retrieve their dead—under close surveillance from the soldiers.

Many of the townsfolk passed by the colors of Canterlot, spitting and cursing the name of her Prince and ponies. The Marshal sighed; he wished to give them gold or something else in compensation, but that would be counterproductive. Instead he held a stiff upper lip and commanded his troops to distract his mind from this horror.

“Marshal! A cartwright was most generous; we’ve been able to empty the armory,” saluted a sergeant, a ruddy unicorn.

“Burn it, then,” Helmraed said in a low voice, watching as the order was relayed and ponies retrieved spades to dig a trench around the armory. Once done, they tossed lit torches at the wooden building and saw it grow into a towering orange flame.

The trench was a courtesy; a method to prevent the rest of the town from catching alight. Much of the time it worked…sometimes not. When their torching grew out of control, it was a knife to Helmraed’s conscience. But they could not delay for the sake of one town; time was critical.

By a stroke of fate Trottingham’s lords could not agree to rally around and march against the raiders in absence of their Prince. Their folly was to Canterlot’s benefit, but honestly how much longer could that continue?

Weary and downcast, the dark blue pegasus found a barrel and sat down, resting his bones and fanning out his wings. Down a street, unpaved and illuminated by the fire, he saw a mother weeping over the lifeless body of what he could only assume was her son—had been. Helmraed’s eyes grew glossy. His own children had since grow up, his eldest tending to their estate. His youngest, his daughter Scyldmara, had joined the Canterlot Guard.

She had fallen at Windhock Vale. By what, that was never found out; she was unaccounted at the end, probably lost as a mangled corpse neither friends nor family could discern. A terrible pain in his chest threatened to escape, but he willed it down; he could mourn further in his tent.

The sun grew low in the sky, and in a house abandoned during the carnage, the Marshal and his lieutenants inspected the map and prepared their route as soldiers outside readied for the march. “We’ll travel northwards here. I intend to put ten miles between us and this town before we make camp.”

“Ten miles, my Lord? I reckon only a couple hours of daylight remain. We’d have to march by moon and starlight,” Lieutenant Brightveil, a dull green unicorn, objected.

“Then we shall march by moon and starlight. Time is not a luxury we possess. The Prince wished us to rendezvous with Equestria’s hosts by summer’s end; we cannot let Trottingham bring its banners to bear, else we should never show our faces again, me least of all.”

“It is only mid-spring, my Lord. Our troops have fought hard each and every day if they have not marched for it.” Brightveil continued, “The Guard can be expected for this sort of driving, but our levies cannot. They must rest. They are not allowed plunder, and exertion and executions are wearing on their morale. We are suffering already from desertions.”

A glance from the Lieutenant to another pony produced a small sheet of paper, “We have tallied some numbers; each and every battle we lose a larger amount of our ponies. We should have let them rest in the settlements that defected to us, but you wished to press onwards.”

The Marshal gave a stern look, a look that chilled the blood of all in the house. After placing them over their proper place, he allowed words to drive them in, “Every day we rest, every day we tarry in our mission is another day that the horde that imperils us all grows closer. Our task is utmostly important—“

“This talk of a common threat grow tedious, my Lord, as we feud with our fellow ponies like squabbling houses and lords!” one of the officers had the gall to interrupt.

Marshal Helmraed growled, prepared to reprimand as fiercely as he could until the calm voice of Lieutenant Brightveil came, “Our mission is crucial; nopony doubts this. But we have pragmatic considerations that must be made. High words can only move an army so far. Allow them time to rest, else by the end you shall only have a command of us alone in this house. And a mere council of officers does not an army make.” The Lieutenant paused, seeing the fire cool in his Marshal’s eyes, “Recalled the wisdom: ’Drive to the sea, and your dreams come all to naught. With method and deliberation, one shall conquer, if delayed longer than wished.’”

“How dare you quote military treatises to me,” Helmraed replied, but with no anger or frustration.He began to nod, “Aye. But can we stay here for the night? The inhabitants might not be terribly receptive.”

Before any of his counsel replied, a loud bellow came from the windows. The sound was clear enough; the bugler’s signal. The officers fled the house and spied atop one of the town roofs a pony blowing into their horn. Faintly but surely came the words “To arms!”

Even fainter but somehow much clearer were shouts and yells, the certain call of an attacking army. Dread filled the Marshal’s heart and his eyes shrank. His scouts should have told of any approaching forces, unless…they’d been caught.

Only one thing could have moved swift enough for that.

Appearing above the hill, Helmraed’s suspicions were confirmed. Earth ponies appeared in great force. A band of mustangs, numbering easily thousands, charged down towards the town. Above them flew dark shapes backlit by the red sun. What they were exactly the Marshal did not know; it did not matter.

“Form up! To the square! Spears, guard all entrances! Archers inside!” the Marshal ordered, flying upwards to gain a high vantage point. Sword drawn, he led his pegasi against the other flyers while the field of mustangs funneled into the streets.

The clash of metal was deafening. Many nomad warriors fell upon the shields and spears of the wall, but their force and will drove Canterlot’s lines ever back. Arrows hit their mark with blood-curdling results, but Helmraed was clearly outnumbered.

In the sky above the dark flyers swarmed towards the pegasi. Closer, their shapes could be discerned as those of bat-ponies. Creatures from murals and stories made flesh, they narrowed their yellow slit eyes and flapped their leathery wings, clubs and spears ready to slay any pegasi that entered their sky.

Helmraed met one with his blade, cleaving one of its wings and seeing it crash down a ruined and broken body. Another found its entrails spilled as his sword met its gut. A stream of blood and gore fell down to the ground, dirtying the already horrifying battlefield.

But there were too many. For every pegasus Helmraed possessed, there seemed to be five of these thestrals to match. His fliers could dispatch four each, but five seemed to be their limit. Below, the spear walls claimed mustang after mustang, but the pressure continued and Canterlot receded closer to the town square with each thrust of a blade or spear.

And then, down the main thoroughfare of the town, came galloping a different sort of pony. The Marshal saw him, a unicorn colored a dull orange.

“Fear not, good ponies! Your Prince has come!” he called out, cheers of the townsponies caught in their homes by the carnage escaping through windows. Noblesse Oblige grinned and murmured, “Your King has come.”

Helmraed fought off more thestrals with all the skill he’d earned over his many years, but they kept coming. In between attacks, he watched this new-coming Prince, noticing the violet haze trailing from his eyes.

Perched atop a building, the unicorn gave a snarl and bellow and unleashed a beam of magic, quite unlike any the Marshal had seen before. Some of the Canterlot levies burned to death, others were jolted by lightning and fell a singed corpse. All caught in Noblesse’s field died, and died screaming.

A volley of arrows came forth, many landing into the skulls and backs of the mustangs, some even hitting the bat-ponies overhead. No less than ten were seized, though, by the dark Prince’s magic. Turned around, they were unleashed upon their archers with five times as much force and malice.

Anger, pure and terrible, consumed Noblesse, but he had to withdraw as the black magic grew too strong for now. “Bring me their commanders! Kill the rest!” he yelled to his mustang allies.

Helmraed was forced to the ground by a quick succession of thestral opponents, and finally stood with his soldiers, surrounded on all sides. He spotted Lieutenant Brightveil charging headlong beside the spears as the wall broke open. A moment of glory for the unicorn, as he deserved. Brightveil killed three mustangs right away, sparred with a fourth, and slashed the face of a fifth in the aftermath.

“For the Mountain!” he cried as the enemies increasing around him, and Brightveil was torn from this world when a mace broke open his jaw, a second swing caving in his warhelm and reducing his head to a mess of bony shards and blood.

One shield wall was broken, and the mustangs quickly poured in and flanked the others, while the thestrals swooped from above and skewered to their pleasure. Soon, all of Canterlot’s soldiers were dead, and Helmraed found himself with but a small number of officers, noble and not.

“Halt!” came Noblesse’s deep voice. He appeared on top of a house, jumping down into a cleared space by his mustangs. Slowly, with a cruel smile, the Prince approached. Flashing again his dark magic, he pulled Helmraed into his grip and sneered, “Where do you get the audacity to attack my lands? What fell errand has Peter sicced his dog on?”

The magical shroud was strong, and the Marshal felt the pressure squeezing his skull. But he would say nothing to this faithless traitor.

“It is rude to refuse a Prince.” A flash of his horn and Helmraed felt an unimaginable pain. Exactly what was being done couldn’t quite be said; he knew only that his insides felt as though they were being crushed and his skin pulled apart. The pegasus screamed for what seemed like an hour. “What are they planning?! Tell me!”

Noblesse only let up to afford Helmraed opportunities to speak. He did not take any of them. The torment grew immense, but the Marshal would not break. Each time he was left writhing and trembling, driven to tears, but we would not break. Not a force on this Earth could cause that old dark pegasus to break faith and betray his master; there at least he was greater than Noblesse.

“Perhaps your underling will be more cooperative,” Noblesse threatened while seizing one of the surviving officers—the very one who had interrupted Helmraed during their meeting. A simple taste of Noblesse’s “talent” was enough to win a few words from this pony.

“Aaaah, no more! No more…” the pony cried, tears streaming down his cheeks. Noblesse relaxed his purple magic. “We were sent here…to weaken your land. Those two mares…the alicorns…they told us you were in league with the horde.” He continued to weep, falling onto the ground. Helmraed thrashed and shouted, but to no avail. “Mercy, I pray, Lord.”

No mercy came. A violent, seething rage built within the Prince, his eyes becoming a bright otherworldly green as they surged with the forbidden magic. He gnashed his teeth together until they hurt and his horn pulsed with magic until the throbbing drove him mad. The pony, most cooperative though he had been, wailed in torture, Noblesse unleashing his full malice on him. He died whimpering, blood gushing from his mouth as all within was torn and crushed and twisted.

The Prince then drew his sword, the gift from the Minotaur King renamed “Deference”, and brought it down in a rapid swing upon Helmraed’s neck, cleaving his head in one clean motion.

Still furious, the unicorn looked over his warriors. There was no sense delaying any further; that damn fool Discord had let those three go! Noblesse knew that would only have led to trouble. Premonition had been correct then, and it would be correct now.

A mere word of goodwill and promise of relief was all the Prince gave to his ponies in this town. A messenger was sent to tell his vassals to raise their forces and ready for war. Swift as the wind he then departed with his mustangs and thestrals, given to fight off the raiders he’d received word were terrorizing his lands. How foolish were these Canterlot scoundrels to think such a crime could go unpunished?

Day and night they galloped, finally meeting with the horde days later. It had now reached the edge of Equestria proper, and was already poised to pour into the miserable princedoms. Noblesse entered camp in force, galloping as quickly as his tired legs would bring him to his liege.

“My Lord Discord, I bring ill tidings,” he presented, bowing before the Draconequus.

“Oh? What sort of delights have do you have for me today?” Discord replied, grinning as he always seemed to do.

Noblesse took a moment, “The raiders I learned of in my land were in fact sent from Canterlot.”

“Ooooh now that’s interesting,” Discord cooed while wiggling his fingers together, “They want to play hero now, do they?” He conjured up a long cone and shouted in the narrow end, “You fools! We’re this way!” The fiend then laughed his lungs tired.

“Quite…,” Noblesse continued, “I ask for your leave to rectify this wrong. Grant me a force to march on Canterlot. I would see it burn—I would see it dismantled for your glory!”

“Slow down, now, little Princeling,” Discord said, snapping his fingers to make a cushioned chair appear under Noblesse. “I love sightseeing as much as anypony, but that seems to be a little out of the way. We have an eternity to tour the country. Sit back and relax; it’ll all come in time. Just enjoy it as it all unravels; as they all lose their minds!” A dark cackle then echoed from the center of the horde’s camp where their god resided.

Frustrated, Noblesse sat in the chair for a time until he got an idea, “You know, your Great Chaotic Eminence, if I recall correctly Canterlot possesses a number of knights in its service.”

“Alright…hey! What if knights were the ones in distress, and not the damsels? That could be fun; we could take bets on whether or not the damsels would be burned to death by the dragons! You!” Discord pointed to one of his servants, “Fetch me a dragon; tell it I hope it’s ready to have a little…roast.”

“Yes…we could…but one knight there might interest you, my Lord. The one who wields the Sword of Light and Darkness.” Noblesse said in a slow and deliberate manner.

Discord’s face turned in a steady fashion from curiosity to attention to finally…relishing. “Such a prize rests in that mountain’s treasure? Well…perhaps it would be fine idea indeed to pay them a visit. I suppose I could spare some warriors for such festivities.”

All the dark urges and emotions lurking in Noblesse were indulged greatly, and they manifested their near-total domination of him with a nasty, evil grin. It was all so close now. The injuries Petrafyrm, curse his name, had done unto Noblesse Oblige’s domain would be met with a harsh justice. To see Canterlot burn…that was too lenient. It was, after all, an alicorn construct; the Mountain-borne Keep therefore was to pass into memory and then into oblivion.

No surer domination could be made of Equestria’s petty little lords: a power that could erase their realms from the map…what pony in reasonable mind could refuse to bend the knee then?

Bidding his lord farewell, Noblesse began returning to his own tent, wondering if he commissioned a crown now, would it be ready in time for his coronation?

Discord too thought to himself, his eye training on Noblesse. He was a clever little devil, he was. The serpentine creature stroked his short beard, and then snapped his fingers. A lasso appeared, and with a few revolutions it was turned on the Prince’s legs. Tied and confused, he cursed and yelled as Discord dragged the unicorn back to his presence.

“Now…one more thing, Noblesse. I know you’re of the inventive sort, but careful not to get too many ideas in that head of yours.” Dangling upside down by Discord’s grip, the Princeling nodded, the sound of his iron diadem clanking onto the ground. “Remember: I want that sword, and if I don’t get, I shall be most displeased.”

“Of…of course, Lord,” Noblesse replied.

“Good!” Discord then set the pony down, conjured up a brush to dust off his nice cloak and vest, and with a flick of his fingers sent that little tiara back on his head. The Draconequus then patted him like a pet, “Now…off you go!” And off he went. Discord leaned back and smiled; that unicorn was like a big mean dog, especially when faced with a bigger and meaner dog.

But he did have his uses.

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 13. Inspiration

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 13. Inspiration

“Again!” commanded an old voice before the sounds of exhaustion. A blue mare stood nearby, heaving and dripping sweat. Her teal eyes trained up at her teacher, locked in a combination between scowling and pleading. He stared back, face stern and pitiless, “Again!”

Against the burning in her forehead, against the aching in her mind, she surged more magic through her long blue horn. Envisioning her spell, Stellara produced a pale blue orb of light that slowly became bigger and encompassed her body. Then with a bright flash, her entire form dissipated and reappeared five feet away, feeling like it had finished a day’s march by this point.

“How much…longer do we have today?” she squeaked out in between pants.

The Librarian narrowed his eyes, “When I have deemed your performance acceptable. Time grows short, and you two shall have need of advanced spells I fear.”

A labored grunt and dull wincing came from another pony in the library. Her magenta eyes were shut tight as she tried to concentrate and ignore the throbbing ache. From the point where Wintermail’s eyelids met a trail of purple shroud emanated, while the same covered her horn. Every few seconds a faint yelp left her throat; tiny cries for relief from the ancient and hidden powers of her kind.

At first, Stellara could not move an inch with teleportation without fumbling hard onto the ground. Her reach had become better, and soon maybe she would be able to go through walls. Wintermail too had improved; when she first learned to summon cosmic magic, a mere second she could stand it before the pain was too great. Her tolerance now was impressive.

“It hurts…it bores into my skull, like it wants to burst out,” she muttered, holding the magic with all her might.

“Because it does. Keep in down; hold it back. Don’t let it get away from you,” Delbedasir coached, watching her struggle through ambivalent eyes. These exercises were merciless for a reason, but he still felt for their pain. To teleport was in effect to use one’s mind to run a hundred feet in a moment with the same amount of effort. Lady Stellara had through their session today gone the equivalent of several miles.

Wintermail, however, was unfortunately settled with alicorn magic. It was not malicious in itself, but like water flowing through a dyke it constantly forced itself on the user, trying to break through. A great fortitude of will was required to master it—those who could not would be consumed by this pure and virulent power.

The white knight was doing well enough so far, but the pathway had not been kind. Neither sister was particularly happy, and they would continue to be unhappy as their lessons and exercises only became more and more demanding. They alternated day after day between teleportation and alicorn magic, concerning themselves with other spells in addition.

This struggle, these agonies were difficult to watch. Prince Petrafyrm, observing from a desk in the library, winced several times as both sisters screamed and cried out when they’d reached the end of where their bodies were comfortable—but it needed to be done.

The Prince sat in silence and waited for a good while. The last of the hourglass’ sand eventually fell to the bottom. Delbedasir cleared his throat, “Time.”

Wintermail and Stellara needed no more excuses. Their activities were ceased, and both reached for the pitchers of water on a nearby table. Together they downed perhaps a whole gallon in a matter of seconds. The two young alicorns bantering to one another, the Prince turned his attention to his Librarian, “How are they doing?”

“Adequately,” the very elderly beige alicorn replied, shifting his eyes to ensure the sister weren’t in earshot. He leaned in closer to Peter, “Wonderful, your Highness. It is difficult to say how proficient they shall become, but they consistently improve each and every day.”

The Prince smiled, “That’s good to hear.” Canterlot’s sovereign then advanced, standing before the alicorns. His stance told everypony exactly as he wished, and the sisters bowed their necks and stood rigid before their liege.

“Your Highness,” they both said in unison.

Petrafyrm examined the two. Wintermail’s face was worn, her eyes weary. Stellara’s mane was tangled and her coat glistened with sweat. “Mercifully, I think these lessons may be postponed. It is summertime now, and everypony in the realm continues to work hard. Artisans have been quite busy; the armorers and bladesmiths and fletchers and bowyers…the preparations have been coming along nicely.”

“I should hope my contributions are appreciated,” Wintermail grinned.

“Actually, a number of my knights are rather fond of the shape of your smithy’s blades. One actually caught through gossip that the sword you made me is magical. I hear an order was placed.”

“You heard correctly, my Lord. Yet I haven’t had leisure to craft, and its construction remains a trade secret.”

“We’ll have to find you a unicorn that can smith, then.”

“You’ll be searching for a long time.”

The Prince chuckled, “Now! My Librarian has been ruthless in his instruction—now you understand why I keep him around.”

“I’ve actually been holding back, your Highness,” Delbedasir’s groaning voice said.

“Fortunate thing; I don’t wish to make martyrs of my royal heirs. There shall be use for you two soon. My vassals have raised their forces and are on the march northwards to near Hoofington. As the Marshal is occupied in Trottingham, I will require another leader for my host.” The Prince looked directly at his knight, “Dame Wintermail, as one of my most capable warriors, you shall be a great boon to our efforts. I place you in command of Canterlot’s forces. However, you shall act with great advice and coordination from Lady Stellara. I cannot for the life of me beat her in chess, and to my understanding nopony else can either.” The blue alicorn smiled and swelled ever so slightly with pride.

“I myself shall leave with the Canterlot Guard and Captain Gendarmette. If our plans can be executed without much trouble, then we can reverse the advances of this horde. If Marshal Helmraed is able to join us at summer’s end, then God-willing we can break the invaders and scatter them by the first frost.”

“And how large a host can all of Equestria bring to bear?” asked Stellara.

“If memory serves, my Lady, then somewhere around eighty-thousand,” said Delbedasir, “The Free Cities can offer a great amount of money to upkeep our soldiers, but they themselves possess little in the way of armies.”

“Yes. However, they have opted to outfit a number of their merchant vessels for war and set about raiding the southern shores of Zebrica and Minotaurica—perhaps it might cause desertions in some of the enemy’s ranks when they hear their homes are under attack,” the Prince added.

Wintermail thought a moment and then turned to her sister, who gave a similar look of apprehension. Petrafyrm saw their faces clear as day, “Something wrong?”

“Yes, your Highness. We…have discussed this matter a bit, and my sister and I possess reservations over whether even two-hundred thousand soldiers could defeat Discord. I beg your pardon, but he has abilities that defy explanation,” protested a perturbed Stellara.

“A quake…a volcano conjured out of the earth…a storm of molten glass! Our imaginations have really run wild with this. But from what we saw of this terrible awful creature in Mareposa…it would be a hard fight even if his powers aren’t necessary ‘world-changing’.” Wintermail watched her Prince.

“You’ve not been alone with such thoughts. Delbedasir,” the Prince gestured to his Librarian.

“It is difficult to say; if we assess this conservatively, we might surmise that Discord can in fact be overwhelmed with great numbers. I am no soldier, but I believe with superior tactics, discipline, morale, and no small help from ancient weapons,” he made a coy smile at Wintermail, “The horde could be defeated and Discord cast down. But, Equestria would incur no small loss for such action. Whole regions could be ruined; whole populations lost.

“Rather, there is one alternative solution.” The beige alicorn opened his wings and flew up to a high shelf. Retrieving an old dusty book he returned to the floor and slammed the tome on a nearby table. Blowing away the debris of centuries, he opened the book to a specific page. Upon the left leaf was a beautiful illustration of a tree, from whose branches hung five fruits: pink, blue, red, purple, and orange. Within its center was that six-pointed star of Canterlot’s sigil.

All four gazed over the page. “This was actually one of the first books I ever copied,” mused the Librarian, “Ah...does it bring back memories!”

Wintermail stared at the image of the tree’s central symbol, “The Elements of Harmony? You think such a thing would work?”

“Perhaps…,” the Librarian narrowed his eyes, “Alicorn myth speaks of Dyan, whom six heroes destroyed with these talismans. In Equestrian myth the Elements played a part in weakening Discord. I have identified the two as one and the same, but such knowledge lies millennia in the past. Perhaps only Discord knows for sure, and even he might not remember. Discord might even only be a fragment of Dyan, completely divorced from the Primordial Fiend.”

The bearded alicorn cleared his throat, “But now I’m thinking out loud. Finding and using these Elements might prove our best chance at defeating Discord without sacrificing thousands to his wrath. Legends tell of Dyan’s War that lasted a hundred years; I am not sure Equestria’s lords are willing to fight for so long.” He raised an eyebrow and smirked, “You two might live to see the end of that, though.”

“I don’t think we’d want to,” replied Wintermail, “If we find them, and use them—however that might be done, we can defeat Discord?”

“Well what are we waiting for? I say it’s worth a shot!” cried Stellara, “Now…where to begin?”

Wintermail recalled something, “Wait…” Soon she found Ailéránen rested against the wall where her sister had placed it. Magically retrieving the blade, she saw the hilt and its crossguard, in the center of which was that same six-pointed star—the amethyst!

Hovering it over the hard oaken table, she prepared to smash open the ancient heirloom and retrieve the invaluable talisman for the good of free ponies everywhere—for the preservation of all that was decent in this world!

“No!” yelled the Prince, “That’s not one of them! It’s just cut in the shape; it’s a simple amethyst!” Gently he took over the magic field around the priceless weapon. Stellara breathed a sigh of relief that her sword was safe; it’d do well, though, to keep an eye on her sister.

“Are you certain?” inquired Wintermail.

“Yes. The Elements are unaccounted for,” the Librarian said, “I’ve had similar suspicions with that sword; its aura is no more powerful than any other gemstone. No…the Elements disappeared and became myth when King Sun Flare hid them away.”

King Solárindil wrote of this—briefly. “The Everfree…,” intoned Wintermail. She found a chair and sat down in thought.

“As his account goes. That tree is somewhere in that forest, guarded by fierce creatures and dangerous terrain,” Delbedasir droned, draining a small cup of water as he thought as well.

“Nopony travels there; it is a unique wood that fights back. Solárindil did well to hide them there.” Petrafyrm sighed, “What shall we do, my Librarian? The Everfree is too large to simply wander about hoping to stumble upon a single tree.”

The beige stallion groaned and stroked his beard, “Read, perhaps. The answer must lie somewhere in this library, written by somepony.”

“Well then,” the Prince knocked his hoof on the ground, “You better start reading! Delbedasir, I’m afraid you have too many responsibilities to while away too much time looking for the answer. Give Dame Wintermail and Lady Stellara a number of recommendations. Four days we have until the Guard marches north; four days we have to set out for those Elements.”

The royal sisters courteously bowed to their liege. “Now, Dame, I shall have your squire Veroche see to all of your preparations. And Lady Stellara, I shall see that you have a squire of your own.”

“Make him handsome,” Stellara said without a single pause. She then giggled.

“And how would Cardúnón feel about that?” Wintermail nudged her sister.

All laughed except for the Librarian, who simply rolled his eyes and took off again to search his shelves. The Prince made his leave, and the sisters would spend the rest of that evening pouring over tome after tome, codex after codex. Thousands of names, accounts, annals, and citations assaulted their weary minds, but nothing came up about where exactly the Elements were. Book upon book upon book told them they were in the Everfree, and that was the most helpful of all their findings—which is to say none of their findings were helpful.

They took their evening meal in the library, and amid the dying light of melted candles they still continued their search. It would be a long four days.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

It was cool. A breeze so fair and welcoming ran through the air. It left the scent of salt behind, while the waves roared and crashed on the rocks below. Seabirds chirped overhead, drifting with the wind and occasionally traveling to the water for their meal. Wintermail stood on a promontory, the carpet of grass as green as emerald, and as soft as clouds. At her back rested an old and venerable forest, clear of underbrush and thicket; a tidy wood, one a pony should like to takes walks through.

A small cottage sat on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the water. In the distance, further down the shore, seemed to be a settlement; a nearby town. The home, though lacking in size and grandness, did not want for artisanship; its broad roof was held aloft by richly-decorated white pillars, forming a portico all around before the actual house. Along its walls were round windows wrought of iron in fanciful shapes. Beside the doorway were two pillars like the rest, but these were elegantly carved with the stylized likeness of alicorns, rearing and their wings spread.

Wintermail didn’t move for a time under the lightly-overcast sky. She admired the home, and the sea, and the breeze. But something still didn’t seem right. Her ear twitched, a faint rustling in the grass behind her. She turned, eyes keen and stern, only to find a figure traveling up the hill.

He was a stallion, very tall and thin—just like the Wintermail. And just as she, this pony possessed a bright coat of white fur. He was an alicorn, keeping his wings tucked at his side but bearing his long horn proudly as any of their race ought to. Upon his face was a long, full white beard; whatever color it had been in youth was utterly lost.

For he was old. Wrinkles sat on him like deep canyons, and his steps were slow and plodding. Not a hint of grey remained in his beard—even the Librarian wasn’t so advanced that the silver in his mane had faded. But this stallion’s eyes still possessed vitality in them: orange, bright orange, filled with a soft understanding. Suspended in his magic was a wicker basket.

He stopped a few feet in front of Wintermail, cocked his head and smiled, “Well hello there! Are you here for me? I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long.”

The mare did not respond. She raised her eyebrow and watched the stallion step forwards to his home. He produced a key and inserted it into the door. Snapping her daze, Wintermail rushed to meet him, “Where are my manners, Sir? Let me help you.”

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary, Dear. Please,” he said, gesturing for her to enter his home.

Wintermail obliged, coming into a quaint little room decorated with the artifacts of a long life. Small figurines dotted his shelves, made of enamel and gold and jewels. Their make seemed almost otherworldly; she’d never seen such attention to detail and quality. Tasteful artwork made of seashells and other bounties of the ocean sat beside small metal frames adorned with icons of alicorns. But curiously so, the center of such frames held portraits of ponies, likely the stallion himself in younger days with his associates.

“I have never seen an etching so…realistic,” Wintermail muttered, studying one such picture.

“They’re not etchings,” he replied, shutting the door and walking to another room. “Please! Have a seat! You are just in time for afternoon tea!” His voice was cheery; an uninvited guest must not have been so burdened him so. “I was in town earlier to grab a few things: some sharp cheese, good soft bread, a bushel of ruby-red apples, and the sweetest strawberry jam you have ever tasted!”

Wintermail found a chair, expertly crafted of black wood, the seat cushion of white velvet. “I admire your collection, Sir. This wood here doesn’t seem to be local.”

“What an eye you have! It is not,” the stallion said from his kitchen nearby. A metal kettle had been placed over a stove. He shot a small burst of energy from his horn and lit the logs within. He then brought the basket to a small table and lifted off the cloth covering, revealing all the food he had listed. Brandishing a knife, he sliced up the bread, block of cheese, and a few apples. Wintermail’s eyes widened when she saw the mottled pattern on the knife’s blade.

Not long after, the kettle began whistling, and he poured it into a porcelain pot, along with a few crushed leaves. A cup and saucer were given to the mare, and at last the busy stallion took a seat, sighing loudly as he did.

“Now, it should be ready in a moment, but it will still be quite hot.”

“It is very kind of you to invite a stranger for a meal, Master…,”

“Aracílnë, as my friends like to call me. And do not mention it. A nice cup of tea each day eases my aging, I find. And it is always a pleasure to meet somepony new.”

Wintermail smiled and helped herself to the food. She seemed much hungrier than she thought, and the bread and cheese satisfied her more than any other meal had in a while. “Aracílnë, is it? Funny…that was my grandfather’s name.”

“Was it indeed? I wear it simply as a nickname; most everypony around knows me by it. Tea?” She nodded, and Aracílnë poured her a cup. “Jasmine. The merchant from whom I bought it says it has special properties. What those are I cannot say, but it does taste delicious! Sugar?”

Without any further encouragement, Wintermail levitated out the spoon and placed a healthy amount of the precious powder in her drink. It was sweet and aromatic, and the mare found herself taking in too much and burning her tongue.

She yelped, and her elderly host simply laughed, “Yes perhaps I should have warned you about that!”

“I should have known better.”

Aracílnë chuckled, taking a sip, “Don’t learn too much; only the very old have that sort of wisdom. Which is why I make at least three mistakes a day!” The two sat in quiet for a little bit. The stallion eye trained then to the sword his guest wore. Gilded, with rich decoration and the image of a blazing sun. There was no need to wonder about what lay on the other side.

The stallion smirked, “Why…that is an exquisite weapon. It seems to be the sort of thing with great lineage and history. How you did you come by this?”

Wintermail was guarded, “It was not stolen, if that is what you wish to imply.”

Aracílnë simply stared at her with his bright eyes, timeless wells of experience, betraying a commanding and hardened individual within. He took a drink of his tea, “Certainly not, though it seems others have before. A family heirloom, then?” His guest nodded. “I hope it has served you well, er…this is terribly embarrassing but I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“Dame Wintermail, as my friends like to call me.” This caused the old alicorn to laugh.

“Well ‘Wintermail’, in my spring days alicorns would not have suffered the humiliation of taking a ‘native name’. We bore our names proudly!” he beat his chest with a forehoof, far more intensely than a stallion of his age ought to have. “But…in my deep, deep winter days, the story is a little different,” a faint sadness flashed over his face, swept away with another drink. “You carry a fine sword, one anypony should be considered lucky to have. Though something about you tells me you don’t quite understand why it’s so special.”

“Of course I do! It is the Sword of Kings, forged in Elder Days. It is of a make than cannot be replicated, using arts long gone from this world. Our people crafted items of unmatched quality…and heirlooms like this are all that remains.”

“Yes…many great Alicorn Houses possessed one-of-a-kind swords, made of magical steel and folded into hard blades that cannot be broken. Eónadin is unique, however.” Wintermail gave him a look of cautious curiosity. “They say a black shard of the Firmament broke and crashed into the earth. Smiths labored for days crafting a sword with arcane arts from on High, until finally the Shapers of this World carried it up to Heaven. And finally Lórian saw how its children had made such a fine craft, and whispered to it, ‘Be more than a sword.’ And it was.” His voice had become very quiet.

“How true do you suppose that story is?” Wintermail leaned back and grinned, helping herself to more apple slices.

“Now that is a riddle; I was not there. But I do know Eónadin possesses an uncommon power—and a will of its own. You would do well, Wintermail, to respect that; it serves the Good, and its powers cannot be turned to evil intentions.”

The mare moved her gaze to the weapon girt about her waist and reflected on the strange feelings Eónadin sometimes had given her.

Aracílnë meanwhile poured her more tea. “You seem awfully young for it to have come to you. A beautiful mare; barely fifty, aren’t you?”

“Fifty-six,” Wintermail replied, spooning sugar into her cup.

“Oh to have that youth still! I’m sure you’ve had many adventures already; I spent much of that time serving my Kingdom.”

“Which kingdom?”

“It hardly matters now, doesn’t it? Oh goodness, I look back on those years, thinking I could have spent them differently. I spent over a hundred years alone wandering abroad, trying to find meaning and purpose. Sometimes I envy the Tulicëai; everything they do is so…immediate. They understand their time is short, and they are not content simply waiting about.”

As the old stallion became lost in thought, nodding and laughing to himself, Wintermail scanned her eyes over the small kitchen, finally finding another of those framed images that he seemed to have in abundance. This one however stuck out for a couple reasons. It was gilded steel, arranged in a complex yet elegant lattice with small white stones at junctures of the metal wiring. On the top part of the frame ran a banner that read in delicate alicorn script ‘Siblings’.

The portrait it held was of two alicorns, both remarkably similar in appearance, but one was a stallion and the other a mare. They were smiling widely and each holding a mug of some beverage. And then…Wintermail remembered something. Those two ponies in the picture must have been…twins. And Aracílnë was a name she had heard before, but not about her own grandfather. It was in a book, an old dusty book in Canterlot Library. A smile curled on her face, and she could not believe she had not seen it before.

“Solárindil?”

He paused and matched her grin, placing his cup back on the saucer, “Well…it was about time, wasn’t it? What brings you here, my Child?” he asked with such gravitas, immediately growing into a kingly figure, emanating authority and wisdom.

“I…I am not sure. I am not even sure where I am…”

“Well, if you’ve finished your meal, would it please you to follow me outdoors?” She nodded. They both rose from their seats, and Solárindil led her to a door at the other end of his home. Opening it revealed a small patio, lightly shaded by an awning. The two sat down at the table, while the old alicorn produced a couple smoking pipes and opened a beautiful jar of crushed leaves.

Wintermail rested a moment, admiring the crashing of the waves and the pleasant breeze. A magical trick lit the pipe and she drew in a full measure of the sweet, earthy blend.

“Lovely, isn’t it? This is actually grown right here in the area.”

“It is, your Majesty.” Solárindil simply chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Where is here, anyway?”

“Well, this here is my vacation home. I’ve called it Lyana héinh-nhároc. But perhaps you wish to know where in Equestria you are. Simple fact is, you aren’t.”

The realization crept on her, “You don’t mean… the Isle…”

“As it was long ago; as it shall never be again.” The pain was palpable in his eyes. A time of silence later he knocked a hoof on the ground, “Right! I am not all leisure; what are you here for? I think you know now.”

Wintermail smoked her pipe once more, “That’s right. I am searching for something; something very important. I’m looking…,” she trailed off, staring at the crisp blue sea, the wonderful vista of her people’s home—a home she will never know. “For the Elements of Harmony.”

Solárindil’s face grew dark, and he bored his eyes deep into her soul, “And what would anypony want with those, pray tell?”

The mare looked around, paranoid that somepony might be listening. “Discord has returned. We are fearful,” she murmured in a soft voice, “Fearful of what he might do. He is raging, and if we do not stop him our home will…perhaps end up like this blessed isle. Our efforts have led us to suggest the Elements hold the key to our victory. And we know at least they are in the Everfree.”

The stallion groaned and studied his descendant. He leaned back and held his stern face for what seemed like ages. Every passing second made Wintermail feel more uncomfortable, and she almost felt like stirring from her nerves. “Where I put them, in case they became needed.”

“Excellent!” she beamed, eager as ever a filly was, “Now, could you tell me where exactly?”

“No.” Her face crashed into disappointment.

“Why not? Discord is marauding across Equestria, and this is the only hope we have! You regarded her as your second home, and remarked that you could not bear so see it fall like Alícor! Please help us, else what sort of King can you call yourself?”

Solárindil simply shook his head, “I did not place them in the most dangerous forest in the land so that just anypony could find them. I have seen what happens when their power is abused, and I would not wish that again ten-thousand years from now. I will not tell you.”

“Not even your own blood?”

“Bloodlines fade; lesser sons of greater sires. If you wish to find those Elements and wield their power, you must earn it. Nothing less than the virtuous worthy may even gaze upon them!”

Wintermail slumped low, sighing, “I cannot search the whole wood.”

“You will not have to. The Everfree is filled with an ancient, undisturbed magic. It is alive, and more so than simply the trees and creatures within. The entire forest is woven into a trial, a test to prove you indeed deserve those talismans.”

“I could simply cut through it all with my sword,” she huffed.

“You could. But that would profit you little. The trials you will encounter cannot be assuaged with feats of strength or power; there is no surer way to wander for the rest your days lost in its tangle. Virtue is what you shall conquer by.”

Frowning, Wintermail finally acquiesced. “If…I managed to ‘prove’ myself, and the Everfree is kind enough to allow me in, will it work?”

Solárindil smiled warmly, like a father intent on consoling his daughter in a way only he could, “We have to hope; hope that God will not abandon us, hope that a new dawn shall rise after each black night. Hope that we can preserve all that we hold dear. But hope can be a frail thing.

“The Elements were created in a different time, and held far more power than they do now. They’ve suffered misuse, and have waned as consequence. Those talismans have been steadily losing their power since the Elder Days, and I fear they shall become inert someday, rendered pretty little trinkets to adorn crowns and be set in vaults. And when that time comes, ponies perhaps will have to look to themselves for salvation.

“Hope, it seems, is all you have.”

A sardonic laugh left Wintermail’s lips, “You’re almost as grim as Henarion…”

The two said nothing, smoking in silence and letting the sounds of nature fill their ears. Through it, Wintermail could not help but see the age and weariness in this ancient king. He was worn and decrepit, his cheery attitude and bright eyes masking a stallion who in many ways had become tired.

She cleared her throat, “You have lived to be…quite old. Five-hundred, if I recall correctly.” He turned to her and smiled. “How…how,” she stammered, “You’ve probably lived to see your friends…well…”

“My Dear, you are too young to worry about such things. Nothing lasts forever, but we don’t have to dread it. Our years, be they a mere fifty or a harrowing five-hundred, are filled with so much. Love, loss, pain, joy…but it all reminds us our time is a gift. The ending of something doesn’t have to be a tragedy; though the world one day will no longer enjoy ponies like me,” he punctuated with a smug pose, “We have left behind ponies like you, it seems. And that cannot be too terrible a thing.”

“There are easier ways to insult me,” Wintermail chuckled.

Solárindil furrowed his brow, ”Though, I confess it wasn’t easy at times. My life has been so long, all those I had journeyed with from our drowned home passed to their graves before my eyes. In fact, I was…settled…with seeing the last alicorn born on the island die. He had a good, long life, filled with love and cheer. He was ready to rest at the end.

“I have thought many times beneath starlight…sometimes I felt I am punished—sentenced to be the last of the Island-Born. It humbles one…” Clearing his throat, he rose from his seat and placed back on his happier persona, “Now! I believe you have work to do, Nikóleva.”

She grinned yet again, and copied his movement. “It was very nice meeting you, Solárindil. I hope…that well you did not waste your time talking to me.”

“’Waste’? No, I should think not; it put me in the perfect frame of mind for my afternoon nap!” Returning inside, the stallion collected the dishes on the table and bid Nikóleva farewell as she left his doorstep and wandered down the hill path.

Nikóleva turned back, though, one last time. Waving, she called out “I hope you and your sister have found bliss here!”

“’Sister’…Ynaundion,” a sharp longing, a deep sadness cracked his mask. A tear formed in his eye, and Nikóleva’s heart sank. “Goodbye!” he finally shouted, “And do not forget; you are not alone. You and Taberanyn both possess my blood—don’t squander that gift! You were very pleasant company, Nikól, and I very much desire to see you again someday.”

He withdrew into his seaside home and shut the door.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Dim light through her eyes and a terrible stiffness in her back greeted the tall white alicorn as she limbered up from her sleep. The world faded into view, finally revealing itself as a room full of…books? That’s right; her searching and studying must have gone deep into the late hours of the night. Yawning and stretching out her wings, Wintermail rose up slowly after finding her feet. She glanced around; no sign of Taby.

She must already be busy. Her eyes trained down at the book set before the mare, and like a bolt of lightning the memory hit her again; she had an idea about where those Elements were! She simply had to find the Prince and tell him; a lot of faith put in a dream, but they still had three days to search if wiser counsel won the debate.

Cantering out of the library, Wintermail emerged into the beautifully-polished marble halls of Canterlot Castle. But something was different; a peak out the window revealed it was already mid-morning, yet the usual courtiers and dignitaries weren’t wandering about. Instead, Wintermail heard the faint clopping of hooves and the clanking of iron armor.

Out of a left branch in the hall a small squad of Guardsponies marched briskly. “What are they up to, now?”

A short journey brought the knight in front of the throne room. The guards allowed her through with no issue, and the large oaken double doors revealed the Prince seated in his reigning chair, while a good number of other ponies were listening and speaking and watching.

Prince Petrafyrm immediately noticed the Dame’s entrance. “Just the pony I wanted to see!” Wintermail tread down the red carpet, seeing among others the Prince’s chief ministers: Chancellor Logostus, Captain of the Guard Gendarmette, and of course the Librarian. As well there stood Lady Stellara, dressed in full armor, Henarion with his sword, and Cardúnón giving a slight nod to his Exilarch.

“Your Highness,” Wintermail bowed.

“I did not wish to wake you; I hope your long night has paid off. Ill news has come, Wintermail, and it seems our plans must commence sooner than hoped.” The Prince held his dignity, but his eyes betrayed a painful regret, “We have…received news that Marshal Helmraed has fallen.”

Wintermail gasped and felt her heart sink, “Oh no…how?”

“The circumstances are not entirely known, but Prince Noblesse Oblige of Trottingham has sent us proof. It is a terrible, loathsome gesture, and I shall not repeat what was delivered in polite company. Know though that our beloved Marshal shall be buried with full honors; as that barbarian lordling refused to!” The Prince caught his anger and returned to poise, “We are preparing for a siege. Noblesse’s message was a threat, a threat of attack. He intends to capture this city and reduce it ruin.

“All morning we’ve been letting in the ponies of the valley and hiding them safely in the mountain’s catacombs. Supplies have been pouring in as quickly as they can, and the Guard is drilling as we speak. This means the castle’s forces will not be able to march north as intended. Noblesse is moving with great speed, and unfortunately our main body of troops will not be able to meet them before they lay siege.”

“Somehow, this army had escaped the notice of our scouts and watches,” added Gendarmette of the Guard.

“It would have been thestrals and mustangs; nothing could escape if they decided to hunt them down,” said Stellara.

Mumbles echoed in the hall for a bit before Henarion of all ponies stepped forward, “Well! If this Prince character wishes to do battle here, I say we give the bastard hell!” This earned him a few cheers from the ponies in the chamber.

“I like your spirit, Uncle! What about you, Nikól?”

The white mare grinned slowly, “Somepony fetch me my helm.”

“Not so fast,” the Prince’s grand voice bellowed, “I’m afraid you two sisters shall have another task.”

“My Lord?” Wintermail replied with a cocked eyebrow, “This is our city…you cannot expect us to not answer in her time of need. If Canterlot falls—“

“Two less ponies to crew the battlements will not prove decisive I should think. I need you and Lady Stellara to mount an expedition into the Everfree. I was under the impression that we’d have more time; but soon I fear nopony will be able to leave the castle. Leave as soon as possible.”

“I beg your pardon!” cried both sisters. Stellara first stepped forth, “Your Highness, I cannot in good conscience abandon you, or my Uncle, or…” she spared a glance at Cardúnón, who gave a knowing and sad smile, “Anypony else. I will not!”

“My people, the alicorns, will fight here, won’t they, Cardúnón?” asked the Exilarch.

“Certainly. The Downfallen shall match stroke for stoke, as well as any creature has.”

Wintermail looked at her sovereign, “Prince, I cannot ask my kin to fight a battle I will not!”

Petrafyrm stayed quiet and stood from his throne. “Have you found anything of value in your books? Lady Stellara unfortunately did not.”

“I had…a revelation, I should call it. But that can be postponed until after—“

“No,” the Prince’s voice resonated. His violet eyes captured Wintermail, “We can’t delay. I know not what marches with Noblesse, but it could spell our doom. The time is now, Heirs of Solárindil. If Discord by divine jest is with them, well…”

“An even better reason for us to stay!” Stellara argued, “The Dame’s sword can injure him! Do we even need these elements?”

The Librarian spoke up next, “If memory serves, according to Henarion’s account, “he gestured to the not-as-old orange alicorn, “The sword must make contact with the creature. What’s to stop him from disarming you, Wintermail? And even then, if the invaders are so numerous, could they not simply overpower you? No, I deem it too high a risk.”

“You all speak like you intend to fail! Do you, my Prince? Do you wish to see your city ablaze?! Your people killed or enslaved?!” the knight shouted, towering over her lord.

“Enough!” the Prince ordered, knocking his scepter and silencing the chamber, “You are not being punished, and I do not send you out lightly. But the hour has come, the hour that shall decide our fate. I command you to enter that forest and find the Elements. We shall hope beyond hope that they can save us in this dire time. In the meanwhile a great many formidable warriors will hold off the evil.

“You said you had a ‘revelation’.” Everypony then turned their eyes to Wintermail.

“Quite right. It came to me…in a dream.” She let the words hang; a few looked at her oddly. “We could not find a map or mention of a location…because there is no location. The forest will show the way…at least, that is how I figure it. If you think, my Lord, that others powers meddle in our affairs, perhaps one might find it appropriate to point us in the right way?”

Cardúnón furrowed his brow, “Is that the best we have?”

“It would seem so,” the Prince replied, “Dame Wintermail, you’re not simply telling me what I want to hear, are you?”

“No. I believe this in my heart…it’s not much to go by, I grant you.”

“Well…,” began the Librarian, “The Cleric in me wishes to believe it. Godspeed, Nikóleva; the world now seems to depend on you and your ‘visions’.”

“And what about my Uncle? Is he to come with us?”

“I’m afraid not, Nikóleva,” Henarion said half-smiling. “I wish to stay behind and look over Primrose and Eldowas. They will be safely inside the mountain, doubly so if I’m here.”

Henarion embraced his nieces, wishing them a fair journey, and much luck and fortune. The Prince knocked his scepter as was habit, “If that concludes our discussion…”

“Actually, Lord, I think somepony should wield Eónadin if I cannot be here,” Wintermail said, beginning to undo the clasp of her sword, “I would trust Henarion first and foremost.”

“I think you should keep it,” Delbedasir voiced, “It has great power, and no doubt Discord has taken note of that. Henarion’s little stunt might even had convinced him to seize it. Keep it far from him, away from his grasp, until the time is right.”

“Aye, girl. It belongs to you, and an alicorn must never be parted from their sword.” Henarion placed his hoof on Wintermail’s shoulder.

She laughed and placed her own hoof on his. “If that is your wish. Well…I suppose my sister and I have some work to do.” The Exilarch then turned to Cardúnón. He’d become less…standoffish, and she could see in his silver eyes that deep down he truly cared for their scant and scattered kindred. “I then leave you with the command of the alicorns. I deeply regret I cannot join you, but I know you’ll lead them as strongly as you have since before I came along.”

“There are few of us, only thirty or so good young fighting alicorns in Canterlot’s chapter,” the green stallion’s deep resonant voice said, “But fight we shall, your Majesty, like a thousand! A Queen must prove herself to her kin, but they too must prove they are fit to be led. We shall not disappoint.”

“Good, because I don’t intend to return and find your corpse,” Stellara quipped, approaching her friend.

“My Lady, it’d take quite a lot more for the world to rid itself of me.” The other ponies in the throne room started to disperse, and Cardúnón knew he ought to as well, “We shall see each other again; that’s a promise.”

Stellara giggled, “I wonder how many mares have heard that.”

“Only the ones as beautiful as you,” he replied with a biting tone.

“Am I foolish enough to fall for it?” she smirked

“I certainly hope so.” No hint of humor, no lack of sincerity colored Cardúnón’s voice. Their moment was however met with a glare from Wintermail. “Now! I must go off to muster the Alícëai!” He opened his wings and lifted off the floor, “Watch after your sister; strange as it might seem I do admire her,” he swallowed, “And…I’m rather fond of you as well.” He nodded and flew off to execute his duty.

Stellara walked off in kind with a proud step. She was anxious for this new quest, but also excited. Bumping into Wintermail she flicked her tail, “Let’s get to it, Nikól! The sooner we find these Elements of Harmony, the sooner we can go show that damn Noblesse what it means to cross the ‘Royal Sisters’!”

Wintermail joined Stellara’s pace. She frowned and muttered under her breath so faintly, “One thing at time…”

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 14. Aristeia

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 14. Aristeia

It was oddly calm, peaceful even on the eve of battle. The weather was far fairer than it deserved to be—with the knowledge that a host was set to besiege the White City. Before dawn turned to midday, the carnage would begin. Standing atop one of the battlements, perched on a high tower, an old orange alicorn gazed over the vale beneath Canterlot.

A throng of ponies from the surrounding area had gathered before the city gates. Henarion could see them hobbling up the winding mountain road, slowly trickling in to find refuge in the labyrinthine corridors that snaked within the foundation’s rock. The Prince had told him of their existence, holding stores and chambers so numerous and hidden an enemy could search for years and not find them all.

He himself was clad in armor: a hauberk of mail under plated barding. Girt to his side was the great sword Bálebemoséo, as fine a blade as he could expect—doubly so for being a gift from his niece. His helm was with that green fellow…Tabóna’s fancy. What was his name?

Grand as the crowd below seemed, it did have an end, and soon the whole would be within the walls; it was time to go back to his banner. Spreading his broad orange wings, Henarion swooped down to the cobblestone road, stepping to the side to allow a marching body of Guardsponies to advance up the rampart.

Cantering up the road, he saw a number of city dwellers retreating inside, closing their shops early. If all went well, they’d open tomorrow morning. Past these streets and thoroughfares, Henarion came to the inner wall, the last ring of defense to the Castle Keep. The gate was currently up, and ponies were traveling through to the tunnels.

It was a pitiable sight, villagers wandering in with nothing to their name. Doubtless their homes and livelihoods would be burned in the wake of the advancing enemy. A terrible thing to have happen to somepony, made all the worse in that afterwards Canterlot would be left with a great many starving and homeless ponies.

Henarion did not pity the Prince. Nor did he fear for his home; it was far enough away to remain outside the army’s path—hopefully. Either way, his greatest treasures were either safely within the Castle, or far beyond their enemies.

Opening his wings, Henarion leapt over the inner wall and soared over the castle gardens. He came to a mustering square, full of other ponies tall and thin like himself. Below on the field stood an assemblage of alicorns larger than he had seen in close to two-hundred years. Back then the paltry folk of the Northern Wilds had gathered to celebrate the birth of the future Exilarch, Maiëlindir.

Henarion had been in his early twenties—not even a fully-grown alicorn! Times had changed since then; it had become far too dangerous for such an event to occur when Maiëlindir’s daughter had been born.

Landing on the ground, Henarion inspected all his kindred drilling and practicing with their weapons. He knew almost none of them, and their multicolored-faces all ran together in his mind. From what that Librarian and Nikól’s appointed ”Deputy” had told the orange stallion, some were of ancient repute, possessing heritage weapons and even titles to lay empty claim upon.

He didn’t really care to commit much of it to memory, but what he did take note of was the absence of alicorns past a certain age: roughly one-hundred and fifty. Middle age…heavy with the wisdom of experience yet still full of youthful vitality. Mutilations and grievous injuries were not uncommon amongst the Downfallen, and past a century was an awful long time to survive in a world where creatures hunted one. Henarion himself hadn’t made it unscathed, and he had learned very early on the dangers of this world.

Off to the side of the square three of the Triple-Kin stood speaking. Henarion approached, identifying them as a green stallion, and old greying beige stallion, and a pretty lavender mare. “Hail, Friends!” he called out, mostly just to annoy them. They spared a glance and returned to their affairs.

“I was told to report to you, eh…begging your pardon, Lad, but your name?”

“Cardúnón, Sir. I find it odd I would have no mention amongst your nieces,” the green alicorn replied.

“Just the opposite, Boy; I hear about you a lot—though often Nikól don’t call you by name,” Henarion chuckled.

Cardúnón cleared his throat, “Right. This is my sister and second-in-command Rhílë, and I understand you’ve met Delbedasir before.”

“Of course; he’s the poor old pony the Prince settled my nieces with.”

“And the older and poorer for it!” cried the Librarian. “Taberanyn is such a joy to tutor. But has Nikóleva always been such trouble?” he asked as a half-jest.

“You’ve no idea,” Henarion grinned, placing his forehoof over his eyepatch. “Wonderful girls,” he stared wistfully at space, already missing them. Henarion then turned to Rhílë and smiled, bowing slightly, “Charmed, Miss.”

Rhílë returned the kindness. The lavender mare then got a shifty look in her eye, “You know, my brother might have a certain matter he wishes to discuss with you. But in fact if I do not prod him, he might keep his peace until he’s the Librarian’s age.”

Henarion had a suspicion, and raised an eyebrow. Cardúnón had the slightest blush on his face, “Now, Sister, there shall be time later! There are in the meantime more pressing matters for the Alicorn Company.”

“Aye,” groaned Henarion, “How many of us are there to fight? Is this all of them?”

Delbedasir stepped forward, “I’m afraid so. Ninety-one live in Canterlot and its surrounding environs, counting you, your nieces and your son. However, the Prince desires that each soldier in our unit be able fly, gallop, cast, and wield a weapon. Those young and…intact enough to meet these requirements number only thirty-nine.”

“Damn. Well…I’ve done more with less,” Henarion said, causing Cardúnón and Rhílë to both give very incredulous looks. “Master Librarian, I don’t suppose you’ll be out there, too.”

“What is that supposed to mean, Colt?”

“Pushing three-hundred, ain’t ya? Hell, a gust a wind ought to snap you like a twig.”

“Careful, Friend. Whom you see before you is not so frail, nor so far away from yourself. Good fighting alicorns stay good a long time. As bones thin, magic only becomes stronger!”

“Well, Friend, show me some of that fancy spellcraft then. Impress me, and I’ll buy you a drink,” Henarion smugly said.

“Dark ale, lightly spiced,” Delbedasir grinned.

Cardúnón knocked a hoof on the cobblestone, “Back to the Company, now.” Everypony gave him their respectful attention. “We are few. We have certain advantages, good advantages. But we cannot delude ourselves completely. We will be targets, as our kind always is. Therefore, we cannot cease moving; we cannot become vulnerable.”

Rhílë then spoke up, “Our strikes shall be precise and deadly. Hit like a hammer and feign. Those that chase will be cut down.”

“Yes, Sister. And undoubtedly, if tales of thestrals be true, we will face them in the air. They are quick, quicker than most, but also fragile. If we control the skies, we will have robbed the enemy of a crucial advantage.”

“Indeed, we shall act as an adjunct to the pegasi units,” the Librarian added, “But, however you may view it, Tulicëai see us as ‘greater’; our successes will inspire, and our failures will instill despair. We know we bleed—we don’t need to prove this today.”

Henarion furrowed his brow, “Mighty we alicorns are when we find reason to be; can thirty-nine be mighty enough?”

“How about forty?” came a lovely voice. Each of the alicorns looked to its source, and then craned their necks down to find a pink mare, a pegasus. Clad in iron armor with a lance hanging off her side, she approached with a cheery grin. She and Henarion then shared a kiss.

“Primrose!” he called, embracing his wife. Hopping behind the two came a small blue alicorn, exuberant and utterly excited to be in the mist of warriors!

“Papa!” he shouted and bounded up into his father’s embrace. With a field of magic Henarion caught the colt.

Cardúnón and Rhílë frowned and looked at the winged Tulicë and her…mixed son. “Where are my manners?” began Henarion, “My wife Primrose, and our son Eldowas.”

“I shall be fighting alongside you all,” Primrose proudly announced before bowing.

Brother and sister shared a glance. “You have heart, Manwadranias, but…we find our unit might fight better—“

“It ain’t about fighting with the alicorns,” Henarion interrupted Cardúnón, “It’s about fighting with me. I’ll be with my kin whether wanted or not, and where I go, she goes.”

Delbedasir leaned in closer to Cardúnón, “I think your hooves are tied.”

“Not too tightly, I hope,” answered Primrose, “I can fly as swift as the wind, and take a hit. I can pierce the eye of a needle with my lance at two-hundred yards.”

“She ain’t lying,” Henarion grinned, slinging a forehoof over her.

“Birthing and rearing an alicorn is no mere task for a Tulicë; there’s fire in your spirit, ma’am.” Primrose grinned at the Librarian and took back her son.

After studying her closely, Cardúnón managed to swallow his pride. “Welcome! Keep up.”

“Yes, I hope you do,” shot the pegasus.

Rhílë enjoyed a laugh at her brother’s expense. “Is the little one to join us as well?” she asked, leaned down to meet the colt.

It was not long afterwards that another pegasus entered the vicinity. A courier, dressed in the courtier’s vest of the Castle. He bowed low to the alicorns and spoke at last, “Prince Petrafyrm has requested all units begin falling into position. Please come to the keep; he wishes to speak with all his commanders first.”

“Thank you,” replied Cardúnón, and the messenger returned to his lord. The green stallion then turned to his soldiers and called out, “Alícëai! In-Nyn!(Triple-Kin! To the perch!)”

“Sernon!(At once!)“ they all cried. Unfurling their great wings, the nigh-forty alicorn soldiers lifted off with the force of five-hundred, shifting the very air for a hundred yards around. Garbed in iron mail and plate, and armed with long weapons unusable to their younger kin, these remnants of ponykind’s greatest splendor assumed their place atop the mountain perch along with the pegasi. When the horn blew and the hour came, a tiny glimpse would echo of why the World had once fallen to their dominion.

“Go with them, Rhílë. I shall join you soon.” Cardúnón kissed his sister’s forehead and allowed her to fly away with the host. The Exilarch’s Vicar then flicked his head to the Keep, “His Princeship does not like to be kept waiting.”

And the briskness of their steps ensured His Highness would not be. The Librarian, for all his advanced age, seemed to have found renewed vitality, and marched just as capably as these youngsters centuries his juniors. Henarion held his head tall and proud…proud for once to be amongst the Sea-Lords of old. Beside him marched Primrose, small in stature but in no way else. Eldowas rode upon his father’s back, utterly enthralled by the grand sights of the city. Perhaps one day he too could march in armor under a great banner.

Cardúnón spared one last look at his people before cantering ahead to meet the orange stallion. A short time of silence passed before he summoned the courage to speak. A dreadful hesitation lingered in his voice, “Uh…if I may…”

Henarion rolled his good eye, “Aye, Lad? Is it that thing your sister mentioned?”

“Vaur. Maihenduléd lyrás nor-shai buanduléd holcadulédodë(Yes. I had a matter I wished to ask about.)”

The older stallion groaned and waited a moment before replying. Flawlessly he switched to his native tongue, “Ishaciléd(I am listening.)”

“Neílruniléd tras-inash nor-géba dran nor-bhoro óheda tam-mevilúsincof ylo. Yltáön solámiléd prandúrilúsédódë viliremë bheneo, tyl éca tam…(It is not lost on me that…at the end of this one of us might not be present. I sincerely hope that we both enjoy our victory, but in case not…)”

“Vaur?(Yes?)”

Mastering his nerves, Cardúnón finally remembered the treasure that was at stake. “Forgduléd dadiremë héim-nasídeceo bhenë, Taberanyn. She shainadim céba obác inashdulyréda she semlon maihendulyréda héim-sivái lyrása, buanilúsédcof…éca-sénodulyríncof poles, telbarilúsedodë vuir.(I have taken a liking to your niece, Taberanyn. And when this war is over and we once again have time for such things, I’d like…if you deem it appropriate, to pursue courting her.”

A deep, heavy sigh left Henarion nostrils. He understood this was inevitable, but in his mind it could always have been an issue for tomorrow. “Lís siwa rílion?(Is that correct?)”

“What is it, Dear?” asked Primrose, who could read his sighs like an open book.

“This one here wants to ‘court’ Tabóna.”

“I see he has a death wish…,” she chuckled.

Under ancient archways and through the inner courtyard of the castle, the group finally came to the gatehouse of the Keep. Troops were marching everywhere, their banners fluttering in the wind and orders barked out by rigid sergeants. Henarion did not say anything when they came to the steps.

“Palë, vuir meviln diëna bhenduvadeam, she buaniléd hónacilúsédodë gylton héim-mor. Tocaniln wulpen randasion she dirilion—(Sir, she is an extraordinary mare, and I wish to treat her as best I can. She deserves a devoted and virtuous stallion—)”

“Vasonilímera dran héim-mor?(Could you find me one?)” Cardúnón laughed, but it was not a joke; Henarion at last understood Nikóleva’s gripe with this one. After more time to think, he finally had an idea to quash this nonsense. “Éca-géba shai buanilím, hóna ronenaïléd malonícad: ylo, nówin céba obác cadabdasemë, vilirilúsím oshpe gárun.(If this is what you want, then I demand a dowry: here, in this battle to come, you will slay one-hundred foes.)” That ought to work.

“Catiléd elnái candita in-ner!(Thank you very much!)” Cardúnón bowed, a powerful mirth in his heart.

“Drangh nghélen,(One chance,)” Henarion intoned, eye set on the keep, “Dal aiätilúsím nusademë.(Or die trying.)”

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

A quiet chorus filled the hall, silent weeping its compliment. Incense smoke wafted into the air, and ponies proceeded in somber lines to pay their respects. A wooden casket sat closed and hallowed, flowers draped over its lid. Prince Petrafyrm bowed his head low, holding back the tears he could not shed now.

A priest read aloud the rites of the Gods, proclaiming now that Marshal Helmraed ran with the great Ethereal Host of Lionheart. The Prince uttered a silent prayer of his own, and approached the casket. Laying a hoof over it, he smiled and recalled all the memories they’d shared, the battles they’d fought. No ruler could have asked for a better pony to lead his forces, and a foolish errand had sent Helmraed to his death.

“Forgive me, my friend…,” his voice cracked. He wiped a small tear from his cheek. Peter was not wearing his crown; nor clad in armor. He did not even wear his fine vestments; he was bare and penitent. There was little comforting about any of this; the good Marshal had no body to bury; only his cleaved head. A fine sword had been laid with him inside; hopefully it would find good use in the battles of the World Beyond.

“I am sorry, Helmraed. But…your sufferings are over; ours have only begun. Be at peace, Warrior of Canterlot. Perhaps I may find myself in your company soon enough…”

The Prince bade farewell to mournings and adjourned with several of his bodyguards. Bearers would inter the casket deep in the Castle Catacombs, but the Prince regrettably had a siege to command. Emerging from the hall into another chamber, he met Princess Coruscina and their son Vale. She recognized his sullen face, and offered her comforts. The Heir, the little lordling, did not yet understand the gravity of his father’s position; hopefully he wouldn’t have to for a time yet.

Petrafyrm stood at a small table in the room and fiddled with an empty cup on it. He was not thirsty; it was a mere toy to help him concentrate. “Your quarters have been established deep in the mountain. You remember the way?”

“Of course, Dear. But I shall not simply wait out this siege idly,” the Princess-Consort asserted, “I intend to care for the sick and elderly. Safe as they might be, those caves are dark and dank; most unhealthy.”

The Prince smiled and turned his attention to the young colt who was wandering the room and admiring the paintings on the walls. Not long afterwards a door creaked open by means of a guard, and in came a few of his commanders. Hard as steel, Captain Gendarmette of the Canterlot Guard approached her liege and bowed, followed by Acting Commander Stormvane of the First Battalion, the third-most senior officer of the Guard. Behind her trotted young Veroche, Knight Commander Wintermail’s squire currently assisting Stormvane, ordinarily a Lieutenant.

Almost immediately following them, Knight Captain Grimheim, a dull brown earth pony, entered with a small retinue of fellow knights. He and his band were motionless once settled, and awaited any further instruction from their liege. Grimheim and the company he commanded comprised the Free Knights, soldiers that owed no allegiance to any lord save the Prince himself. The bannerponies of Canterlot had gone north to merge with Equestria’s greater camp, but Petrafyrm would not send his personal retinue of the Guard and his own knights without himself.

To follow was Stonehewn, appointed Commander of the city militia. Age nearing sixty, though still tough as rock, the maroon unicorn had cut his teeth on many a battle, latest of all Windhock Vale. Despite looking grizzled and rough with his missing eye and notch in his ear, he was oftentimes a jovial pony, and entered the Prince’s war room with a grand kindness and gregarity, shaking hooves and calling others by name.

Last of all, by accident or as a show of purpose the Prince did not know, three grown alicorns entered, filling the already cramped chamber with their towering presence. Along with them came a pink pegasus and a very young blue alicorn colt. Lord Vale’s eyes immediately found his friend, and the two galloped towards each.

“My friend! Look at these knights, their swords and armor!” Lord Vale squealed, hopping up and down.

“There might even be a dragon! My aunt told me all the stories she has about fighting them! Father even—“

“Bite your tongue, Children,” came the commanding but still soothing voice of Princess Coruscina, “Fell things come upon our home; do not invite them further.”

“Yes, Mother,” Vale muttered dejectedly.

“It shall not do you two much good; you’ll be safely within the mountain. Won’t they, your Highness?” the alicorn colt’s pegasus mother asked.

“Certainly, Lady Primrose. Your precious boy will stay safe, and out of trouble!” the high-born noble mare promised as she sent a gentle hoof at Eldowas’ belly, causing the little sprout to giggle. Small laughs escaped from the hard warriors in the room, all remembering some of what they fought for.

“’Lady’? Does that make my husband a ‘Lord’?” Primrose giggled.

“Most emphatically not,” Prince Peter shot. He spotted Henarion and soon flashed a grinned and nodded. The one-eyed alicorn returned the gesture. “Cardúnón,” he then spoke.

“Prince,” the green alicorn bowed, but soon returned to his lofty poise. The Librarian lightly shook his head.

All attention in his grip, Prince Petrafyrm of Canterlot narrowed his eyes and swept his gaze over the assemblage. Over a dozen ponies representing the combined strength of the Castle now awaited their sovereign. “Friends, neither treasure nor honors can imitate my gratitude. You have answered the call, and now besetting us lies a great force, a mere taste of what awaits us from Discord’s mighty host. Lórian above has seen it fit to test us today. This should not even be a question.”

Hooves stomped and voices cried. Petrafyrm raised a forelimb and grinned, “Aye! Hewn three-thousand years ago with alicorn skill—”

“Hear!” cried Cardúnón. He was rewarded with chuckles and complimentary shouts.

“This castle has stood. White walls and battlements, marble in beauty but iron in fortitude, Canterlot has been assailed ever since jealous eyes first turned to her. You are my commanders, chosen with great mind for your talents. I cannot comprehend that we should break the record our forebearers have set!

“Captain Gendarmette, the Guard shall hold the walls. Under no circumstances may they give an inch! Pikes and swords will hold our defenses.”

“Not an inch, your Highness,” the yellow unicorn said.

“Commander Stonehewn, fill any breaches. Our people are brave, but many are green. Keep them out of harm’s way unless it comes careening forward.” Stonehewn nodded.

“Captain Grimheim, my knights are formidable indeed. Should those gates break, make our enemy rue the one who thought first to enter the city!” The Free Knights clamored loudly, rattling their swords as best as the room’s small size allowed.

“And Cardúnón…I suppose it’d be appropriate to call you Commander. Your company of alicorns shall be the vanguard of the pegasi. Fly fast and fly hard.”

“Already discussed, my Lord. The pegasi shall have no better guide.”

“Excellent. And keep my Librarian alive. He insists on fighting, and I couldn’t find five ponies to do half of what he can.”

“Staying alive is a talent, Lord; one that somepony doesn’t reach my age without,” Delbedasir replied.

“And Henarion. You are neither a noble nor an officer. You are a simple farmer leading a simple life. But…you have given us all a great gift—two, in fact. While Dame Wintermail and Lady Stellara search for our ultimate salvation, bloody business remains for us. You are a hero of the most ancient sort, and I find gladness that you shall fight beside us.”

Henarion stared, saying nothing and doing nothing. He hardly felt worthy of such words, but perhaps that was exactly why Peter had said them. Primrose looked up at her husband, anxious but eased beside a stallion a cut above the rest.

“If nothing more needs be said, Warriors, to your stations!” The commanders shuffled out slowly through the two doors. Outside they would gallop and fly as quickly as they could to their ponies and await the first strike of the enemy.

The Prince waited motionlessly, finally stirred by his wife. Princess Coruscina looked at him tenderly with warm eyes. She searched for the right words, but after a silent time passed she settled on a kiss. Peter then leaned down and met his son, barely seven years old. Another kiss sealed his love, and he placed a hoof on Vale’s tiny shoulder, “What is the first rule of Princes?”

“’To…defend one’s…realm’!” Vale recited.

“Now I must go fulfill my duty.” Peter could not help but remark his son’s big innocent eyes. He hugged him for good measure. “I love you both very much. When a happier time comes we shall meet again.” Coruscina and Vale left, retreating to the refuge of Canterlot. Now alone save some bodyguards, Petrafyrm was ready to find his personal dresser.

A short sojourn through the castle halls brought the Prince to his wardrobe. Midday was coming soon by the angle of the Sun. If it were not a violation of his sacred vows and Divine design, Petrafyrm had a mind to cancel the rest of day and let the enemy wander in the confusion of night. Alas, the siege would happen under a kind and clear afternoon.

Resting on a wooden stand was his armor. He came to the center of the room and nodded to the attendant. Cold eyes fixed on the window, the Prince adjusted himself when needed as his dresser tackled the straps and clasps. A small plain padded tunic came first, followed by the mail hauberk. Greaves were fitted to his four legs, then came his embossed and engraved barding. Flecks of gold marked the heraldry of his suit, symbols of his reign and realm upon the steel. His sword belt was girt around him, the Southern Keen ready to prove its name.

With a bow, the dresser presented his liege with the adorned warhelm, topped with a proud violet crest. Ready for the trials of battle, Prince Petrafyrm led his bodyguards out from the chamber and through the castle. Iron upon iron was the only sound as he emerged from the keep and ascended to the inner wall. Atop the parapet he stared out over the assembled host of Canterlot. Spear tips wavered in grand formations, most lustrous of all the ones upon the outer wall where his Guard was placed.

Banners fluttered in the wind with their blue fields and violet stars. Perhaps only two-thousand soldiers, knights, and levies could stand to defend their home; it should do. Far off, past the edge of the city, the riverine valley could be seen. Already trails of smoke rose from the woods and the empty villages below.

The enemy had arrived, and they were felling trees for siegecraft and campfires and forges. The lines were moving now, forward in large blocks. Such discipline had never before existed in the perennial foes of Equestria, the tribes and bands that raided the frontiers. They had in fact united, as was warned, and proved a terrible opponent.

Noblesse Oblige, the rotten traitor, was down there, so the Prince surmised. Now was the time for steel deeds and adamant hearts. Siege engines were being carpentered, with the vain hope of breaching the walls of Canterlot, unsullied since their construction.

For magic stood in each brick of this city, quarried and laid with wisdom borne out of the Sea, now forgotten by its heirs and protectors. Noblesse counted three soldiers for every one of Petrafyrm’s, but he would need every one to crash upon the Mountain-Borne Keep, and still it might not be enough.

At least as traditional siegecraft went.

Taking a deep, full breath, the Prince flashed his broad horn and charged his throat. “Canterlot!” his booming voice echoed throughout the city, “May your blades be sharp, for ere day’s end they shall become notched! Arrow shall fly, and shields shall become broken, and blood split in our great home! But blood too shall be our price, our toll that we demand from our foes! A faithless traitor, a cur bereft of honor leads them against us!”

“Put his head on a pike!” some yelled. “Justice to Noblesse!” others cried.

“Justice indeed! For he has arrayed a host of barbarians, invaders, and turncoats to the folly of our undoing! Down there, in our fair valley, lies the enemy! It drinks our water, and steals our timbers! And that is a bitter taste, a drop of the poison of the his Master, the Snake that slithers through our Garden!

“They seek to ravage all of Equestria, and in their greed and impiety they turned their lustful eyes to us. An honor to be sure is granted to the mighty folk of Canterlot! For today, we give them a taste of the fire and fury that they’ve awakened!” Swords were beat, spears knocked, hooves stomped, and voices clamored. “Their own doom was decided when they crossed our borders, and by no leave but our good graces shall these invaders cross it again!

“Do we have such mercies, when they themselves have none? No! We fight, we fight as Heroes of Old! We fight as Gods on Earth! We fight for the weak and small, the old and frail! We are the Shield of Ponykind, the Lance of Equestria! Today Noblesse and his horde face our Greatest! Let us not disappoint!”

The Canterlot garrison was whipped into a zealous frenzy. Cries and bellows of warriors shot from the White City. If any of those miserable villains down below caught sight of their madness, the meeker of them would die of fright.

The engines of war were being prepared for first blood, and archers drew their bows. Prince Petrafyrm brought his sword out. Focusing his magic, he made the folded blade glow bright with its tapped energy. Hardened and powerful, the weapon would find much use this day. Its maker would be proud.

“Canterlot!” he yelled, followed by a reverberation of the castle’s very foundations. Peter grinned and recalled the old oath given to old kings in old times, “Upon this Mountain, within this Keep, shall we guard the Kingdom of our forebearers! Not a hoof, not a wing that means injury over King or Country may find our stone and rest with calm! A Guard we stand and breathe, and a Guard we will bleed and fall!”

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

The ramp was high. The road up to Canterlot was a long one, narrow as well. A ram would not do; it’d be too slow and too easy to hit. Catapults would take too long to construct; the ladders were demanding enough on a few capable carpenters directing clumsy creatures. Prince Noblesse saw the city and heard very faint noises from it. Petrafyrm was probably so self-assured, not giving any thought to a parley. Fair enough; Canterlot would fall today either way.

Companies of mustangs, minotaurs, and his own levies marched upwards, steadily making progress to the gates. King Aurýx and Warchief Jasicus were further afield, raiding and plundering as they liked. Discord’s great force was eastward-bound, ready to meet the Equestrian forces gathering there. Canterlot was a necessary detour, and six-thousand and more were allotted to wipe its hubris from the world at last.

Noblesse was no fool; he knew well the stories and boasts of Canterlot’s impregnability. He smiled in a cruel fashion, bringing his brass horn to his lips. A loud bellow came over the camp and formations. He drew Deference and stood as a powerful burst of wind blew his surcoat and mane forward. His force possessed a number of great aids, and they ripped from the trees and advanced forward to the castle. Winged beasts with terrible teeth and claws and shimmering scales flew ahead, roaring and blasting streams of fire-breath. Dragons would break open those walls and roast the ponies behind.

Thestrals followed, swift as roaring waterfalls and thirsty for pegasus blood. Their strange war cries, the high-pitched modulations of their voices, sounded overhead. Zebras rode their grey elephants, white tusks adorned with spiked iron bands. Stout and lumbering though they seemed, Noblesse had watched the beastmasters urge them on with speed and ferocity. Any caught underneath would not survive.

But then, the castle stirred. Over the crenelated top of the walls streams of smoke and fire trailed. Like falling stars, boulders careened down to Noblesse’s forces, covered in pitch and set alight. The Prince saw their first victim: a large sapphire dragon. Proud and young, he flew furthest and fastest of all until one of the missiles crashed upon his spiked back. The fire could not kill the drake, but the ground did. The creature smashed into the rocky pathway up the mountain, his bones twisted and broken. His final wail of agony, his death knell, boomed across the valley, thunderous and deafening.

Noblesse’s face curled into an angry sneer, “Forward!”

The rest of that first volley impacted at places amongst his formations, scattering many but ultimately harming few. Some crashed into the woods, others in the river itself. The follow-up however was far more threatening. A wave of arrows curved along the smoke trails of the catapults, finding their marks with a deadly accuracy.

Mustangs wore little armor, save their helmets and lamellar coats. Minotaurs and zebras wore bronze and even wood, while dragons arrogantly opted for their own tough scales. He was loath to admit it, but Noblesse had to concede that Petrafyrm’s castle was as impenetrable as was boasted. Many would die in the siege, but the dull orange unicorn had numbers and powerful soldiers to his advantage, and they would prove crucial. And besides, little but hastily drawn-up levies defended Canterlot.

But one of those “levies” stood and watched the advance of the dragons and bat-ponies from atop the mountain. Cardúnón, Commander of the pegasi, levitated up a signal horn and blew deep and full. The great wing of flyers stretched out their feathers. A second blow took them off the ground. He raised his sword, “Forth, Ladocëai!” and a third sent them to their foes.

From an onlooker’s perspective it was only a matter of seconds before the two aerial forces engaged. To all flying within, air heavy with the beating of wings and cries of war-fury, time was at a standstill. Cardúnón led the charge, numbering nearly five-hundred flyers. To his side were his sister and Henarion, both too ready to fight and claim glory on this day. Behind flew Delbedasir, already charging his horn and running through his mental catalogue of spells. And even Primrose beside her husband was eager, shouting most unkind curses at the thestrals.

The first clash began with a bright eruption of flame. The dragons unleashed their inner power on the battalion of pegasi. A few burned instantly, their bodies not even allowed to reach the ground anything more than a puff of ashes. Cardúnón quickly led the force upwards to avoid the fire. There they met the thestrals. Iron clanked on iron, streams and splatters of blood coming from the first passes. Bodies fell limp and lifeless hundreds of feet below.

Cardúnón fought one bat-pony, cleaved in half with his great sword. A second was decapitated, and yet a third impaled in a swift motion. Those that flew past the green alicorn were answered by Rhílë, who took one with her blade before telekinetically pulsing it forward and striking another fifty feet away. She retrieved it just in time to slay a thestral who threatened her brother.

“Take off the blindfold!” she teased. Cardúnón grinned and returned to combat.

Alicorns, few they were, wreaked havoc on the enemy. With long swords and powerful strikes few were able to resist their attacks. A few fell in grand displays of valor, taking many more thestrals with them. Teamed together, several alicorns even smote a dragon, its dying fire-breath catching its own bat-pony comrades.

Thestrals were swift flyers, and the pegasi had their work well chosen in the task of clearing the skies. Henarion and Primrose fought off their enemy lancers with precision scarcely seen elsewhere. With his magical blade, Henarion parried and pulsed energy into his strikes, yielding such fierce results that nearby thestrals did not wish to engage him. For a stallion who could count his age in lives of ponies, it was remarkable how the routine of battle came back so quickly. “On your left!” he shouted to his wife.

Like a bolt of lightning Primrose catapulted herself forward, lance first, and speared the incoming foe through the gut. A second was cut with a twirl, but backed off too far into the enemy swarm for her to follow. It had been a good while since she’d fought—her adventuring days were over.

When she’d first met Henarion and his niece, she was scarcely old enough to wed. But Primrose had grown bored with her simple peasant life, and when the opportunity came to travel with two tall strangers who helped her village, she took it. Never in that time had she even gotten the notion of falling in love and marrying a stallion who frankly was old enough to be her ancestor of six generations. Yet here she was.

Henarion fought wildly, dodging and matching blows. His commanding presence and stern face reminded his wife of ancient statues, and in him she saw a glimpse of that noble race she’d heard much about in her travels and marriage. He defeated the latest to challenge a full-grown and roused alicorn, and then turned his head to the pegasi and alicorns around him, “From above, below, and through!”

The immediate foes were hit from three directions at once, unable to respond effectively. The battle in the sky would be won no doubt. But near the walls, as the ground forces sent more arrows and flaming boulders to Noblesse’s army, a golden dragon was descending and rearing his head back.

“Down there!” Henarion called out to Primrose. She nodded and brought her lance into position. Together they darted a hundred yards down, appearing on either flank of the drake.

“Eldowas was so excited when he learned you had so much as fought a dragon!” cried Primrose, looking for a point in the beast’s armor to pierce, “When he hears about slaying one…”

“Right!” Henarion laughed, “Behind the crest!” Primrose charged her spear-point into the drake’s head just above the neck. The strike was true, and it bellowed out in pain. Unfortunately, it let off flames with its song, torching some of the defenders atop the walls. Screams and wails caused Henarion’s heart to sink, and he maneuvered underneath and slashed open the mighty dragon’s belly. Covered in blood but otherwise unharmed, he returned to Primrose as they watched the worthy foe fall upon the walls.

Heavy though it was, such an impact could not break the ancient stonework. Its back cracked and it slumped off the edge to join so many others that had fallen. Wiping his brow, Henarion readied his blade and prepared for more butchery.

Above this carnage roared further such work. The Librarian, old and terrible, fanned his great wings wide and leveled his horn on his enemies. Armed with ancient spells, he unleashed overwhelming beams of energy that seared and paralyzed and pulverized those unfortunate enough to be caught in their path. He’d been studying for two centuries the varied discipline of spellcraft, and now he finally was able to put it to use.

Aged and frail he seemed, but Delbedasir was a formidable adversary that few with wisdom would wish to face. A dragoness learned this, a ruby red drake with jagged teeth. The beast lunged forward, trying to snap the Librarian in her jaws. Each time she seemed certain to catch him, but with a flash of red light he teleported a few feet away. It became almost a game, a means to toy with the dragoness. A burst of magic, in truth a superheated air spell, bored into her neck, and as she tried to roast the Librarian alive the fire in her throat exploded; she breathed nothing more than blood.

He shot another beam in her chest, and that was the end of the red dragoness.

The first wave of flyers was beaten back, thinner though still more numerous than Canterlot’s own winged battalion. Cardúnón charged his voice, “To me! To me!” A pursuit would be dangerous; maybe as many as a fifth of the pegasi had fallen.

With his forces gathered again, Cardúnón looked at the battlefield below. Archers and siege engineers were so far the only ones to have engaged Noblesse’s ground force, discounting the aerial skirmish. Training his eye down the mountain pathway, he saw the foe already half-way upwards, elephants and siege engines in tow. His keen alicorn eyes also noticed that the catapults in the city were running low on ammunition; the archers could not be much farther behind.

And then, a loud roar erupted from the woods. Birds of all sorts scattered for miles around and the very trees shook. Gazing out to the valley, the flyers spotted something moving through the forest. The earth quaked and a horn blew down by the river. Noblesse seemed to have one great trick in hiding, and it would not be easily defeated.

Amidst the confusion, hidden in tall ancient trees a gigantic hulking monster plodded further to the battle. Having taken its time to remain concealed just long enough, it finally saw fit to reveal itself. Emerging from the trees came a massive black shape, wings as wide as an army. An onyx dragon raised his long spiky head and let loose a torrent of multicolored fire, brimming with magic.

“That…is a Greater Dragon,” intoned Delbedasir, his horn smoking just the tiniest bit.

“How do we kill it?” Cardúnón asked.

“Steel would shatter on its hide, and any who got close enough would burn to death,” Rhílë muttered.

Henarion paused and looked at his blade levitating beside him. He then tried to remember Nikóleva’s story about that Dragon Queen.

“We have to think of something,” Cardúnón said, “Else we might as well ask him to go back home for all the good that’d do.”

Then with the force of a hurricane, the dragon flapped its wings and soared towards the castle walls. If ponies could not break those white walls, primordial dragonfire would. Primrose saw Henarion eyeing his blade, “Could that cut through?”

“I don’t know…it ain’t alicorn steel, but it’s hard. Delbedasir! Got any magic that can help?”

The Librarian thought for a moment, looking at the approaching drake. “Perhaps. We’ll have to act quickly, though. I can distract it better than anypony else; its fire won’t kill me right away. You will handle the swordwork.”

Behind the black dragon came the second wave of its lesser kin and bat-ponies. Cardúnón looked at his diminished but still capable force, “Strike it down! If it can assault the city with impunity, all is lost!” With that he flew off and led his ponies to combat the renewed enemy flyers.

Delbedasir, Henarion, and Primrose obeyed their orders and flew lower to meet the giant foe. The black dragon was a fast flyer, and came within range of the walls. One burst of his fire swallowed up dozens of guardsponies, and caused the otherwise-impenetrable defense to crack. He then rushed forth and gripped his forelimbs on the wall itself, talons digging deeper. With a single wrench he pulled off a whole section of the fortification, throwing it down onto the path.

Thrusting his hind-claws into the mountainside, the dragon swung his massive tail and assaulted further the walls. Another stream of fire caught alight a whole neighborhood in the city and its defenders. Delbedasir arrived just in time, and he sent a stream of magic so potent that it managed to knock the dragon off-balance, forcing him to let go of the walls. Still it could not pierce his armor.

“Well met, Alicorn!” he laughed, voice dripping with sinister delight, “I had hoped there were some of your kind left.”

“I should say the same!” the Librarian yelled in reply. He trained to the side and aimed for the monster’s yellow eye; it missed only barely.

“Powerful…I sense it, but old too. Older still am I, but years have only made me stronger!” Now flying high, he spread his great body and opened his toothy maw. A glow of fire echoed and emerged to engulf solely the Librarian. He flashed his horn and grunted loudly and full of strain. But then the dragon’s breath subsided. A red shield then dissipated, but Delbedasir looked worse for wear.

“Oh, so this one is more clever than most! Very well, Alicorn, you prove worthy to fight Telnarakh, King of Drakes and Wyrms! We both know in the end only one of our races can survive!”

Telnarakh sent down his tree-sized claw, missing the Librarian and only smashing into the ruined section of wall. Meanwhile Henarion and Primrose were behind him, looking for the right spot to strike. Darting to his upper neck, they spotted small gaps in his large scales. Primrose drove her lance into the crease, seeing the scale shift ever so slightly. Henarion followed with a thrust, his folded steel sword making a shallow gash. It would work, but it would be like digging through rock.

The pegasus’ lance strike however hit tender flesh, and Telnarakh recoiled and roared, “Pests! Pests! I shall swat you like the flies you are!” His mighty tail swept across his back, but Henarion and Primrose were too quick. He swept again, missing such small targets and instead crashing into a tower in the city. It fell with little issue.

Frustrated, the dragon unleashed his searing fury on the walls. The soldiers were scrambling to safety, trying to get out of range. Delbedasir noticed and charged his wings to meet the threat in time. With a powerful burst he redirected the immense fire off harmlessly into empty sky. Lightly singed and feeling more tired, he heaved and sneered, but kept his resolve.

Telnarakh bared his teeth and then landed on the path before the walls. Wrapping his strong forelimbs on the gatehouse, he bellowed while uprooting the stonework. Incompletely done though it was, Telnarakh had managed to form a great breach, wide enough to allow the approaching army to enter, which was already a hundred yards from the end of the Dragon King’s tail.

Henarion and Primrose attacked again, striking the very same spot as before. The scale shifted and cracked a little more. Telnarakh thrashed, “You think you can cast down me? It took the mightiest of alicorns to slay us in our great days! And though your kind has diminished in power, Greater Dragons remain as large and strong as we always have!”

As he finished boasting, a flaming payload from a catapult smashed directly into his chest. He screamed and snarled, turned his head and fire to the platform for which it was fired. Again the Librarian rushed and parried the inferno in a large flash of red magic. This time the strain compelled him to belt out in exertion.

For his labors, raucous cheers came from the defenders, the host calling for the name of their great Bookkeeper. On Telnarakh’s back, husband and wife dug at the scale once more. Now he was fully enraged, and trained his head upwards. Drawing in a deep breath, the inner heat was charged with a great amount of dragon-magic and unleashed. Spinning his massive flying body, he created a firestorm to torch his back-ticks alive.

A terrible glint grew in Delbedasir’s eyes, and he swooped down for his greatest feat. Closing his red eyes, he opened them to reveal green ones with purple shrouds. An erratic and ethereal stream of violet magic then twisted up the firestorm. With all his willpower and mental fortitude, the Librarian pushed the dragon’s breath away and back to where it had come. Sweating profusely and belting out in a stinging, stabbing, throbbing pain, he directed all his ancient might into driving the fire into Telnarakh’s belly.

The black drake fought back, but in the end it was a losing battle. Now inside the beast’s gullet, the fire was let go by the alicorn’s magic. It combusted within, causing a terrible pain in Telnarakh’s throat. His neck felt distended and a trail of blood dripped from his mouth. After this final phase of spellcraft, the Librarian shrieked, clapping on his temple with hooves to abate the sensation of his skull wanting to burst open. But by this mighty feat the dragon was distracted long enough.

Wounded as he was Telnarakh would not die by such means. Therefore Primrose stabbed the scale cuticle five times, and Henarion five times in kind. On the sixth the scale dislodged and broke, revealing the soft dragonskin below. Henarion raised his great sword and made it glow brightly with his own magic and that stored within the weapon. Letting out a war cry along with his wife, Henarion drove the blade deep, all the way to the hilt, and channeled the magic through the dragon’s skull.

The death throes were cataclysmic, and the two were thrown quickly off. Shrieking and bellowing and even cries of defeat and fear sounded from the dragon’s throat, but as it wailed and thrashed blood dripped from its nostrils and mouth and even eyes. After what seemed an hour of realizing its own mortality, Telnarakh, King of Drakes and Wyrms, ceased at last and fell from the air. His gigantic corpse crashed upon the river below, so broad as to dam it up.

Henarion and Primrose saw the impact and then each other. Chuckling and then bursting into raucous laughter, they grabbed one another and embraced, sharing a tender kiss. The Librarian, weary and barely able to fly, came up behind, “Come! It’s not over yet, and I feel you’ll have to make up for my absence. I am…tired.”

Henarion broke off from his wife and stared at the old alicorn. Stern-faced he nodded, “You saved our lives. Thank you.”

“You saved ours,” Delbedasir replied. He then recoiled as Primrose rushed to him and planted a kiss on his cheek. A slight blush found his face and he cleared his throat, “Careful, Dear; I can be brittle when I want to be. I shall return to the Prince’s side to rest and provide counsel. We’ve done well enough, Friends; let us bring it to the end!” And the Librarian flew off.

Henarion looked below and saw the enemy ever closer to the walls. Without gates, the defenders were now caught at a disadvantage; “bring it to the end” indeed. Cries and shouts perked his ears; above the second wave had been defeated, and Cardúnón’s host was celebrating. That would make things easier.

But one more thing would as well. “Return to the flyers; I’ll be back in moment!” Primrose obeyed and rushed as fast as her wings could take her. Henarion dove down to the body of Telnarakh, his neck twisted and wings broken. At the end of the snaking body he found the shining copper hilt of Bálebemoséo. Drawing it from the dragon’s corpse he held it high and proud, looking like image of a hero. A small cleaning spell was used to clear the blood and gore from its steel, and then Henarion was off to continue the fight.

He hoped his girls weren’t having as much “fun” as he was.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Long and deep sounded the Horn of House Mountainkeeper, wrought of brass and adorned with bands of silver. A shallow relief of alicorns tall and strong, girt in armor, had been woven along the bands with ancient craft. Petrafyrm’s ancestor Treelion, had bellowed with the Horn and led the defense of Canterlot nearly a thousand years ago. He won and became her first Prince.

With this relic of a vanished kingdom once again the might and fervor of the White Citadel was called. “For the Mountain!” the Prince commanded. Up ahead at the outer walls detachments of the Canterlot Guard were maneuvering to defend the breaches. Pikes arrayed and lowered they remained steadfast as the yards closed between them and the advancing enemy. Overhead the battle still raged between pegasus, thestral, alicorn, and dragon. Arrows whistled past ears and found their mark in oncoming minotaurs and mustangs, and zebras in their elephant mountings.

Behind his own forces, trailing at a safe distance, came Noblesse Oblige, grinning maliciously at the broken Canterlot fortifications. But for all his cunning, for all the ravages of the slain Telnarakh, this fortress was not yet won.

Before the Keep, the light sound of a pony dropping from flight came behind Peter. He turned and spotted the tall figure of Delbedasir, breathing heavily and red in the face. “My Friend! For all you’ve done for this city, I should say that was your best work!”

“You flatter me, my Lord…but it shall be my only work for the rest of today. Yet by your side I shall remain…nevertheless.” He made deep, calm breaths to sooth his exhaustion.

“From the looks above, how many are left to fight?”

“Archers and engines have done much against Noblesse; I placed it around a third lost. We are still outnumbered, and by and large the greenest were the ones to fall. With walls we could sustain, but now—”

“The Guard will hold,” Petrafyrm replied with a grim sternness, “So long as we are clever.” With that, the Prince bade his Librarian farewell and took his bodyguard forward. Sword raised he galloped, calling out to his soldiers left and right. Careening down the streets of his city, he came to just before the ruins of the Western Gate. Standing atop tall building to view better the situation, he called one of his messengers, a mauve pegasus.

Recalling one of the little maneuvers Lady Stellara performed during her wargames, the Sovereign of Canterlot got a coy idea to save the city. Laden with orders, the pegasus mare flew away to Cardúnón, where hopefully the command would be heeded.

Satisfied, Petrafyrm returned to ground level and found Captain Gendarmette. “My Lord!” she cried, utterly surprised to find him so close to the carnage. Screams and shouts came from the foes as they were impaled and pierced by the multitude of spear points.

“I shall suffer as my soldiers! Now, Captain, remember Windhock Vale?” She nodded and got a grin to match her liege’s. “Good! Keep the walls; let them come through the gate!”

The orders were obeyed at once. Acting Commander Stormvane led the center, and withdrew her soldiers little by little. Short, frequent steps were taken, and as more nomads and raiders fell to pikes, the Guard gave them more room to make poor decisions. The gap became larger, and the enemy had to trample the lifeless corpses of their compatriots to close it.

Meanwhile, orders went to Commander Stonehewn to send archers into the high buildings nearby. Other militia troops filled the gaps in the Guard’s lines, joining the slaughter. The brutal arms of minotaurs and the curved sabers of mustangs were formidable opponents to the heavily-armored infantry, but though they sustained losses, the front line replied with interest.

At the walls ladders were raised, and Noblesse’s own Trottingham banners, used to siegecraft, ran up to assail the white parapets. Swords and spears cleaved limbs and heads from the assaulters. Blood and cries were endemic, and it was no long time before the marble purity of Canterlot devolved into crimson sin and carnage.

But for all the spectacle, where ponies became reddened and lesser savages in their own right, Canterlot was winning. Bowponies high in their roosts loosed arrow after arrow into the quickly-growing throng of enemies in front of the gates. They had allowed themselves to become too eager, a consequence of Noblesse’s impatience, and now formed a pocket that was surrounded on all sides by pikeponies and varied militiatroops. With clear shots and plentiful targets, the archers had great sport then.

Four thousand or so, however, remained, and Canterlot’s forces were dwindling; to think otherwise would be a mistake. Another course was needed in the end, else sheer numbers would eventually overwhelm the Violet Star Banner. Amidst the twang of iron and wrenching of severed limbs and broken bones, Cardúnón would have to be that course.

From his vantage point, Noblesse’s Host was compressing, pushing itself further into the walls to bring their numbers to bear all the quicker. The messenger received a time ago gave Cardúnón his orders, and soon the opportunity would present itself.

In the meanwhile he satisfied himself with a fight against no less than three thestrals. These grey golden-eyed creatures rushed from three directions, to which Cardúnón replied by flying upwards, swing down his sword and catching the back of one’s skull. Ripping it from bone, the green alicorn then turned his weapon on the disoriented remaining two, slashing their chests in one move. One crashed down to the ground, the other tried to fly forwards for vengeance. A single thrust was all it took for Cardúnón to finish his valiant, but ultimately mistaken, opponent.

Blood dripped heavily from his great sword, yet he was spared no moment to muse on life and war before the weapon was set on more oncoming foes. Rhílë soon joined his side, never willing to leave the green fool alone for too long. Brother and Sister fought off flyer after flyer, teaming up to slay a dragon—after the killing of mighty Telnarakh, what was a small “lesser wyrm” to high-blooded ponies?

Henarion and Primrose ravaged their space as well, leading dozens of their kin against great swarms of bat-ponies. Flying as he hadn’t since before his first century was past, Henarion bellowed and fought with a vigor he’d forgotten he had. “Stronghoof! Stronghoof Dragonsbane!” he heard coming from behind, from his newly-formed “retinue”. “Now that’s not too bad…,” he muttered to himself.

Primrose darted left and right, up and down, at speeds incomprehensible. Thestrals were swift; she was swifter, and just as merciless in her strikes. Never far from her husband’s side, Primrose kept his rear safe, and was certainly kept busy in doing so. Precise and deadly, as Rhílë had advised, Primrose came to appear like bolts of lightning to the thestrals. It was in this view, and with great admiration of this little pegasus peasant’s mettle, courage, and ferocity, that the pegasi trailing first uttered a name that would become part of great pegasus folklore: Lady Thunderlance.

When the relentless battering became too much for the thestrals and dragons , this wave withdrew, licking its wounds and likely not able to mount a fourth attack. Cardúnón called out and blew his horn, reeling in his scattered flyers together into a broad formation. Down below the enemy was squeezing further into the city, the traps the Prince devised wreaking havoc but by itself not enough. Now was the time.

Raising his great sword, Cardúnón, with Rhílë, Dragonsbane, and Thunderlance beside, led the pegasi and alicorns down to smash their hammer upon the Guard’s anvil. Wide wings propelled the airborne ponies forward, sword and lance lowered to skewer through. War cries trailed the flyers, all making fierce and gnashing expressions, ready to tear into the foe. But Cardúnón made one final maneuver, causing his alicorns to follow.

Low to the ground, he began galloping his legs in the air, touching down perfectly and maintaining his momentum. His kin mimicked the action, and soon nearly thirty of their fading race made a gesture of defiance. A cold deep night threatened to swallow them, but it would not be with quiet and stillness that they’d comply. Heavy, speeding along, and armed, their pegasus brethren overhead, the Triple-Kin galloped straight into the rear.

“héim-Ránen!(For the Mountain!)” their green Commander yelled, uppercutting his great sword into the first minotaur to get in his path. The thunderous quake of the earth behind them alerted the enemy to the great flanking, but they prepared with too little time. The clashing of iron and the trampling of hooves deafened those around. Some alicorns managed fifty feet through the enemy line before they lost their momentum and took off to the sky. And darting down from the clouds, pegasi picked off the stunned enemy.

The shock attack forced more of Noblesse’s banners forward, straight into the wall of pikes and swarm of arrows Petrafyrm had arrayed. The giant grey mounts of the zebras tried to rush and trample Canterlot’s defenders; to an extent they succeeded, but soon spears and shields felled these creatures. As a knell of death they blared like trumpets and reared up, toppling over and crushing friend and foe beneath their massive frames.

Again Cardúnón gathered his forces and perpetrated a second charge, this one met with more resistance than before, but almost just as futile. Afterwards, many began to break and flee, dropping their weapons and banners. A mass rout would soon take place.

“Run them down!” Cardúnón ordered, pegasi turning around and chasing the routers. Meanwhile, at the head of his army, Prince Petrafyrm saw more and more of Noblesse’s troops turn, and so he raised the Southern Keen and led the charge. From the streets of the White Citadel, Knight Captain Grimheim led his Free Knights out to trample and capture the broken foe. Alicorns joined them, and with bursts of magic and giant swords the ancient ponies demonstrated their classical strength.

Canterlot had won, and some three-thousand routing opponents proved this. Quick mustangs and thestrals would largely escape, but dragons would be too proud to run. Most fought to the death, taking a substantial number with them. Atop his city’s walls, Prince Peter surveyed out and spotted Noblesse. He then called for a messenger and relayed them his terms. The Prince then sent the pegasus off hopefully to hear of Noblesse’s good nature and reason.

Amidst the carnage and chaos, Cardúnón and Henarion were chasing down foes, ensuring that tomorrow they would not rally and again try to take the city. Admirable foes kept their weapons and tried to die with honor. And die they did. Cardúnón scoffed; these cowards forsook their oaths and lords for their own safety—to die with honor was their fate, as far as he cared to see it.

“Ninety-nine!” the green alicorn called out, catching the ear of Henarion. The orange stallion raised an eyebrow.

Number one-hundred then came before him. A dark brown minotaur, bearing a round shield and short sword. Cloven hooves dug into the dirt, he grimaced at the tall alicorn before him. Another one was close by. The bull grit his teeth, but soon lessened his countenance. Taking a deep breath, the minotaur dropped his shield and laid his blade before Cardúnón’s feet.

“I have lost. Through cunning and strength you have beat us,” the minotaur spoke through his thick accent, “You are the better warrior; I yield.” He then knelt.

One-hundred foes slain…that was his condition. Cardúnón stared at the minotaur and raised his sword. Defenseless, it should have been a clean kill. But the rules of war…if but one rule could be observed…surrender was to be respected. The alicorn fought with himself for a minute. To run was dishonorable, but to stand and admit defeat…

Cardúnón lowered his sword and slid it back into its scabbard. “I accept your surrender,” he announced in his deep voice. Seeing his mercy, many other foes around him too approached and bowed before the alicorn. Weapons dropped and armor unfastened, dozens yielded to their betters.

Most fleeing had escaped from Cardúnón’s immediate range; there would be no one-hundredth.

Henarion approached from behind and sheathed his mottled blade. He turned his one blue eye to the green stallion, “Now’s your chance.” His voice was grim and biting.

“Balila she ila,(Ninety-nine,)” Cardúnón reaffirmed, looking Henarion straight in his eye.

The old alicorn’s scowl slowly turned to a half-smile. He outstretched his foreleg and placed it on Cardúnón’s shoulder. “Aye!” he laughed; soon his green companion joined in.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Standing atop a rocky perch, Noblesse raged and shouted, erupting with violent bursts of violet magic. “To me! To me, you cowards!” He blew his horn, and managed to assemble a paltry force of his knights and levies who had not fled. Scanning the battlefield, Noblesse Oblige looked for that damn Prince. He found that blue unicorn charging at the head of his Free Knights. A toothy sneer formed on Noblesse’s face, and he readied himself to meet in single combat that irksome, loathsome, troublesome pony that had arrayed Equestria against him!

“Parley! Parley, Lord!” came a mare’s voice. A mauve pegasus descended and appeared before the Prince of Trottingham. She craned her neck, “My liege Petrafyrm of Canterlot has bade me to announce his Highness is willing to discuss terms. Surrender and equitable treatment is guaranteed.”

And there, at his patience’s end, Noblesse Oblige committed the gravest taboo in war: he rose his blade Deference and cleaved off the diplomat’s head. The poor mare seized and convulsed on the ground, blood pouring from the stump of her neck. “Bring me the Prince!” he ordered through clenched teeth.

A sizzling air of magic appeared, like the charge in the sky before a thunderstorm. “I don’t think that shall be necessary,” came a voice Noblesse knew well. He turned around and found the long, spindling form of his Master, face set with a frown and hands upon his hips.

“I am not sure what to do with you,” Discord began, picking up his minion by the scruff of his neck, “You have this one task, and that eludes you!” A dark grin then grew on the fiend’s mouth, his single fang sprouting from his lips, “Though…a finer mess I have seldom seen. I should give you more kingdoms and armies to ruin; you’re good at it.”

Pride hurt, Noblesse found the rest of him injured when Discord threw him onto the ground. “I was having such a lovely day of song and drink, but now that I’m about, I’ll be taking over here. Sit and wait, like a good dog.”

“But Master—“ an idle snap of Discord’s fingers caused a bolt of lightning to singe Noblesse’s hair. A grown Lord of Equestria, adorned in grand armor and leader of a proud realm brought to heel as the comedic plaything of a God…Noblesse did not know pride could sink so low.

Hovering over the battlefield, Discord advanced slowly and almost with a bored expression. Some chasing Canterlot warriors spotted him and tried their luck. They had none, of course, and the Draconequus dispatched dozens with methods varied and cruel. Some were roasted alive in their armor, others speared to death when plant roots grew ten-fold and sharply. One was even crushed when he enlarged his fingers and pinched a knight’s warhelm.

Discord giggled to himself like the wretch he was; ponies had been so much stronger, so much more capable of resisting in Elder Days. These current ponies just weren’t the same… But there was one relic of those times; that black sword he coveted so.

As he moved closer and closer to Canterlot, others spotted him amidst the grim and grisly field. Henarion saw him, and at once horror overtook the stallion. “What is it?” asked Cardúnón.

“Discord.”

Cardúnón turned and spotted the fiend, “That is him?”

Henarion nodded, “We have to return to the castle!”

With a loud horn-blow, Cardúnón signaled for his troops to rally, “To the Castle! Fall back!” Beside Cardúnón and Henarion flew in Rhílë and Primrose, along with the remainder of the pegasi and alicorns. With great haste they soared to regroup within the city.

Along the journey they passed Petrafyrm. Henarion’s voice boomed downwards, “My Lord! Discord approaches!”

Remembering well the account Dame Wintermail and Lady Stellara had given of this primordial fiend, Peter’s eyes shrunk and he ordered all his troops to give up the chase. The brass Horn of Treelion echoed across the mountain pathway, but to the furthest it proved too late. Most made into back into the city at full gallop, but the stragglers were subjected to more of Discord cruel tricks and games.

He softly hummed to himself, conjuring up abominations out of the objects around him: rocks, grass, even reanimated corpses. Shrieks followed in his wake as he came ever closer to the shattered gates.

Standing over the walls, Petrafyrm watched this foe approach, nothing seeming to slow him down. Cardúnón and the Librarian at his side, he turned to seek counsel, “What can we do?”

“The caves,” Delbedasir replied, “We can hide there.”

“Hide? For how long can we hide? How long can we avoid Discord?” Cardúnón interjected.

“Hopefully long enough for the Sisters to return. Take them! Lead all our forces to safety there!” ordered the Prince.

“And you?” asked Cardúnón.

Petrafyrm turned slowly to the alicorn, “I shall ensure the rear makes it inside. A Prince shall be the first out the gates…and the last inside.”

“My Liege, do not let your pride cloud your judgment; you must get to safety!” said Delbedasir.

“There is no pride here. Go!”

A look of hesitation crossed the Librarian’s face. Despite a sharp wit and centuries of experience, words failed him in that moment, and he resigned himself to obeying his lord. He took off and called out for Canterlot’s soldiers to fall back into the mountain tunnels.

Cardúnón, however, stood in deep thought. There were over a thousand left to save, and by his reckoning Discord would reach the city before many had a chance to reach the caves. He sent off his pegasi, but assembled his remaining alicorns. They would buy time, hopefully to some profit.

His sister and Henarion joined him, along with the orange stallion’s young wife. Twenty-five or so remained of the Triple-Kin after such struggle. A ways back, the Librarian spotted his kindred gathering. He relayed commands to one of the fleeing officers and turned immediately around to join them.

With no words, Cardúnón drew his blade and sallied forth to meet Discord. The green stallion opened with a burst of magic that seemed to only annoy the fiend. Seeing these alicorns around him, Discord snarled and unleashed a measure of his power, snapping his fingers to conjured up a few lead weights on an alicorn’s wings. She plummeted to the ground, snared alive by livened and aggressive roots. Another snap caused purple tendrils to emerge in the air and grab hold of a few more, strangling and tearing to shreds. But powerful as he was, Discord could only focus on so much, and this swarm managed to land a few blows on him. Slicing tendons and tender spots, he recoiled and lost focus on his spells.

But as quickly as they could harm him, Discord would heal. Summoning a measure of his cosmic power, Discord readied to deal with these pests. Delbedasir, in a moment of great daring, flashed on his own alicorn power and projected a field to disrupt the Draconequus’ move. “I’m impressed! Now it’s my turn!” he laughed, ramming his fists into the magic barrier. Several blows later and it shattered, throwing back the Librarian and leaving his horn a singed mess.

A swipe of Discord’s arm cast out a blade of magic, felling no less than five alicorns. Cardúnón out the corner of his silver eye saw most of Canterlot’s soldiers nearly within the keep’s walls. “Fall back!” he called again, leading the alicorns away from their foe.

A few were caught by Discord, but he gave no chase, and instead spotted the Prince of the city just behind the walls.

“Come! To the caves!” the Prince yelled, seeing the last of the stragglers cross the gatehouse. Petrafyrm was now ready to join them.

As he galloped down the street, a sinister laugh came upon the wind. “Oh, won’t you join me for dinner tonight?”

A glimmer of panic struck Peter as a bubble of magic formed around him and the surrounding city block. Ponies who did not heed the barrier crossed it, the flesh immediately burned from their bones. Haunting wails echoed from their bodies.

Discord, terrible and looming, hovered closer until a mere twenty feet stood between him and the Prince. “Peter, is it? I’ve heard a great deal about you. In fact, so much that I now know that you have something of great value to me.”

Petrafyrm, dressed in his armor, rose the Southern Keen and recalled the First Duty of a Prince. He channeled magic into the blade, causing it glow a bright white. Discord recoiled, a fear upon his long face.

Hundreds of yards away, the shimmer of the sword did not escape the notice of Delbedasir. His sharp eyes saw Discord and the Prince, and an agonized stabbing sensation overtook his heart, “My Lord!” he shouted, but stumbled immediately as the reality of his age and exhaustion made itself known.

Henarion caught the stallion and propped him up, “Me must go; There’s nothing we can do for him now.”

Delbedasir clenched his teeth. A few tears trickled down his cheeks, and all the memories he’d shared with his dear friend flashed in his mind. Leaving that place was perhaps the hardest thing he’d ever done. Ponies all around were racing for the caves; one at least would have to be left behind.

And that pony could stall just a little bit longer. He stared at the hellfiend, raising his blade and taking a stance. “For Equestria!” he called, galloping forward. Discord attempted to use a trick on him, but Petrafyrm managed to fire a countering blast of magic. He leapt up and swung Manycsudë hard across Discord’s chest, then thrust deep to where his heart presumably was.

The Draconequus shrieked in pain, but after many beltings he realized that the steel did not burn him. He then grabbed the Prince and drew him from his chest, throwing the stallion onto the cobblestone. “You do not wield the Sword of Light and Darkness, do you?” the fiend chuckled, “Might I ask where it is?”

Petrafyrm wiped some of the blood from his mouth and raised his weapon again. “Stop it. Don’t you know it is rude to ignore someone when they ask you a question?” Discord stomped his hooves leg, causing a pillar of rock to emerge and knock the Prince into a nearby building. He groaned as he hobbled to his feet, but Manycsudë was ten feet away.

Discord levitated up the sword right as his lieutenant Noblesse came up behind. “This managed to trick me,” the serpent smiled coyly. “Here; I know how much you like long, hard things,” Discord jested, handing the sword to Noblesse.

The unicorn blushed but then filled his heart with hatred and fury, “My Lord, I ask your leave to kill that enemy of His Chaotic Eminence!”

Discord’s eyes lowered, “No. You’ve done enough today. Besides,” the fiend opened his paw, capturing the Petrafyrm in his magic. The blue unicorn was weak and unable to stand correctly, likely due to several broken ribs. He could do nothing to resist when Discord brought him forth. “I need him for a very special purpose.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, you know, Peter.” The mention of his name caused the Prince to shudder. “If you’re not careful, your entire country could wind up in a bad place, if you catch my meaning. Noblesse here had a little sense—little, but enough. Give me what I want, and I’ll make you the envy of all lords!” Discord then leaned closer to his prey, “Or see it all burn and become ash.”

Wincing over his injuries, Petrafyrm spat at the Draconequus, “Silver tongues are nice….Discord, but I have found something even more precious.”

“Is that so?” Discord rolled his eyes, “Don’t keep me waiting. Give me the Heavens.”

“Is the Mighty Draconequus…beholden to a mere mortal?” Petrafyrm teased, managing a rude smile.

The hellfiend chuckled again, “Oh you know how they can be; Sun and Moon are a stubborn pair. But they’ll be mine, easy way or hard way. Last chance, little Princeling!”

Petrafyrm merely continued glowering, battered and bruised. Discord smiled, “Well this is on you then,” he extended a hand into Peter’s chest, boring into it with dark magic. The unicorn screamed as Discord sifted through his spiritual core itself, searching for the cosmic “deed” to the Heavens.

The Draconequus found it after a time, pulling out an orb of pulsating, multicolored magic. The Sun and Moon, and the star above, were all placed when the world was new. As part of the divine design the unicorns first were tasked with ordering them and ensuring that each day they came again. When kings rose they assumed the duty, and when they fell, the Princes of Canterlot were humbled by this task.

But there was an order, a divine contract of which violation entailed a stern retribution. Discord had stolen the contract, and thereby stolen command of them. He could not have been happier.

Thrusting the orb into his chest, Discord could feel the connection to the Heavens, and focused on the bodies above. Soon the Sun was shifted aside and the Moon came up to join it. Laughing at his handiwork, Discord turned to his little minion, “Well Noblesse, what do you think? Hmm…could use some work. Let me try this…” A swish of his fingers later and both bodies fell below the horizon such that a grim twilight overtook the sky.

The whole world would remember this time for the disruption to a pattern observed and taken for granted for millennia, and it would be called many names, whether or not it was understood why it had happened.

“Much better! So…Peter, I want just one more, little thing. I know that you know what it is.”

A wraith of the pony he had been, strong and just, a ruler of great repute and respect, Petrafyrm still had the strength to defy this wicked creature. “Enjoy your victory, Discord. Enjoy the chaos you’ve wrought, and enjoy the lives you’ve ruined. But remember…always remember…that in the end you cannot win. Not since your first sin, not since you let pride overtake you could you win. In the end, whether I live a moment more or a hundred years at your torment…in the end my pain shall cease.

“But you can never be free. In my short life, I have done at least this: I have created the means of your undoing. So stand and laugh while you can; soon enough you shall cower and weep.”

Discord clenched his fist tighter, crushing the poor Prince, “When you see your ‘God’, please let him know this is my world now. I would respect his distance.” A sickening crunch and Discord relaxed his grip, letting the broken body of the Prince fall on the ground.

Mangled and bloody, Petrafyrm raised his still vibrant violet eyes at Noblesse. Raspy, labored breaths signaled his final words, “Cold and nameless shall be your fate.” The Prince of Trottingham furrowed his brow and almost lost his composure and pounced upon the dying unicorn.

Petrafyrm of House Mountainkeeper, Prince of Canterlot, lied on the cold stone, losing his last gasps of life. He could in these closing moments dwell on the fate of his city and its ponies, and on his failure to defend both. He could lament he’d never see the shining faces of his dear wife Coruscina and beloved son Vale again, or those of his friends. He could mourn that’d he’d never witness the coronation of a new sovereign of Equestria, or see its glory restored. And all these things did cross his mind. Tears were insufficient to express his grief and loss. But in all this his last sentiment focused instead on the hope he’d retained. His family was safe, his ponies safe, and in the end his realm would endure.

It was a hope so overpowering and bright that no evil could choke it or shroud it from the world. Prince Petrafyrm had done his part, and for his efforts he could now rest. He closed his eyes for the last time and accepted his fate.

Discord for his part stood over the lifeless corpse and surveyed his new city. Gathered soldiers ran inside, soon to take up residence and torment any inhabitants left. The serpent smiled and admired the blood and ruined cityscape before him, “This is a good start, but…some work still needs to be done.” A snap of his fingers and the Draconequus began remodeling his new abode. So many possibilities, and after a little rest he could set about looking for that sword, and that white pony who had wielded it.

Amidst fires and tattered banners, the smashing of buildings and looting of treasure, Canterlot had fallen, and the first great victory against the Equestrians had been won. The main body of Discord’s horde was due north, on the march to eliminate the resistance that remained. It seemed very grim indeed, but only mirth left Noblesse Oblige’s lips as his despised rival was at last thrown down.

His crown was all the closer.

But even in the face of such grim travesty, the ponies of Canterlot snaked through the labyrinth deep in their mountain, further into the depths were secret passages allowing them to freedom. Led by the light of unicorn horns and torches thousands came to the many hidden doors. Magic was used to reveal their creases and unlock their stones, opening the way outside a thousand feet below the ruin of Canterlot.

Princess Coruscina, in light of her son’s minority, took up the Regency and led her ponies to the safety of the woods beyond, escaping under the cover of the dim twilight. She spared one final glance at the smoke trails rising from her city, and there vowed to return in triumph. With hope of their resilience, and of the sisters toiling away in the Everfree, the Princess stood for hours overseeing her ponies slip into the dark woods, there to regroup and plan to take back the Mountain-Borne Keep.

She wished so desperately to weep, quite certain of what became of her husband. She dreaded the moment she had to tell little Vale his father was gone, and he’d have to rule in time. But now strength and composure were needed. Only when the last battle had been won, and the last foe defeated, could she grieve.

And there’d be many more reasons to grieve at the end of it all.

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 15. The Everfree

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 15. The Everfree

Tall, elderly trees towered and closed their canopy over the forested path. Boughs and branches curved upwards and intertwined above, creating the likeness of a tunnel through mountain rock. It had been daytime when the two alicorn sisters entered this brooding wood, but one could never tell from the light. A dim twilight crept through the scant breaches in the canopy, adding such a minuscule bright to the trees’ odd glowing fruits, all letting off eerie blue colors.

Taberanyn was no stranger to trees. They were pleasant; pleasant to walk under in autumn, to sit under in summer heat. In winter they lit fires without which ponies would freeze to death, and in spring they bloomed with every color under the sun.

But these trees were strange. Their trunks were different, their leaves different—even their bark and the way their branches grew was unfamiliar. Barren wood splintered off and curled like sinister clawed fingers, looming over travelers ready to snatch its prey. Some must have stood for millennia undisturbed, moss and mushrooms growing all along the bark. Vines slithered wherever they could, hanging down and prepared to strangle any creature unmindful enough to catch their throats.

And the trees were not the only foreboding thing in this Everfree; the underbrush was thick and difficult, ensnared with thorny bushes and great ferns. There were some plants that stood taller than even Nikóleva, and possessed broad leaves lined with small spines, and as one final jest had a single, blood-red flower of decadent beauty.

“Do you know where we’re going? I don’t like this place at all…,” groaned Lady Stellara. A pretty flower caught her eye, but she recoiled when it moved and chomped its petals on a passing insect.

“I told you; we’re being led through here,” replied the elder sister, eyes narrowed and turned to the dark end of the pathway. All light disappeared not twenty yards further down, a black wooden cave becoming the only sight.

The snapping of a twig and the rustling of some leaves caused the blue alicorn to startle, “You’ll have to forgive me, Sister, for having my doubts. This forest doesn’t seem too thrilled to have us as guests. How do you know it won’t lead us into a pit with sharp rocks at the bottom, or…into the den of some vicious beast?”

A stray vine wiggled on the floor; Wintermail took care to step over it. “If we treat it with respect…we just might find what we’re looking for. We must show it we mean no harm.”

Stellara then remembered the axe she wore and became all the more anxious. The bending and bowing of wood and leaves then clamored from behind, and when she turned to investigate, the path they had just come down was closed, blockaded by a black thicket. Her heart started beating quicker, “So…it is conquer or die now, is it?”

Wintermail made no retort. Stellara frowned, not at all inspired by the so-called “dream” her sister had the night before: something about talking to an ancestor long dead and wandering into this primeval forest. The more she gazed up at the ensnaring net around them, the more she cursed her sister’s “visions”; Nikól’s superstitions would be the death of them.

Still…it wasn’t as though Stellara had any place better to search for those artifacts.

Further down, not longer than half an hour, the two arrived at a small clearing. The sky however still was hidden in the trees, and dark birds cawed from their branches. Cicadas hissed in the young summer; at least the forest kept the hard sunshine and heat off of the ponies.

Wintermail though possessed no mind to stop anytime soon, and even so inviting a glade was not worth wasting the time. The Knight had a mission, and it was with no small regard that the sisters searched for perhaps the only hope Equestria had. His Highness had entrusted her with this task, and Dame Wintermail would sooner fall on her sword than disappoint her lord.

Then, along the pathway, at the end of the clearing, was the oddest tree either had ever seen, and in the Everfree that was quite the accomplishment. It was tall and nearly bare, save for a mat of moss near its top and two branches with hanging leaves. A thin, gnarled bare branch stuck out, looking almost like it had been broken, and further down more twisted naked branches bent in a grim way. And most peculiar, its bark was not that of oak, or birch, or pine…it was scaly, like a lizard or snake.

Stellara allowed her sister to continue while she spared a moment to approach the tree. It had a certain feel to it, almost like it was far older than anything else in the forest. “Perhaps it’s a remnant of Elder Days,” she thought out loud.

A snap, a rustle, and a crack came from the tree. And then a raspy, slow, creaking voice replied, “Eldest days…where no memories reach…” Branches moved and bent, with the scaly trunk shifting into a less “tree-ish” shape. The branches touched onto the ground, and the leafy fronds shifted backwards. What finally appeared as the two sisters huddled near one another was a woody pony-shape, specifically alicorn, with leafy wings and a twisted gnarled horn.

Stellara was steeling herself, but Wintermail placed a hoof on her sister, “Calm down, Tabóna; let it speak its peace first.” A pale blue magical aura appeared over the silver axe, but Stellara relaxed and trusted her sister, though still keeping a small piece of her mind’s will on the weapon’s haft.

“White…pure…patient…,” the tree-pony spoke, leaning closer and leering at Wintermail with dark eyes filled with small golden points. “Birch? Aspen? Sycamore? Wait! You are not trees…”

The sisters looked at each other. “No…we’re not…,” replied the Wintermail.

The tree-pony backed up, “Well…a fine puzzle! A forest has trees, but if you are not trees, then you two must be forest-creatures!” Its woody mouth curled into a grin. “But wait! Your shapes are not those of squirrels or rabbits or birds…though you remind me of waterfowl,” the creature announced, inspecting Wintermail’s broad white wings.

“We are ponies, good sir,” Stellara said.

“’Ponies’? Ah yes…I know those creatures; they’ve a fondness for fire and wood.”

“That is true, but we are here for neither,” said Wintermail, holding herself with grand poise.

“Then why else come into the forest?” the tree-pony asked, noticing Stellara’s axe, “You’ve brought weapons, either to slay trees or beasts. Have you come to make war on this forest? Upon the Everfree?” Slow and plodding though it seemed, a terrible wrath rose in the tree-pony’s eyes.

Wintermail stepped forward, “We have come to search for something hidden away in the depths of this wood, something that ponies were given long ago, and have need of again.”

“Do not lie, Child. Long ago too were ponies given the vast forests beyond here. I told them they could chop down every tree on the Earth, and reduce everything to a barren landscape, but not the Everfree!“ The scaly tree-pony then furrowed its stiff brow, “Have they done it already? Is this the last forest in the world?”

“That was not a lie, and there is no shortage of trees. But one tree in particular holds our interest, and purportedly it is deep within the Everfree, and bears fruit one does not eat but rather…’wield’,” Wintermail explained.

“You mean the Elements of Harmony, yes?” replied the tree-pony. It outstretched is hoof amidst the creaking of its bark, “Continue, then.”

“So you know where they are! Could you lead us?” asked Stellara, a glimmer in her teal eyes.

The tree-pony approached, and placed its hoof underneath her chin, “That is not my place, Child. I am no master here; I merely watch and guard this forest—as much as it needs guarding! The Everfree has no lord but that what planted it; it is generous to its friends, and terrible to its foes. Travel along this path, for you’ve not attempted to deceive.”

Wintermail gazed at the dark tunnel, unchanged from earlier, only going deeper into the wood. “Then let’s not waste time, Stellara. What might we call you, Guardian of the Everfree? I should like to thank you.”

The Guardian laughed, “Ponies, thanks are not necessary, for your challenges have only begun. These trees will not yield its treasure easily. And for my name…I have none, for none here need call on me with words. I first arose when the trees were very different, when the animals were strange; before this world was mired by the heedless wrath of Gods. But if you should find pleasure in it, I suppose you could call me…’friend’.” The Guardian then smiled as the sisters continued their quest.

Stellara spared a glance back at the glade, seeing the forest-fae stiffen and return to a tall tree’s form.Not long after, the forest shifted again and this Guardian was now hidden behind brush, tree, and blackness. The blue mare looked up at her sister, “What do you suppose this ‘forest’ will have us do to prove ourselves worthy?”

“If I had my way, we’d slay great monsters! But my gut says it’ll be just the opposite.”

The path curved and snaked and coiled about, sometimes in ways that seemed impossible were it not for the ever-changing nature of the Everfree. The hours drew on, the forest road stretching endlessly, its root-laden, leaf-covered way seeming to lead the sisters in circles upon circles.

“Didn’t we just pass that tree?” asked Stellara, raising her eyebrow at a sprawling oak.

“Hm? How can you be sure?” replied Wintermail, returning to her walk, “There must be a million trees in this forest; odds are two would look alike.”

Stellars shook her head, “No, I recognize this one: it has a giant knot in the shape of a pony’s head.” She pointed at the strangely-shaped burl in the wood, arranged just as she described, complete with a long horn-like protrusion for this “tree-unicorn.”

Wintermail huffed in frustration, “You don’t suppose this one will come to life too, do you?”

“This is simply wonderful! We’ve been going in circles this entire time!”

“How can we go in circles? The forest only has one path!”

“Then the Everfree is having a grand laugh at our expense,” Stellara groaned. More creaks then echoed from the shadowy woods, trees and bushes slowly creeping to a new resting place. Through the scant gaps in the foliage, a rocky uprising of land could be spotted alongside the shifted road. The two alicorns shared a glance and carried themselves off to continue their journey.

This cliff face stretched as far as they could see deep into the darkened trail, looming over the right side like a menace poised to ensnare and forever banish the light from the sisters. The further and further they got, rocky outcroppings started appearing, spikes the forest itself must have used to keep the unbidden out. Ever farther they traveled, and the outcroppings progressively grew until they formed their own roof, and then curved downwards, eventually meeting the forest floor to create a broad cave.

It was now far darker than before, the sparse twilight the Everfree had allowed in now barely sneaking through holes in the rock. Wintermail flashed her horn and generated a small golden shimmer from her long horn. Stellara mimicked the action, face pensive and on-edge.

Like everything else in this wood, the cave had a will of its own, and did not permit the light to move more than five feet ahead. Both had magic ready to snatch their weapons at a moment’s notice.

A faint clicking…a tapping…and then a chirp. Stellara jolted, eyes wide open and scanning for any sign of movement. Wintermail’s heart thumped in her chest, and she drew Eónadin. Pulsing magic through its blade, she attempted to ignite the steel and illuminate the way.

A mild shock instead hit her forehead, along with the disobedient thoughts seeming to come from the blade itself. It would appear that her sword agreed with the Everfree. Perfect.

Lady Stellara was under no such restrictions, and her sword and axe both lit up with the glow of her horn. Grinding and grating sounds continue, along with a weak warble…almost as though whatever made the call felt…restrained.

Weapons at the ready, the sisters moved deeper into the cavern, following the noises. After a short while, they emerged in a larger chamber, illuminated by three glowing blue mushrooms. Each stood over a branch of the cave.

“Of course…,” Wintermail muttered, immediately snapping back on guard when she heard that same stunted cry as before. It was coming from above.

Stellara and Wintermail backed up and slowly craned their necks upwards and narrowed their keen eyes. The faintest of outlines appeared amid the dim blue light, and steadily grew when whatever it was crept downward.

Legs upon legs undulated along the rock, dragging a truly ghastly creature into view. A long, shelly body extended up past their view, but they could see its monstrous head, is numerous legs, and all the spines and fangs it arrayed for cruel torment.

It resembled a giant centipede, large clawed limbs boring into the cave walls. Its body ended in a bulbous head, topped with a broad spiky helmet. Two black eyes atop long fleshy stalks stared at the sisters, many slithering feelers around. Tiny pincers and spiny limbs surrounded where its mouth must have been. It cried, a stilted, trapped sort of yelp, a pouch of skin distending out its throat like a giant frog. Surrounding its head were eight limbs arranged to resemble the petals of some corrupted flower.

They bent inwards to form a hard cage, perfect for ensnaring and devouring at its leisure. It was too dark to fully tell its color, but the softer bits along its head looked raw and reddish. Its mouth-limbs clicked and twitched, its antennae reaching out for both alicorns.

This creature made her skin crawl, and Wintermail raised her blade against this Everfree centipede, poised to slice off its intrusive appendages. It immediately backed up and whined in a low pitch. “Looks like I’ll get what I want after all. I go left, you go right.”

“Wait!” Stellara shouted, conjuring up a blue barrier in front of her sister. Wintermail crashed into it and bruised her snout.

“What?”

“Something’s wrong…,” Stellara began, studying the creature’s face and body language, “It’s backing away…and its eyes…”

Wintermail furrowed her brow and watched the centipede. It sounded like it was…whimpering? Like a beat dog… Its many legs crept back, and it lowered its head down in a sort of yielding gesture.

“Why is it here?” Stellara thought aloud, “If it wanted to eat us, surely it would have tried further back, where it’d have the advantage of darkness. Instead…it was lurking here, where there is…light!” The blue mare then peered into the creature’s eyes, and could see neither bloodlust nor malice, but fear!

She sheathed both her weapons, and bade her sister to do the same. “It’s like a frightened child…all alone here in this cave…,” her eyes then bulged, “It’s afraid of the dark!” Focusing, Stellara sent a burst of magic into her horn and increased her light twofold. The centipede seemed to respond, raising up and chirping.

Reaching into her bag, Stellara pulled out a small half-eaten loaf of bread. Breaking off a piece, she ate it, smiled, and then offered another bit to the creature. Undaunted, she allowed the cave animal to outstretch one of its pincers and grab the bread. After finishing, its eyes filled with happiness and it began purring. It pressed its giant head towards Stellara, and she placed her hoof on it and stroked the shell.

She then got another idea, and pulled out an empty jar she kept in her pack. Magically she plucked all three mushrooms and placed them within. Ripping off a small length of her cloak, Stellara made the lit-up jar into a necklace and hung it around the centipede. Its face grew as bright as the cavern

The centipede warbled again and maneuvered its snaking body in front of the right-most passage in the chamber, scuttling down from the ceiling deeper into the cave. Stellara looked at Wintermail and nodded, following the path chosen by their new “friend”. More forks appeared along the way, but the centipede led the sisters, even waiting if they fell behind. Finally, a light appeared at the far end of the tunnel, and excited the alicorns galloped faster and faster until they emerged into the open air of the Everfree.

The centipede crawled out, curling around the sisters and bidding them one final farewell. Evidently as a show of affection, the creature wiggled its feelers around Stellara, cooing as it did. She giggled and lightly stroked the underside of its throat. When both had their fill, the centipede slithered back into its cave, disappearing soon into the darkness.

Wintermail gazed over the new pathway, now lined with pretty flowers of green, purple, and blue. The taller alicorn smiled down at her sister, “That was…amazing of you. Mother would have been proud, to say the least.”

Stellara leaned into her giant of a sister and let her drape a hoof over the blue pony. Starting again along the road, she saw little changes in the thicket, “How much further do you reckon, Nikól?”

“The Everfree is miles upon miles wide, and I’m sure the Elements are right in the center. It’s getting late, but we’ll keep moving for a while yet.” And so they did.

Until the road became narrowed by two trees, just wide enough to allow one pony at a time. Wintermail stepped through, Stellara following. Beyond stood bushes ten feet in height stretching in a wide wall before turning abruptly deeper into the woods. The path therefore split and diverged to two branches, and doubtlessly many after those; the Everfree had become a maze.

The white sister frowned and spread her wings, lifting off high enough to cruise right above this new labyrinth. Wintermail felt oh so clever as she eyed the very end, but was immediately cowed when a series of vines erupted from the hedge, wrapping around the alicorn and throwing her back down to the ground. A final vine came and swatted her on the snout, causing Stellara to softly chuckle to herself.

Wintermail, pride hurt, huffed and drew her blade, half a mind to set the entire forest ablaze with Eónadin’s magic. Finished with the Everfree’s tricks, Dame Wintermail sparked her sword, summoning its latent power; Eónadin refused, and locked this magic.

“It would seem, Dearest Sister, that we must treat the forest with respect,” Stellara said with a smug tone. “I don’t wish to see you become a hypocrite.”

The alabaster alicorn sheathed her stubborn sword, “Can we really afford to play its games? Night is approaching, and we shall have to make camp soon,” Wintermail continued to grumble, “I’m a knight; all I’m good for is fighting, and this forest will not let me! Every moment we continue with these hindrances is another moment that our Uncle, our Liege, and all his ponies are in peril…” The white mare then let out a deep sigh, “These obstacles were cute before; now they’re starting to grate.”

Stellara laid a hoof on her sister’s shoulder, “I think I’m starting to understand the meaning behind all this: we came on the advice of your ‘vision’. And you said you felt the Everfree would ‘show the way’, and that’s what it is doing But not simply by creating a path, but also by leaving…clues. It wishes us to do certain things at certain times, I figure, and here is no different.”

“What do you suppose it wants us to do here?”

“I’m not quite sure, but I trusted your vision because you’re my sister, and I think I need to trust the Everfree. We both must believe in ourselves and hope our quest will succeed.” Scanning her eyes, Stellara then saw a small yellow-orange fruit hanging at the beginning of one of the branches. Squinting to see clearer, Stellara noticed it resembled the smiling face of a pony of all things! At the other branch was a similar fruit, contorted into a wailing face. “In fact…I think hope and good spirits will takes us exactly where we need to go!”

Acting on a hunch, Lady Stellara led her sister towards the path with the smiling fruit. Passing it, she plucked the ripe and juicy fruit from its stem and took a large bite. It was absolutely delicious, sweet and colorful with flavor. With telekinesis the blue mare passed the rest to her sister, giggling as she did.

Down the maze’s road, Stellara stopped at each juncture and studied the fruits, following those kept “in good spirits”. No monsters, no pitfalls, no traps, and certainly no vindictive foliage troubled them in the maze.

“This certainly seems like a rather simple maze,” commented Wintermail.

“It is a different sort of maze, I figure,” Stellara replied, taking a left turn upon the advice of the fruit. The puzzle cracked wide open, the sisters soldiered onwards, inconvenienced if not by winding paths and dead-ends, then most assuredly by the sheer length of the maze.

Sunlight streaming into the forest grew longer and dimmer before finally it ceased entirely. Stirred by the coming of night, thousands of points along the canopy and branches shimmered and came to life with cool blues and hot yellows. Mushrooms and fruits and fireflies lit up the nighttime Everfree, creating a hauntingly beautiful picture, the choking gloom interrupted with small islands of warmth and kindness.

Wintermail and Stellara emerged from the maze to fully drink in the spectacle, the true show of the Everfree. Neither had words for a time, too busy admiring the form the forest took for its “friends”. They came to a clearing, several downed trees in the middle of the path—perfect for a good seat.

The elder sister smirked and slid off her pack. A low grumbling murmured from her belly. “It’s getting late. We’ll need our strength for tomorrow.”

Stellara sat down on one of the logs and sighed, feeling relief at her now unburdened limbs, “I could eat, but,” the blue mare leaned in and whispered softly, “I don’t think the forest would appreciate us burning some of it for light and warmth.”

Just then, quite likely on cue, a lone dead tree creaked and crashed onto the dirt. Stellara drew her axe and grinned, “Works for me!”

A short while later, after Wintermail had arranged a small ring of stones and Stellara lumped some firewood into a pile, the white alicorn sparked a flame and used her clever tricks to hasten the fire. Then, unloading her bag, Wintermail pulled out small wrappings of bread, cheese, fruits and vegetables. Sharing their victuals, the sisters enjoyed the sort of meal alicorns often had to abide in the wilderness, ranging across the vast distances of uninhabited country.

“I’ve gotten used to the flavorful cooking of the Castle,” Stellara grumbled at her bland white bread, “Got anything to…spice it up?”

“Here…let me see,” Wintermail sifted through her bag, pulling out such items as a small journal, a few bottles of potions, a spool of thread and needle, and a horn-ring she received as a gift on some old adventure. At last she produced a corked bottle filled with a reddish-orange powder. “This might do.”

Stellara flared her pale aura and eyed the seasoning. Shrugging she uncorked it and sprinkled just the tiniest bit on the bread and took a bite. A second later her eyes grew big and red, and a searing flame erupted across her tongue. Yelping like a hurt dog, Stellara immediately grabbed her canteen and downed it to the last drop. The feeling of uttermost heat still lingered , in much-reduced form.

Her sister, meanwhile, was busy biting her forehoof to contain her raucous laughter. Stellara shot a glare that could freeze dragonfire. “I…er…forgot what exactly that was; I like spicy food, got a taste for it far down south,” Wintermail explained, cheeks rosy.

The blue sister breathed inwards and outwards with frantic diligence, trying to cool the heat pricking her lips. Wintermail seized the bottle and sprinkled a measure on her food, smacking her lips just to prod her sister further.

The two were then quiet, more concerned with eating up all the night’s rations than in any conversation. Bread crumbs littered by the campsite and apple cores thrown into the woods beyond their fire, both sisters then stretched out and rested on their stomachs, watching the rising flames.

The danger of the forest now far from her mind, and allowed a moment to ponder, Lady Stellara soon permitted her mind to drift towards Canterlot, and all the perils that surely must be visiting it.

“I hope Henarion is fine,” she muttered, looking pensive and weary.

“Same with the Prince,” Wintermail added, “And his family…and my soldiers, and Stormvane, and my little young squire.”

“Do I have a squire?” Stellara asked with a coy smirk.

“I don’t believe you have had the occasion for one yet. Maybe when we get back.”

The younger sister lightly chuckled, but then her smile dimmed against the orange light, “Do you think we will find the Elements tomorrow?”

“I certainly hope so,” Wintermail replied, eyes fixed on the fire, “I don’t like being away from the action, or from my Liege, or Canterlot for too long. I hope the situation isn’t too far gone when we return.”

“Well…they like to boast that Canterlot has never fallen to an attacking force.”

“They claim, Sister. But…the World is different than when those songs and legends were made.” A powerful image of horrors the Wintermail had witnessed in her life, the raids and battles, blood of the young and innocence spilt upon the ground… “When we find the Elements, and use them to destroy Discord…Canterlot won’t ever have to find out again.” The tall white mare then saw the beauty of the nighttime forest, the fireflies flashing and crickets chirping, “And who knows? When this is all over the Prince might give me a spot of land of my own. Now that sounds nice: a good out-of-the-way plot where I can finally rest.”

“’Rest’? Dearest Sister, you’re not thinking about hanging up your sword, are you?” Stellara asked almost mockingly.

“Well…a break—a holiday, maybe until the autumn or winter. But no…we’re alicorns, and our kind has fighting in our blood. But I think I could use a little peace and quiet; I miss that from my days of wandering.” Wintermail then stared into space, dreaming about greener pastures and warmer faces.

Stellara took a twig from the ground and started poking the fire, “You know what awaits you should we succeed against all this.” She trained her teal eyes upwards at her sister, “If we find the Elements, and if Discord can be stopped, and if the unified arms of Equestria can actually defeat this Horde, it will not be over for you. The Prince does not wish to give you land like a vassal; he wants to give you a crown. And then your worries would only have begun.”

“Don’t remind me,” Wintermail said, rolling her eyes, “Some days I don’t understand it, and worse some days I almost do! I’m no blue blood, or a high-born. So what if we’re descended from royalty? It has been one-thousand years—odds are at least one king had a line of royal bastards as ‘blessed’ as us.”

“Maybe, Nikól. But we happen to not only be descended from kings, but also Alicorns. ‘Gods’ they’ve called—I’ve overheard it.” A twinge of pride perked in Stellara’s heart.

Wintermail narrowed her eyes, finding small disturbance with her sister’s words. “They are mistaken. What’s so great about it? The knowledge that we are passed our time, slowly to fade away? Or to make our disappearance as agonizing as possible, lingering on while our friends whither? We’d do better to breed it out; that’d be a mercy.”

“Nikól, I’m surprised at you, speaking so grimly! That is your kin you are insulting. You showed me our history, and I recall pride in your account.”

“That was before…before I saw the Downfallen,” Wintermail’s face grew sullen, “They were so few, and so…broken. Our days are over, and what’s left…the future lies with the Tulicëai.”

“But it doesn’t have to be that way!” Stellara objected, not with much force or anger, but certainly with fire, “After the War, you can lead them to a new home. We can resettle the North, rebuild our cities, and grown in number. We have an ancient heritage, one worth preserving.”

Wintermail raised an eyebrow, “So…is that why you’re so interested in Cardúnón? Because he’s an alicorn.”

A flash of hear covered Stellara’s cheeks for a moment, “He has…other qualities which I admire besides his…race.”

“Like?” Wintermail asked, “He’s pompous and arrogant.”

“Confident.”

“Boorish and confrontational.”

“Assertive.”

Wintermail grinned, “And he’s…properly bred.”

Stellara’s face grew stern and joyless, “He will not die before my hundredth birthday. You’ve told me about Evergreen, Nikól.”

The alabaster mare’s heart skipped, and she became indignant, “Yes, but—“

“He died, aged only sixty-one if I recall the story. I know you loved him, and it must not have been easy for you. But save the heartache, and find yourself somepony who will be able to share centuries with you, and somepony to help you preserve our heritage.”

A deep sigh came from the Wintermail’s lips, “You’ve thought a lot about this…”

“I’ve learned a bit from the Librarian. He’s told me alicorns with tulicëai produce Half-Bloods, and half-bloods with lesser ponies make more lesser ponies. We lose friends all throughout our lives; it’s natural. But to outlive your own children, your own legacy…could you imagine?”

In fact Wintermail could, and she did not like it. Stellara continued, “Spare the grief, spare the sorrow. If you ask me, I say gather our kind, move north and clear it out, and wed to keep our bloodlines so that the Alicorns can stay in this world.”

Her melancholy having passed, Wintermail sighed again and laid her head on her forelegs, “In a number of ways, I think your right. Perhaps I’m just being selfish, or afraid of ‘stepping up’. But…if the Alicorns look to me as their leader, then…I must be their leader—for them.” She let loose a sardonic laugh, “Maybe ‘Exilarch’ would suit you better.”

A few images appeared in Stellara’s mind, fantasies of repute and power; maybe it would. She cleared her throat, “Don’t tempt me.”

Wintermail gave her sister a weak smile, and then looked up at the canopy. The mare made a large gaping yawn, “Well…I’m tired, and we’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Goodnight, Taby; sleep well.” Wintermail then curled her neck around and draped her wings, falling asleep beside the fire.

“Goodnight, Nikól.” Stellara opted to lie on her back, gazing up at the trees. She’d fall asleep a little later, after giving slight entertainment to her thoughts over Wintermail’s words. Her sister expressed no desire for a crown or realm of her own, and claimed to not be the “right pony”. And Stellara could not help but realize for just a few seconds that Wintermail may in fact be correct.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

The air was hot and still, even here beyond the reach of the harsh sunlight of summer. It was humid too, murderous on otherwise long flowing manes. Wintermail felt it hard, trudging through the Everfree with a tangled pink mess growing from her head. Covered in dirt and grime, laced with sweat for good measure, every few steps she had to bring a forelimb to wipe her brow. The Dame appeared a most ungraceful thing.

Her sister was suffering much the same. Cicadas hissed in the trees, while flies buzzed about and constantly irked the two.

“What time is it? Feels like we’ve been wandering for hours,” asked Stellara, swatting another gnat.

“Hmm…” Wintermail trained her eyes through the thick branches, for some reason expecting an outcome different than every other time she tried to deduce the hour, “I cannot see the sun…” The sky, or what little could be seen of it, appeared dim and purple, almost like twilight.

More biting insects zipped around, pining for the succulent blood of the dark blue mare. A swift whip of her tail sent a gadfly careening into a tree. “Where did all these flies come from?!”

Wintermail raised an eyebrow, “I think that might be the reason,” she said, now pointing towards the black pools and green scum of a swamp swallowing up the pathway. The white alicorn stopped and grumbled, “Good. On top of mosquitoes and midges, we can add small biting fish and the odd alligator to the mix.”

Bravely, boldly taking that first step forwards, Stellara dipped her hoof in the shallow water, “You know, Sister, I’ve heard there are sea serpents here in the Everfree.”

“Oh? And how can there be sea serpents in a forest hundreds of miles from the sea?”

“Then they are swamp serpents! Honestly, find yourself snared by its tail and dragged to the depths; it’d save me from your pedantry.”

Further they stomped through the muck. “It seems like somepony didn’t have a good night.”

“No, as a matter of fact, Nikól, there was root digging into my back, and now I think it’s all tweaked.”

Wintermail flared up her magic and cleared a few lily pads away, “I could give you a good knock—set you straight!”

“Or render me lame.”

The elder sister smiled and chuckled at the younger’s expense. By now the water was reaching Wintermail’s knees, and very nearly touching Stellara’s matted chest; fortunate they were so tall, though if conditions worsened they could always fly.

But then, as though their thoughts roused the inner spite of the Everfree, a low fog rolled in, wisping off the water. Visibility lessened, first to fifty feet ahead, then twenty, then ten. Wintermail recalled a similar mist she’d endured back west upon the outskirts of Mareposa and groaned, “This again…”

“Nikól! You’re blending into the mist!” Stellara shouted, the fog finally settling in as to obscure either from view.

“I suppose we’ll travel alone for a time—as the forest wills it.” Wintermail replied with a parching dryness. She was not mistaken; the mist soon cleared, and she was by herself. The water’s edge appeared, tall reeds lining its bank. Trotting out of the swamp, she took a moment to wipe her hooves of all the mud they had collected.

And there, past some bushes, Wintermail could hear…voices? No, just one voice, sounding roughly female. Was it another pony? Or a creature unknown beyond this wood? Peering her long neck just above the shrubbery, she found something in the middle. It was shaped like a pony, and in the darkness of night or against the light of the moon one might mistake it for one.

But seen clearly it was a kind of its own. Covered in glimmering blue-green scales, the equine seemed almost draconic. Scutes lined its neck and belly, and jutting backwards from the crown of its head were ribbed horns, twisting like gnarled branches. A fiery orange mane trailed the head and neck, curling at the end like rushing rapids. As she breathed out, this creature let loose small wisps of smoke.

It was a curious thing, appearing almost like the result of a paring between a pony and a dragon. Was that even possible?

Wintermail could hear her mumbling to herself, talking about a gift or something similar.

Giving into her curiosity, and summoning her courage, the white mare emerged from her bush and presented herself with a friendly but guarded disposition. “Is something wrong?”

“What?” the dragon-pony jumped, seeing a giant intruder encroach upon her land. She arched her back and snarled, lashing her forked tongue and readying to unleash a blast of fire.

“No! No you misunderstand!” Wintermail objected, “I overheard you speaking. If you forgive my rudeness, you seemed troubled.”

The other creature, the scaly mare, relaxed her stance and sighed. “You gave me a fright,” she replied, voice resembling in clarity and timbre a silver bell. She narrowed her eyes, “You’re an odd one; never seen something like you here before.”

“Yes…I’m traveling through.”

“Well, Longshanks, you just caught me worrying, as I do, over today. You see it is my granddaughter’s birthday, and I’ve up and forgotten to get her anything!”

Wintermail didn’t care for the nickname, but kept her best face, “These things happen—“

“They do to me!” the dragon pony cried, wiping her eyes, “Oh what sort of grandmother can I call myself?”

“Perhaps I could help,” Wintermail said, summoning some magic to dig around her pack, “I don’t carry too much with me, but there must be something in here.” A few seconds later she pulled out several golden bits, easily worth a few good days’ wage, “Here; perhaps there is a merchant nearby…”

The dragon-pony took the coins and looked at them, “Rather pretty, Friend, but I’m not sure what to do with these.”

Wintermail felt somewhat foolish for thinking there were shops and taverns in the Everfree. Taking back the bits, she frowned, “What sort of…er…pony is your granddaughter?”

“Oh a real fighter; fire in her blood, there is!” the forest denizen replied with a large grin, “Gets it from me! Why just the other day I had to tell her not to wander into the centipede’s den—she didn’t listen!” The dragon-pony then eyed the Wintermail’s other items. “What about that dagger? Looks right tidy, it does; she’d enjoy it very much!”

“This?” Wintermail replied, drawing the small steel weapon. The alicorn eyed the shining blade; she’d long outgrown it, forged originally as it was to be her sword when just a filly. And that dagger too had injured her almost two years before. All the same, however, it was still special. This dagger was made by the hooves of father and daughter. It was filled with memory, kinder and happier times that when idle for too long Wintermail crept back to.

To part with it would be to part with a piece of Maiëlindir, an utterly painful prospect. Wintermail sighed, recalling all the times she’d drawn it, all the times it had tasted blood. It was made to be a weapon, so why did it feel…wrong to have sullied it so?

But then Wintermail saw the eyes, pleading and hopeful, of the dragon-pony. Wintermail was a mare of means, and could buy or make a new one quite easily. Doubtless Father had forged the dagger with the understanding that Nikóleva would one day need something bigger. A good dagger was useful in the wilds, but she knew some magic spells that could compensate, so why else keep it?

Father had left other keepsakes, like Eónadin, his bloodline, his love, and of course her own baby sister. What would he have done? Wintermail had seen more poor, starving children than she cared to count. Everypony deserved a loving family and a warm home, and certainly every foal deserved a nice gift on their birthday.

Wintermail sheathed the dagger and smiled, ungirting the scabbard. “It has served me well over the years; keep it clean and sharpened, and your granddaughter might get even better service from it.”

The dragon-pony was elated, practically hopping up and down, “Bless you! Please, come to our feast, as my guest!”

“I’m afraid I must be rude here; I cannot tarry from my mission.”

The scaly blue-green pony nodded, “I understand. Best of luck to you, and if you ever wander here in these woods again, you are more than welcome.” Wintermail gave a courtly bow, and the dragon-pony quickly galloped off towards the bushes and dark trees to some hidden meadow or glade. The thicket returned as soon as she was gone.

“That felt good,” Wintermail muttered, seeing the forest road manifest by the will of the Everfree, trees and grasses shifting to allow the alicorn further to her destination. The Elements were close—she could sense it.

As could another alicorn, now having moved beyond her own section of swamp. Lady Stellara trotted down a narrow path, all lined with trees worn in deep age. Large knots adorned their rugged trunks, bark flaking off. Branches curved upwards, meeting above the mare and forming a replica of some vaulted hall. Past these arboreal columns, Stellara eventually arrived to a clearing.

A palpable mixture of awe, melancholy, pride, and anguish crept into her heart as she beheld a promenade of statuary. “How did…this get here?” she mused, head turning left and then right. Dozens of ancient alicorns wrought of stone stood tall, forelegs raised, either wearing armor and weapons, scepters and crowns, or quills and books. As she progressed, the statues became increasingly worn, the agents of time wreaking their patient fury. Further still others were broken, heads upon the leaves and roots…nameless visages long forgotten.

”Pride swells, cities rise,

And noble Kings give way to lies,” a soft, faint voice began to chant. Stellara perked up and scanned the canopy. No movement, no sign of anything else nearby besides the trees.

It began again a short while later, ”Fall they must, and fall they do,

And turn their hearts from what was true.

In the end, against her pains,

Mother Earth what’s hers reclaims.” Stellara advanced with a growing sense of dread to find the statues beaten down to their knees, vines wrapping up the legs of the stone alicorns.

”What was stone and glass and metal,

Gives way to root and stem and petal.” A bloom of violet flowers sprouted from the cracks in a statue’s pedestal.

”The young become old,

And their stories then told.

Til voices cannot speak,

And the minds that remember grow weak.” The last pedestal was hidden in the grass, buried in foliage and just barely visible—less so as the ruin of ponykind’s greatest splendor. Stellara’s heart sank, filled with a dread she had scarcely contemplated before. An uneasy eye turned to see anything more along the pathway; no more statues, only more forest.

A rustling in the trees came, like a swift wind from nowhere, “But one in this fate need not share,

The doom of those who need breathe that mortal air.

Crownless this wood stands,

Since planted by divine hands.

Though, a Queen is hoped for,

Spoken of in most ancient lore.”

Ahead Lady Stellara squinted when a shallow beam of light came and illuminated a lone stone altar. Runes of a bygone age, perhaps even before the Elder Days, were etched upon the rock. On the top sat a sword, a shining silver blade. Its hilt was a milky white, ornamented with emeralds and silver effigies of leaves and branches. Stellara approached and stared at the Everfree Sword, mesmerized by its beauty.

The nameless and sourceless voice continued, ”Draw and be named the Queen of Everfree,

She who rules the Land of Eldest Tree.

Guard our forest, guard our ways,

Protect from the fire and wrath from beyond the leys.

The specter of ceaseless sleep

Shall forever look past you within this keep.

Spring eternal, or summer as you will,

Winter never to bring its ice and chill.

Your mind shall remain sharp and keen,

As you become Stellara the Ever-Green!”

The midnight mare then crept up the steps behind the altar and eyed that sword with a growing lust and greed. A deep, raw ambition made itself know, and created for its host a great wealth of images. Stellara found herself amidst the white domes and columns of Alícor, presiding over thousands of soldiers in glittering armor. The ancient banners fluttered in the wind, the trumpets sounding for their sovereign, for their Dominion.

To her left stood a harbor filled with hundreds of white elegant vessels, sails unfurled and ready to disperse to lands uncharted and unclaimed. The sky was blue, free and full of promise. The sea crashed against the shore, the birds cawed and the fish leapt.

And so Lady Stellara envisioned herself at the head of this reborn Alicorn nation, adorned in silver armor like a warrior born of cool moonlight. A crown over the world sat upon her periwinkle mane, filled with jewels from every colony the alicorns possessed. A long rod of iron, gilded at the tip, rested against Her Majesty. A simple knock was tantamount to Divine Will, the surest and most sublime authority of the World.

In her waking body, Stellara charged the magic in her horn, ready to draw the blade.

“But claim the scepter, claim your prize,

Know here a word from the wise,

Beyond the girdle, the edge of the wood,

Seek to break through if you could,

Task come all to naught,

For in this net you have been caught.

All bonds taken before,

Are cut and made no more.

Power unlimited, age unending,

But your decision is best still pending,

For either with virtue or vice,

Nothing gained comes without a price.”

The voice ceased, and Stellara restrained from even touching that sword. The treasure dangling before her eyes was made less sweet, for to claim her kingdom in the Everfree was to forsake her soul to an eternity within it.

Never to leave… And that would mean…Discord would win, wouldn’t he? Without the Elements there would be no hope. Stellara would also turn her back on her liege, on all of Equestria—a faithless display. Breaking her vows, forsaking her bonds…there was no honor in that.

Lady Stellara and Dame Wintermail were sent for a purpose, and they would return with a purpose. She would not abandon her country, nor her family. A life with never seeing her Uncle, nor little Eldowas, nor Nikóleva again…

But that promise of glory and power...Stellara’s hoof rose, reaching for the sword. A kingdom full of subjects could fill the void, right? A swift knock came, her other forehoof subjugating the first. These thoughts were not her! And they were not welcome! All the gold and crowns in the world could never replace nor break the love she held in her heart.

The alicorn backed down from the altar, “I must decline. I have a mission to complete,” she said grimly, almost certain something was listening. The light overhead faded out until a dreadful darkness took over. When light appeared again, it came from behind, where a new path had opened.

Lady Stellara adjusted her pack and took a step. She was proud of her decision, and relieved that virtue was stronger than vice this day. There would come a time when this would no longer be the case, but for now she hoped dearly that the forest would “direct” her back to her sister, and they could finally find those Elements and leave.

The Everfree may not be trying to physically harm her, but Stellara was more than fed up with the cruel head games it was playing. All along her road she regarded the tree eyes with a great suspicion and anxiety.

An hour or so of walking through an eerie gully at last brought the Lady in view of a tall figure. When a fallen leaf crackled underneath her hoofsteps, the shadow twitched, turning its head towards Stellara. A dim yellow glow came from its horn, and so illuminated revealed itself to be who Stellara had suspected.

“Nikól!” the blue mare cried, galloping towards her sister, “How was your soul-searching escapade through the untamed wilds of Everfree?”

The Wintermail approached, smirking and eyebrow raised, "I wouldn’t say it was ‘soul-searching’, but it was an adventure all the same.”

The two alicorns, now side-by-side, continued down the pathway. “It’s not quite over yet,” Stellara dryly replied. Then, a strange sight caught her attention. Normally eye-level with Nikóleva’s chest, the midnight mare was well-acquainted with its usual appearance. “Nikól…what happened to your dagger? A particularly wrathful vine?”

Wintermail’s face became just the tiniest bit wistful, “You cannot get something for nothing; I think it was the price the forest exacted—a paltry trinket, in the end, that I can easily replace.”

“Didn’t Father help you make it?”

“I don’t think anypony would admit to it being their best work. It was terribly balanced and too small; only useful to cut rope, really. Besides, I’m sure it’ll get better use where I left it. What about you? Did you leave something for the Forest to remind you by?”

Stellara furrowed her brow and stared ahead, lightly groaning before she replied, “I did.”

The landscape soon changed, becoming less choked with foliage and more dotted with white porous rocks—limestone. The terrain shifted from flat to craggy, vines hanging down over the faces of shallow cliffs. And here the path too morphed from rutted dirt to the edge of a small pool, crystal clear and deep.

Fish swam underneath while frogs hopped and croaked upon the lily pads, now in full bloom. Overhanging the pool was a large outcropping, the lighting of the rippling water shining on the grey stone. A series of small rocks formed a continuation of the road, snaking across the water to a giant slab of carved limestone.

With their long alicorn strides the stepping-stones provided little obstacle to the mares. Wintermail stood on the stone closest to the slab, Stellara on the one behind. It was grand, taller than even the white alicorn by more than half, and as smooth as milk and honey. By ancient hooves it had been polished so bright that they could see their reflections in it; frayed manes and all.

On the lower portion of the slab was carved some sort of spell or admonition, written in the elegant script of Alícor. Wintermail craned down her neck and began reading the inscription aloud, “’Der shaideni cadabdasdulím im-ylo, tanh-nhaë-wisan tyl taë-dhéshan, barcedulím deras dirilion héingh-Ngháldu. Tyl héim-vasonemë nor-shai buanilím ylo, dran inashias lylan ronenaïltin.(You who have come here, not by chance but by purpose, have proven worthy by the Forest. Yet to find what you seek here, one last test is demanded.’)”

“And what might that be? I don’t suppose it’s spelled out plainly and without riddle,” quipped Stellara.

“Doesn’t look like it. ‘Ól nor-súrd, nor-gespi, nor-ainal tam-ipaconiln tuliën. Dyl, cadnandumë rhal-cura-Aundó ronenaïltin. Vali civa dhirila ronenaïlna ronóïn cadabdinilnodë vuira lé-catsindir. Helnatcëai leädulna cylon; barcetilion she myna paliërnilusin.(A mass of flesh, bone, and sinew does not a pony make. A spark, an inspiration from beyond the World is needed. So too do five virtues need a herald to bind them in harmony. Ancient kindred knew it well; show it and the path shall open.’)”

“A spark? Like…to light a fire?” Stellara mused.

“I think it’s more of a metaphor…like a ‘spark’ to…bring ponies together?”

Stellara stroked her chin a moment, “Wait! ‘Five virtues’, obviously the Elements! Now five of them are methods of conduct…and the sixth was…hm…”

“Right…almost like it didn’t fit. If I can remember…it was…” The Wintermail was struck by a bolt of clarity, “Magic!” Her long white horn blazed then with the light of all her hope and determination.

A hoof held before her face from the glare, Stellara groaned softly, “Are you just going to…blast it with magic?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know a spell, would you?” the elder sister replied. The light faded from her horn and she stared at the slab for a time, rereading the inscription. “’Ancient kindred knew it well.’ Maybe…” She then closed her eyes and focused, opening her mind to the boundless potential of creation. A pinch and a narrow ache followed, and when she opened her eyes they were green mixed with that baleful violet shroud.

Wincing at the delicate concert of holding the power at bay, Wintermail sent a small trickle of cosmic magic to the slab. It found its mark and wrapped around the edges, glowing bright green and then sinking into the rock. A rumbling occurred, causing debris to fall from above. Wintermail closed her connection to the cosmic well and took flight with her sister as they looked around, anxious for what they had caused.

The slab then moved to the left, revealing a doorway. Landing beside one another, the sisters stared and smiled, finally reaching what they’d spent two days wandering around for. Not a moment to lose they galloped inside the cave, anticipating the glorious spectacle of this fabled Tree, said to have been planted by an alicorn King with a seed taken from the first tree grown by the Goddess Harmonia herself.

And it did not disappoint. This tree was not made of wood, and perhaps not even of earthly substance. It was wrought of crystal, translucent and pale blue. Its dark roots traveled deep and far, snaking across the cave’s floor. Numerous branches stuck out, and upon them hung the foliage, reminiscent of the weeping willow. But they were not green, rather a cool teal, orbs of fiery white light spaced about them. Bulbs perhaps, autumn flowers yet to bloom. Five of the largest branches all ended with different colors: pink, blue, red, purple, and orange. They were all large crystals, the “fruits” of this subterranean tree.

At the height of the trunk, at the central point where the branches fanned out, was a white six-pointed star, the very same upon Canterlot’s banner and Ailéránen’s hilt. The tree shimmered and sparkled by the light of gems set within the cave’s ceiling, appearing more lovely and radiant than any mortal animal, plant or craft ever could.

It was something out of dream, a sight of an earlier age, long thought vanished from the Earth. Wintermail’s heart pounded, and she stared utterly mesmerized. “We’ve found it…”

“It’s more beautiful than I ever imagined. The finest jewelers in all Equestria could labor for ten years, and still make but a poor imitation of this tree,” Stellara whispered in trance, slowly approaching Harmonia’s Gift.

Wintermail sighed, admiring this venerable tree, “Well…they’re real, and they’re all we have against Discord.”

“God willing this works. If it doesn’t—“

“We lived good long lives, didn’t we?” Wintermail replied with a biting humor. She fanned out her broad wings and flapped to the first fruit, the purple one.

Soon all five had been plucked and placed in saddlebags; the pink, blue, and red ones by Lady Stellara, and the orange and purple by Wintermail. They left their branches with little issue, and even so detached their luster never faded. But the sixth one couldn’t be found.

The sisters scoured the entirety cave for that sixth Element, but neither on a branch nor under a rock was any sigh of it found. Wintermail finally turned back to the tree and frowned, mentally knocking herself when she realized.

Hovering before the star-spaced “knot” on the tree, she devised a number of tricks to entice the tree to release the last Element. The first worked immediately: touching her lightly-charged horn to the star caused it to rustled and open up, revealing a cavity with the final gem.

This one was a bright fuchsia, and unlike the others was shaped like the star it had sat within. The five Elements on the branches all gave off a soft “hum” of magic, an ambient feeling of great power. The sixth, however, was different. Wintermail engaged her aural sense for just a moment, only to recoil at the sheer magnitude. This was the most powerful item in the World—as the old stories went, the most powerful expression of the Alicorn God’s power as could be allowed on Earth.

To even look or hold the Element too long would instill a mild discomfort. Wintermail put it away and landed on the ground, seeing her sister preparing to leave. With a long foreleg she pulled Stellara closer and squeezed her baby sister. Stellara hugged back, sharing in the hope, pride, and joy. Equestria’s salvation was near, the promise of a new dawn ever closer.

As the two took their first steps towards the cave’s mouth, a series of voices spoke, out of synch just enough as to still be understood. “Take and cast down the Serpent,” the chorus echoed, obscuring its origin—if it had any. “But beware…beware…for they remember, remember the cruel race that took but did not give. Their power flees, little by little, bit by bit, reflecting that race. Harmony they need, perfect it must be…must be.”

Wintermail and Stellara shared a glance, both pensive. The voices finished, “Once more only shall they suffer as weapons…thereafter they shall only soothe.”

They waited for any more voices to speak, for anymore warnings to come—none did. Anxious, the sisters left the cave and hopped across the stepping stones, past the edge of the pool. The Everfree was kind on the journey back, revealing a straight and easy road back to its boundary.

It was dull and ordinary all the way back, so much so Stellara and Wintermail had to invent games and discuss idle gossip to pass the time. But eventually they emerged from the thick brambly mess that was the Everfree Forest. Both were hot, unkempt, tired, and sore from their adventure, but ultimately relieved now that they possessed in their little cloth sacks six of the most powerful and most destructive objects ever made.

A primordial god had been vanquished by them, and an entire civilization had been destroyed for their misuse. It was no light burden to wield them, and neither sister was entirely thrilled to be their bearers. But they emerged from the trees with newfound vigor, and fought against the pain and anxiety as they spread their wings and took off towards Canterlot. These six Elements were the greatest and last hope against the encroaching darkness, and it would be a shame to go through all the trouble of finding them just to shy away from their might.

That was Discord’s role.

As she and Stellara caught the high breeze with their feathers, Dame Wintermail noticed the beautiful but still curious state of the sky—it was twilight. “That’s odd…I swear we weren’t in the forest that long; it should only be midday…”

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 16. Scepter and Sword

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 16. Scepter and Sword

“How do you think one might…utilize these Elements?” asked Lady Stellara as she stepped through an overgrown summer meadow, “Do they respond to voice commands? Or a magic spell? Or perhaps there is some sort of mechanism…”

“I suppose we shall find out soon enough, eh?” quipped Dame Wintermail. Her eye then trained to the side and noticed her sister’s saddlebag was open and she was fiddling around inside, “Put that away! What if something were to see?”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of brigands out here. Between the two of us, we’d shrug them off like a bad dream,” Stellara smirked.

“No, but I don’t think it wise to tip our cards just yet. If the only advantage we have is the Elements are thought lost, then we must protect it.”

Stellara hummed in reply, brushing a lock of her pale blue mane from her eyes. Wintermail turned her gaze back to the wilderness, the snow-capped peak of Canterlot’s mountain just now barely visible above the tree canopy. A dark haze could be seen, and the white mare’s eyebrow rose in interest. She sprung into a canter and broke from the woods, emerging to see the bank of the river valley that ever dwelt in Canterlot’s shadow.

The tiniest prick of fear and apprehension in her mind soon took over, the scene plain enough. Her keen eyes could see the white citadel letting loose trails of black smoke, thicker and more vicious than any forges and hearths could produce.

Canterlot was ablaze.

“Something has got you in a hurry—“ Stellara immediately choked when she followed Wintermail’s line of sight. Slowly she stepped to her sister’s side. She looked up with horror in her eyes. The teals were met in kind with magentas. “Two days…how…?”

“What crafts, what devices of our enemy allowed then to assail the Mountain-borne Keep? The stores and armories could withstand years of siege.” Wintermail muttered.

“With mere means of ponies, perhaps. But many besides ponies have turned against Equestria.” Lady Stellara grimaced and bared her teeth, “We may have tarried too long in the Everfree, but not a moment more shall we delay. Come, Nikól; if we stay close to the trees, we can fly along the river’s course. There perhaps we can learn more, and check for what remains of Canterlot’s defense.”

Before she even got a response, for or against, the midnight mare unfurled her wings and leapt away, chasing the meander of the river with fanatical purpose. Finding good counsel in her sister’s words, Wintermail quickly followed and then met Stellara.

Several miles lay between them and the mountain’s base, and the journey punished their minds with such ample time to dwell on the worst this turn of events could offer. What horrors had managed to assail the city? Had Discord been with them? And what remained of those who bravely withstood the assault? How many good lords and soldiers perished in the fighting? Was her own Prince among them? Was his wife and son?

And of Henarion…their dear Uncle. True, he was aged even by the standards of Alicorns, and a valiant death in battle was not the worst way to meet one’s end. But Primrose and young Eldowas were but babes; they still had so much life they could have lived. Through their course the sisters each shared this thought, and when they turned to look at one another, the stabbing, stinging pain in their hearts spurred them onwards like a hot brand.

They were vigilant, always watching for any lookouts along the way. Any garrison that dared to profess allegiance to the enemy would become but a memory as soon as the alicorns saw them. Unfortunately for their bloodlust no such sentries could be found. But their sharp hearing did catch, beyond the whooshing of wind in flight, a rustle in the bushes beneath the riverine woods.

Practically snarling, the sisters veered off and landed, weapons drawn. Filled with rage and vengeance, they scanned the scene for any sign of movement, any moving thing to pay the damages dealt to the White Citadel with ruthless interest.

A helmed creature appeared from a bush, and with terrifying swiftness Wintermail ignited her blade and rushed forward. Inches from cutting through the interloper’s neck, she stopped when she saw its surcoat adorned with the coat-of-arm of Canterlot. The red subsiding from her sight, Wintermail recognized the creature as a pony, a unicorn she’d met in the Guard.

“Dame Wintermail! Lady Stellara! Oh thank the Gods above you’ve returned!” he beamed.

“It seems grim, Soldier. Name and rank,” ordered the Dame, sheathing her weapon.

“Caltrop, foot-stallion of the Fifth Company. And indeed it does; Canterlot has fallen, and what ponies escaped are scattered out across a hundred acres of forest.” Caltrop began leading the two alicorns down a hidden path, “I do not know much about the current situation beyond that, but I shall bring you to somepony who does.”

A short while later through the woods and over a narrow stream, the three ponies came to a small gathering of ponies working and moving supplies to and fro in a clearing. In the dim twilight small fires were lit, pegasi periodically banishing the smoke to avoid detection. In the center, amidst hastily-set up tents, was a purple-blue unicorn mare, wearing no finery save a tattered and dirtied dress, hiked up at the haunch to avoid dragging. She was barking orders, coolly yet with urgency, bringing order to the chaos.

“The Princess!” shouted Stellara. Caltrop brought the sisters to her Highness and bowed before the unicorn.

Princess Coruscina’s face lit up when she saw the sisters arrive, and placed a hoof on Caltrop’s shoulder, “Bless you for finding them. Now return to your post.” The soldier bowed and galloped back to his patch of forest. Immediately the Lady of Canterlot rushed forward and pressed her face against Wintermail’s, her once-tightly groomed mane now reduced to a frizzled and tangled mess, “Have you got them?”

There was no confusion. “We do,” Wintermail answered.

“Thank God… It does not look good. We…we almost won… We had the enemy in retreat, and their greatest beast slain. But then…the Draconequus came, and made a mockery of our warriors. There was no contrivance of ours that could stand against him for long, though we delayed him enough to escape. We brought as many supplies as we could through the hidden passages, and foraged out here, but it will only provide for so long. For the time, the enemy doesn’t seem terribly interested in hunting us down—a few small sorties were eliminated without much trouble. But if they decide to attack in full force…”

“They will not get the chance!” announced the Wintermail. She looked around at the campsite, seeing among their ranks several alicorns. “Where is my Uncle? And the Prince? Are they out on a mission?”

Coruscina answered with a quivering lip and misty eyes, “Lords Henarion and Cardúnón are leading a band of alicorns to scout the mountain. Captain Gendarmette is regrouping the Guard. As for the Pr…Prince…” she wiped her eye and sniffled, “He didn’t make it. My…Dear Peter…was slain.”

Wintermail’s heart sunk. Her hind legs gave out and she fell to her haunches, “No…there…there must be some mistake. Prince Petrafyrm—“

“Is dead,” Coruscina shot with a palpable tremble in her voice. A well of tears threatened to burst forward, but through iron-will she held back. “The time to grieve is not yet, Dame. Our own lives are still in peril, and for my husband, for our Prince, we must persevere.” The tears still came, streaming down her cheeks, but she recomposed herself and wiped her snout, “You will be fed over there. Eat and rest as you need, for you will need it.” The Princess excused herself and returned to ordering the ponies of the camp.

“He’s…gone?” Wintermail muttered, slowly stepping towards a small brook.

Stellara followed, “Nikóleva? I…I know this is hard, on both of us, especially you, but—“

“Go eat, Taberanyn. I’ll come soon…allow me a moment to myself, please,” Wintermail replied with a powerful lump in her throat. Without another word, Stellara stepped away. The white mare, now Lordless, a Knight with no master, came closer to the brook, comfortably hidden in the bushes and reeds. Sitting low and out of sight, she stared at the rushing water.

Prince Petrafyrm was gone. The stallion who had found her, and brought her into his service, to build her up as some sort of Queen, was now a memory. He’d sheltered her, trained her, believed in her when even the Wintermail was resigned to her own mediocrity. He was kind and generous, giving much and asking little. Peter was powerful and respected, but always just and patient.

Wintermail went back to the nights she’d spent in his chambers, conversing about matters as varied as all the collection of Canterlot’s Library. He’d been a confidant and a friend, always happy to entertain or be entertained. His words weren’t always the kindest, but they were always truthful. A pony of his like was an uncommon thing, perhaps seen only once every hundred years.

And now he was gone. Against a conscious will that knew better, Wintermail remembered one time in particular, where the Prince was receiving a sword-fighting lesson after his brush with death at Windhock Vale. His form was poor, his strikes sloppy and imprecise, but they were always filled with passion. He and Wintermail had sparred—the Prince lost, and was knocked into a wall for his troubles. Wintermail rushed to see that he was unharmed, and braced herself for her punishment.

And naturally Prince Peter got up and laughed, happily saying, “My sparring partner cannot be afraid to give all they’ve got, but nopony wants to hurt the Prince. I knew I could count on my one knight with no self-restraint!”

The tears began flow, and silent sobs wracked the Wintermail’s body. Never again to hear his wisdom, or see him tall and Princely. Never again to listen to his fawning over the alicorns and Equestria’s past glories like a little colt. The world was a little poorer now; changed and never to be unchanged.

A time passed before Wintermail was finished weeping, and at the end she hunched over the water. Her reflection, the filthy pink-maned mare that had failed her lord stared back. If only she had stayed, if only she hadn’t been sent on her mission to the Everfree…then at least she could have fought beside him and given her life for her liege.

But then, as Wintermail saw herself, she recalled all the words Petrafyrm had said over the past two years. The alabaster alicorn didn’t see much in that reflection, but doubtless the Prince had. He saw a savior, a heroine born of legends and myths, come to restore the Kingdom. A madness, or a blind obsession perhaps had possessed him, but everything he did was meant to rebuild Equestria.

In his death, was that goal to be lost? The last tears dried up, and Wintermail dipped her face in the water enough to wash away the grime. She looked again; No! No that dream would not die upon the ruin of Canterlot! He had trusted his God, his vassals, his ministers, and he had trusted Wintermail. His death would not release her from that trust, nor would it be proven false. He had believed in Equestria, and had worked tirelessly for it.

And there, upon the bank of this quaint little brook, Wintermail swore in the ancient tongue of her kin, to the One God above, on behalf of her liege and all the ponies in Equestria, the Fallen Kingdom would rise again.

She rose, grim-faced. Then a fiery rage built within, and only her strongest will kept it from burning this patch of forest down to the ground. Discord had played his games, and abused enough ponies. The Elements were found, and Wintermail was no longer interested in shying away. That Hellfiend, the Draconequus would pay. He would at last be punished for his insolent disregard for life and virtue.

Nikóleva, Daughter of Maiëlindir, of the Ancient House of Solárindil, would slay Discord as he had been slain by Lionheart in the myths, by Dyavilir in the stories. The Tree of Harmony said its fruits would only suffer to be used as weapons one last time—that was all the Wintermail needed.

The alicorn trotted back to the campsite. In her steely sights she found the Princess-Regent. “Coruscina, your Highness, how are our numbers?”

The Princess tapped her chin, “Barely a thousand, if not less. Most of the ponies—“ Her Highness was then cut off by the thunder of hooves pounding on the ground. Both mares saw tall ponies cantering into the clearing, all girt with weapons and covered in dirt. The alicorns had returned.

At the head of the group were two stallions, one orange the other green. Wintermail shed a tear of relief, and Lady Stellara trotted from her table and meal. Henarion, now called Dragonsbane, stood within the camp. It took almost no time, as though a hidden sense was at play, for him to notice his nieces. Without another thought he rushed forward and wrapped his forelegs around them.

“You made it!” he cried, smiling widely.

“You’re alive, Uncle! We…” Stellara began, but silenced when Henarion kissed her.

“I was lucky enough, but unlucky yet; we’re still in danger,” the gruff stallion said as he greeted Wintermail.

“Indeed,” came the deep voice of Cardúnón, “The enemy in large part has withdrawn elsewhere, but a garrison remains inside, and from the looks of…unusual spectacles in Canterlot, so has Discord.”

The green alicorn then approached Stellara, the two seemingly wishing to embrace but too uncomfortable or shy to do so. Henarion smiled and patted Cardúnón on the back, “He’s a good one. Got a chance to know him through this.” Stellara blushed, while her “courtier” cleared his throat. In the background Rhílë could be heard snickered while unloading her equipment with the other alicorns.

Wintermail grumbled softly. “What was our plan? To take back the city?” she asked Coruscina.

“’Our plan’? Simply to survive. We all were hoping you two would return with the Elements.”

“And we have,” said Stellara.

“Right, Sister, so now we shall reclaim Canterlot and cast down that dreaded creature that writhes within its walls.” Wintermail announced, face hewn of stone.

“We cannot, not with the forces we currently possess,” said Cardúnón, “From our reconnaissance, it seems most of them have left, perhaps in search of you two. Even so, the numbers within Canterlot are still greater than our own.”

“Aye. That castle stood three-thousand years, and in the end it took a creature from Tartarus to finally capture it. Even when the walls and gates are broken, what can some scattered levies and knights do?” asked Henarion, his attitude colored further by his rough northern speech.

“I say we recall the Princedom’s forces we sent to join the other Equestrian Lords,” voiced the Princess. “I act in the stead of my Son, in the absence of…my hus—the Prince. I must look to our lands before any others.”

Stellara thought a time, eyes darting back and forth and brow furrowed. “No…no! I disagree. Recalling them will take too long. By the time Canterlot’s banners arrive, the enemy will have either realized Nikól and I are here, or given up the search and returned anyway. We have to strike now, and we have to strike hard.”

“But what are we supposed to do, Tabóna?” Henarion gave a pleading look with his good eye, “There are defenses, seasoned warriors, and Discord. We’d be chewed to bits before we made the inner walls.”

“You forget, Uncle, that in our midst are Alicorns.” smirked Dame Wintermail. Henarion raised an eyebrow; Cardúnón got a look of combined interest and confusion. “The Triple-Kin, the mightiest warriors the world has ever known. Even without magic our size and strength are formidable.”

“Maybe, Girl, but Discord’ll snap his little fingers and end it right there. That old bearded fellow held him off some, but he’s too tired to do it again.” Despite the pessimism in her Uncle’s statement, Wintermail’s heart still lifted knowing the Librarian, from the language at least, was fine, if a bit exhausted.

“You let Taberanyn and I worry about Discord.” Henarion backed away ever so slightly. He caught a glimmer of a dreadful, terrible wrath burning in Nikóleva’s eyes. He had seen such a fiery resolve in only one other pony: her late father.

Wintermail turned to the Princess, “Your Highness, if it pleases you, recall Captain Gendarmette, as well as any ponies unfit for combat. There must be thousands in these woods. And tell me where the Librarian is, I should like to speak with him—and young Lord Vale if you allow me.” Against such a powerful combination of authority and courtesy, the Princess had no choice to agree. She nodded and pointed before her to a tent guarded by two stallions in armor.

“Thank you, your Highness. The rest of you: tend to the young, sick, elderly, and injured. See that they are cared for.” Wintermail held no power to order this, but still they listened. With a gesture she bid Stellara to follow her into the tent.

Pulling back the flap, they found a room dimly lit by small candles. Wrapped up in blankets and pillows were a multitude of fillies and colts, poor and frightened refugees in the aftermath of their city’s fall. Many, many more were likely huddled in tents or crudely-erected shelters across the hundreds of acres of Canterlot’s diaspora.

The foals looked frightened for a moment, large eyes fixed on the Wintermail and Lady Stellara. “Now, Children, these are friends. Show them kindness,” came a familiar voice. Delbedasir, looking older and more worn, but alive, sat at the head of the tent. He rose and smiled at the white mare, “I’m sure I lost a bet.”

A half-laugh chuckle came from her lips, “Nice to see you too.” The sisters bowed slightly before the Librarian.

“Right. You know enough about what’s happened, I’m sure. I trust your search was not in vain.”

“Not entirely; we have the talismans. The hour approaches, but we’re not sure how to use them.”

“Well…I wish there were an instruction manual, because I cannot tell you.”

“So we fly in blind, eh?” Stellara groaned.

“You’ve gotten this far,” The Librarian winked at his younger and more preferred pupil, “There isn’t much left I can teach you.”

“No, but we can thank you. You enabled everypony to escape, didn’t you?” Wintermail asked.

“Not everypony…,” the ancient alicorn replied, face crestfallen. He then perked up just as quickly, “There is more to the story, if you’ll suffer it. Once everything is through, of course.”

Wintermail’s smile was bittersweet. She then noticed amongst the foals sitting together and softly chanting songs there sat Lord Vale, and to his side little Eldowas. Stellara was patting her “nephew” on the mane as Wintermail studied the young Prince-to-be. “Does he know? Lord Vale, I mean.”

The Librarian did not speak. A heavy sigh left his lips, telling Wintermail all she needed to know. The alabaster alicorn then craned her neck for the colt, “May I ask you something?” Lord Vale nodded.

Stellara didn’t hear what it was, only seeing her sister whisper in the colt’s ear. When she rose back up, Wintermail bowed to the Lord and the Librarian, “If…we don’t see each other for a while…I want to say, despite your canings and attitude, you’ve done much for us. Thank you so much.”

Lady Stellara smiled and nodded in agreement. The blue mare had been so accustomed to the Librarian’s sharp and dry wit, and thoroughly expected some sort of quip directed at her sister. But Stellara was surprised to put it lightly when the old stallion wrapped his forelegs around the two. He said nothing more, and the sisters crept back and left the tent.

“I…did not know…he was a capable of actual feelings.” a stunned Wintermail muttered.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” replied Stellara.

The elder mare grinned. “I’m relieved Eldowas is fine. What of his mother?”

“Primrose is out tending to the others, as he told me. He’s quite brave for only being three years old.”

“He’s an alicorn,” Wintermail smugly said.

In the open now, the white pony shed her jovial demeanor and replaced it with a far graver one. Stepping to the center of the clearing, she fired up her spirit with a grand conviction. Henarion and the other alicorns and ponies were hauling and distributing out supplies, unmindful of the royal sisters. Wintermail would not allow that state of affairs to continue.

Charging her voice with magic, she dove right in. “Your ears, Friends,” she spoke, clear as a bell and mighty as a mountain; mere seconds passed before everypony around was listening. Satisfied with their attention, she resumed, “Some of you know me, some of you have seen me. Dame Wintermail Flamecaster, Knight of Canterlot. This is a name I have worn for many years, ashamed of or otherwise unwilling to reveal my true heritage. For I am called Nikóleva, daughter of Maiëlindir of the ancient blood of King Sun Flare, of old Alícor.” Her heart was pounding, and she finally realized she was about to take a momentous step she had heretofore avoided at all costs.

A deep breath came through her nose. “I am the true Heir of Equestria, its Rightful Queen. Canterlot, by the laws set so long ago, is held in my stead by Canterlot’s Prince.” Whispers abounded, some startled, some upset, some simply annoyed. But Nikóleva’s charged voice kept their attention. “But I shall not order any of you today. Yet by my blood, my honor, and my duty, I shall fight against that fiend and his legions. Alone or at the head of a hundred-thousand—either way, I shall fight. Those that love justice, peace, family, and home, and who’ve no fear of death, are welcome to join me.”

A yellow glow gripped Eónadin’s hilt, and its blade shone black and deadly sharp. “Today, Discord will be sent back to the foul pit he crawled from, or I shall breathe my last. I swear this in view of God and Ponies. I shall not order, but I shall ask, for all ponies who will stand, and not let their world bow to evil and despair, to fight beside me. Who shall raise their blade with mine?”

The odds were terrible. Even with primeval talismans hope was frail and fading. Most ponies weren’t quite sure what to say or do. Lady Stellara Nightwrath however did. “I shall!” the midnight mare called out, raising Ailéránen, “I am Taberanyn, of the same ancient blood. Where my sister goes, I shall go as well. Out here we will linger until we’re hunted down; fight for Canterlot, and at least we have a chance!”

Princess Coruscina’s heavy gaze summed up the sentiment of everypony. Within her eyes was great conflict. Henarion saw this, and rose to the occasion, “Henarion Dragonsbane. My sword cleaved off the fell god’s hand; this time I’ll aim for his neck!”

Cardúnón then advanced with his weapon, announcing his name, his pride in alicorn blood, and his resolve to free this land from its cruel and vicious oppressor. Rhílë joined too, sharing a determined look with her brother. Soon others in the crowd grew bold, and alicorn and tulicëai alike joined with the band of brothers and sisters that would shake their hooves to the last.

The Princess-Regent approached. Wintermail met her halfway, “Your Highness, I ask now for what Prince Petrafyrm had wanted all along. The Age of Princes is over.” A new and vigorous royal confidence shined from the Knight—no, Queen-to-be.

Coruscina looked pensive, “I cannot grant you a crown, Dame. I can give you only one thing. Yet I still remember the conversations you had with Peter. You sing a different tune, as though you are a different instrument.”

“To speak as a smith, more like iron tempered with hammer and fire. I spoke as the Wanderer, then as the Knight. The Prince’s words brought me ever closer. And now his death has brought me all the way; I am a Queen. I will not beg nor demand; I ask for the Scepter and Hosts of Canterlot.”

Coruscina’s breathing wavered, and she wiped a tear, “It was his greatest dream; the black borders of the map washed away. Very well, Wintermail, you are Regent now. You command the armies of Canterlot; lead them to victory.”

Wintermail bowed, “They shall conquer, Your High—“

The Princess wrapped her foreleg around the giant alicorn’s neck and pulled her down, “Your first concern is protecting my son.”

“Not a hair on his head,” Wintermail smiled. Coruscina released her, and soon most everypony was joining the assembled group charged with retaking a city thought impenetrable for nearly a millennium. Fervor and battle-prowess would serve well, but it would also be sound to prepare a bit more. Wintermail bade the others to calm and sheathe their weapons, calling them to gather around a nearby table.

Now her own master, and with the confidence of the Princess, Wintermail called for the devising of their grand strategy.

With the brilliant military mind of Lady Stellara, the sheer ferocity of the Wintermail, and hundreds of ponies fighting for their homes and lives, not to mention no small help from six magical artifacts, nothing could save that wicked Draconequus from such righteous fury forever.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

It was a good plan, devised under scant resources and dire circumstances though it was. Lady Stellara repeated this thought to herself all the while the thousand or so war-ponies fumbled through the mountain labyrinth. Princess Coruscina and several other survivors had intimate knowledge of the tunnels that afforded the midnight alicorn enough information for her so-called “talents”. Word had gotten around in the weeks following the Battle of Windhock Vale that what won the day was the clever and quick thinking of Stellara.

This had since become a burden. It was one thing to take a chance during a battle already in motion, with well-disciplined troops and commanders; it was quite another to be responsible for the absolute success or failure of despondent ponies freshly bereft of their beloved sovereign. And possibly the continued existence or utter destruction of Equestria too—Stellara didn’t forget that part.

Dozens of entrances into the tunnels could be found in Canterlot, many sealed by magic doors or hidden under stone slabs. The idea was simple: parties of warriors would ambush strategic positions where concentrations of the enemy were greatest. Cut them down or otherwise subdue them while they patrolled or lazed away in song and drink, consolidate and fortify positions, and pincer objectives still being contested.

Henarion’s debriefing revealed the heaviest of Noblesse’s warriors had withdrawn, and very likely their commander with them. Their great beasts of battle, Zebrican elephants and dragons, had mostly either been killed in the Siege or fled. Thestrals remained to guard the sky, some mustangs to provide speedy scouts and couriers, and minotaurs to defend. It was a standard garrison arrangement, just enough to ensure the castle could withstand a siege until relief forces arrived.

But not intended to drive off foes that could sneak inside.

The dark stone corridor dripped and howled, a brooding cave somehow more discomforting than the one in the Everfree. Stellara’s hoof jittered as she followed her sister, the dim glow of unicorn and alicorn horns cut short by the abrupt turn in the tunnels.

“You don’t suppose we’ll find anything crawling in here, do you?” Henarion softly asked from behind the blue mare.

“That’d be unfortunate…for them,”Wintermail smirked, following Fallowtail, a Quartermistress who’d been wandering these halls since fillyhood.

“We should not,” replied Fallowtail, “These entrances are well-hidden; to even find them could take months of searching, should those savages and brutes even know of them.”

“Their chief is clever enough, though,” Cardúnón said, hoof splashing in a small standing puddle. He grimaced and wiped his fetlock on the stone.

“Mhm…it’s a good plan, isn’t it?” Stellara thought aloud, nerves bright and clear in her voice, “Soon every other group will emerge and engage, whereas we have the greatest honor of all: we get to go right into the Keep with Discord!”

“Don’t sound too excited, Sister,” Wintermail said dryly, “We aren’t totally helpless.”

“You better not be!” Henarion laughed, Wintermail joining; Stellara did not.

The group, comprising of the Quartermistress, the Royal Sisters, their Uncle and his Wife, Cardúnón and Rhílë, as well as about a dozen other alicorns and soldiers, finally came to a large antechamber. They spread out and drew weapons, both anxious and eager to avenge their city.

Fallowtail pressed her horn against the far wall, “On the other side is the lower Castle. Once we’re through, that’s it.”

“No turning back,” Wintermail grimly intoned. She turned to face her party, “Ponies, when we find our foes, hold them off, fight them, kill them if needed. My Sister and I shall find the Draconequus and at last put a stop to his cruelty. Do not attempt to follow us, or allow us to be delayed, for our confrontation will be the only thing keeping the Hellfiend from blinking in front of you all and willing your skin away from your bones.”

Gasps and gulps of fear came from the ponies. Cardúnón stepped forward and called out to the others, “Do as your Queen commands; they are the only ones that can tie him down. At the slightest turn of the tide Discord will try and slither away like the snake he is.” His grey eyes then found a look of satisfaction and appreciated from his Exilarch.

Henarion placed his forehoof on Wintermail’s shoulder, “That fancy sword of yours ought to keep him busy enough. We’ll do our part; see you when you get back.” Uncle embraced both nieces, kissing their foreheads and brushing their manes with a hoof. “You know, Nikól, I think you’ve earned the right to show your eye again,” he said, pushing Wintermail’s pink mane aside to reveal the right eye she kept covered.

“I’ve grown fond of it this way,” she smiled.

Wintermail was immediately pushed aside by her smaller sister, whose eyes were starting to grow red, “Careful, Uncle! If…things to don’t turn out well, please don’t blame me too hard.”

Henarion’s good eye narrowed, heavy with confusion—the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He then softened and came to a warm and caring countenance, cradling her head in the crook of his neck, “Never, Tabóna.”

Wintermail looked down at Henarion’s small Tulicë wife, garbed in armor and with her lance, “Primrose, I—“

“Send that fork-tongued bastard to Hell! Make him sorry he ever crawled out of his hole!” Wintermail blinked a moment, then burst into a fit of laughter with the pegasus. Primrose and Stellara shared no words, sealing their regard and love for one another with a firm hug and kiss on the cheek.

The Dame, no…Regent of Canterlot, gazed upon her other warriors, many alicorns who’d sworn their service to their leader. This proud race, few though they were, still had the conviction to stand and fight against a primordial evil beside their younger kin. Wintermail softly regretted not being able to have been present at the siege, for many painful reasons, one of which was to see her kindred battle as valiantly as the survivors had described.

Cardúnón was to her side. “Your alicorns are strong and brave, more than enough to justify your pomposity,” she said. The green alicorn opened his mouth but was cut off, “But as arrogant as you are, Cardúnón, you’ve got substance—staying here with us when you could have fled. Maybe in a hundred years I’ll finally like you enough to tolerate you courting my sister.”

He ignored the last statement and puffed up his chest, “I would not abandon my Queen, nor refuse her call.”

A wistful, bittersweet grin crossed Wintermail’s lips, “I’m surprised you and the Prince didn’t get along better; you had more in common than you thought.”

From behind her brother Rhílë rose up, “Thank you! Finally somepony else notices it! Happy hunting, Nikóleva; we certainly will.”

The white and lavender mares shared their laughter while Lady Stellara shyly approached Cardúnón. He bent his sight from her sister and smiled. “I…um…hope you…uh…,” he stammered.

“I…er…when we come back, would you…pick flowers in the garden with me?” asked Stellara, rubbing the back of her head.

“Of course, er…My Lady. As you wish…and if your Uncle…um—“

“Oh for the sake of dignity…this is excruciating,” mumbled the Wintermail.

Irritated by her sister, Taberanyn grit her teeth and mustered an uncommon amount of courage, “You’re right.” And without second thought she pulled Cardúnón in for a kiss on the lips. It was quick and suffered derision by the two alicorn’s respective sisters. Henarion and Primrose, romantic as they were, shared a grin.

Cardúnón was speechless, stuck with a big stupid smile on his face. Stellara breathed in deeply and stomped a hoof, “We’ve waited long enough; let’s go!”

A dark grin of bloody anticipation curled on Wintermail’s lips. She drew steel, and everypony else followed her mark. Quartermistress Fallowtail looked at her Regent, who then nodded. With a flash of her horn, she subjected the wall to a spout of magic. Soon a square of faint blue light appeared and the stone slipped back, into the black recesses of Canterlot’s tunnel. The revealed hall was lit with torches now, still far from windows and the dim twilight that enveloped the world under Discord’s designs.

And out they all galloped. Like a cascade of foaming water the ponies crashed upon the castle’s garrison. Small patrols and stations before doors proved little challenge for this strongest war-party. And when the fighting brought them all to the courtyard, swords were notched and spears splintered. The bulk of the castle’s defenders gathered there, the threat of these interlopers seemingly arising from the mountain walls too great to ignore.

Scores of mustangs and minotaurs and thestrals poured from halls and doorways, viciously seeking glory. They found something else; fully-grown alicorns proved utterly dangerous opponents, alongside younger ponies with just as much spirit and fervor. Dragonsbane merely had to raise his blade to cause many who’d heard the slaying of Telnarakh to hesitate long enough to be speared by the imperceptibly-fast Lady Thunderlance.

Back to back, Cardúnón and Rhílë cleaved heads and limbs as soon as they crawled from the doors, both heaving and straining against their burning muscles—but nary a scratch assailed the siblings in full battle-fury. And around them their comrades struck down their stunned opponents, helms bloodied. Their fighting would become legendary in tales and songs to come, made mythic as those that remembered became older and the young grew in a world bereft of an ancient sort of hero.

Other detachments of Canterlot’s liberators were gaining ground on the lower levels and outer streets and courts, a few finding their way into the Castle and striking their hammers upon the anvil of alicorns. The situation grew dire, and it was not long until the garrison’s commanders called other units for aid. This left the path to Discord’s throne defended only by a small number of highly elite warriors.

A brisk, refreshing challenge for the Royal Sisters. As they turned from their friends and allies, Dame Wintermail and Lady Stellara galloped along marble floors and archways, instinctively heading to the grand chamber they’d visited a thousand times before.

But as they grew closer, the masonry of Canterlot changed. From stony white it darkened until it looks as though onyx had become mixed with blood and porphyry. Pillars and arches took on a violet-black-reddish tone—really a color that baffled explanation, and grew taller and less…straight. Columns began to curl and snake as the two alicorns came closer. The roof receded, revealing the dark dusky sky, until the chambers seemed a tangled bramble of thorns and vines. The ancient stained-glass illustrating great history was morphed to show that accursed Draconequus aggrandized in so many ways: as a warrior, a judge, a poet, and a minstrel. Ponies cowered in terror in each, while his diseased maw twisted in a devious smile, arms outstretched in supreme arrogance.

At last, as Wintermail and Stellara emerged, they were given show to a mere taste of the world Discord wanted to bring forth. As stones hovered about, unbound by natural law, they grew bloated and…bubbly, melting in an otherworldly liquid that strewn across the upper heights of the room.

Against the violet-red sky and the dark, formless clouds stood statues of Canterlot’s new master, some reclined in leisure, some slithering like a snake. One was in fact balanced on a massive globe, perhaps the Earth itself, like a child might to impress his friends. An arc of lightning flashed, and there the true horror of Discord’s new regime came to Wintermail’s eyes. All these works, statues, architecture, windows, all spoke of a grand desire to simply…play. Creation was Discord’s toy box, its inhabitants figurines to set up and knock down as he pleased.

Every effigy to the Fell God bore some sort of costume, the raiment of whatever role he wished to assume in each; armor, robes, aprons, tunics. Yet not a one bore a crown or scepter. A gloom, an encroaching chill of despair and evil crept, using unseen claws to try and bore into the hearts of the Sisters.

Before them was a tall wire gate of a red metal, emitting a glow like an exotic fire unseen in mortal lands. Arranged by the snaking metal was the likeness of Discord’s smiling head, his paw and talons capping the hinges on either side.

Stellara drew a breath through her teeth, letting it back out with a slight tremble. “Are you well, Taby?” asked the elder mare.

“I’m simply…having a few misgivings about charging headlong into the den of a god. Though we’ve gotten this far; what’s a little further?” she replied, ending in a nervous chuckle. “I’m simply…a tad frightened. And you, Nikól?”

The Wintermail tensed her throat and narrowed her magenta eyes on the gate, “Terrified.”

Along their sides, braziers flickered to life, flaring with a fire that burned all colors of the rainbow, in no particular order of course. A deep sinister laugh echoed above, laced with cruelty. Both alicorns could recall his toothy grin, and feel his hot breath baring down their necks.

Swords and axe were drawn, and they took stance. Eyes bolted around the chamber, but he could not be seen. His voice continued, “Well…I was not expecting guests. I missed you at the house-warming, but we can make up for lost time. You’ve brought many guests with you, however—don’t you know it’s rude to not announce this beforehand? I fear I might not be able to accommodate them all.”

“I’m sure they’ll manage,” spat Wintermail, venom heavy on her lips. She began taking her step, either to push open the gate or cleave it in two.

“Oh oh oh…not so fast, my Dear,” came Discord’s voice again, but now coming from the metal image of the beast upon the gate. It coiled up and out of its shining prison, hands letting go from their perches. The red-metal Discord loomed above the alicorns, “What’s the rush? Fancy a game, for a little leisure in such serious times?” They both glowered, surely intensely enough to strike a mortal dead.

Discord’s puppet took note, “Well it seems some enjoyment is sorely needed. So…,” it snapped its avian fingers, flashing into existence a dark stony labyrinth of brick and mortar, overgrown with vines and thicket, alive with traps and pitfalls. The metal figure pushed open the gate, outstretching its arm to present the Draconequus’ latest devisement.

“Come, my friends! I know you want me, but first you have to prove yourselves!” He danced his red-metal fingers, miming the strings of a puppeteer, “Twists and turns, boils and burns; If what you seek lies—“

And then, after so long containing, restraining herself, learning control and poise, Wintermail let loose a latent burning fury deep in her heart. Anger at her dead liege, her dear friend, and for all the ponies this damned war had taken, and all the ponies still to be taken…this anger rushed to the surface. Wintermail flashed her horn, and the black steel of Eónadin glowed white-hot. “No!” she called, voice heightened by magic. She swung once, then twice, and with primeval power the illusion was shattered, the stones cracking and blazing from sight.

“I have had enough of riddles, mazes, tricks, and games. We shall face you, Discord, and serve justice so long overdue. When we finish, you’ll have wished you stayed in that burning hole in Tartarus.” The long strides of the giant alicorn brought her through. A purple-green haze cleared away, and she saw the renovated throne room of Canterlot, now purposed for this serpent.

Four large minotaurs stood guard, clad in armor with a golden glint and bearing long weapons halfway between sword and glaive. Wintermail and Stellara matched them across the distance, adorned in their own steel plate and mail. Their crested helms rustled in the breeze; Wintermail grinned, for she spotted Discord on his lofty throne just behind his guards.

The minotaurs readied their weapons. Stellara raised Ailéránen and Nocadecoë, sword and axe ready to lay waste upon these guards and their Master. She ensnared both blades in her nightly shroud, as was her fashion since Windhock Vale.

Wintermail though, blood boiling and rage coming to light again, flared up her blade. Bathed in magic fire, burning bright and searing, she approached the minotaurs with it. Appearing the very image of an ancient Alicorn Queen, a confident sovereign of the World with all the power to vanquish any foe, Nikóleva Daughter of Maiëlindir bore down on them with her towering height. She raised Eónadin, but withheld her first strike.

“Go, now. Remain here, Minotaurs, and you shall be slain. By blade or fire, I shall arrest all my enemies should they stand in my way. Throw down your weapons, and leave with your lives.” The guards stirred, shaken by this powerful new opponent. For the moment fear of the Master was matched by sheer awe for the Wintermail. But then she continued, “You need not serve such a cruel liege. Discord has poisoned your hearts and minds with promises he has no intention of keeping. When Equestria is won, he will turn on you and your lands, and reduce your families to bondage and servitude.”

“We hold no bad blood with you all,” Stellara began, “So we grant this courtesy: find shelter, for what shall ensue shall not be pretty nor kind.” The midnight mare finished with an icy glare at Discord.

The minotaurs looked at one another, then at Discord. It was unclear what they would choose—perhaps even to themselves. But Discord seemed to tire of such indecisiveness, and with a flick of his wrist he sent them all flying off the edge, like walnuts from a windowsill. They all survived—their master did not care enough to kill them. The four elite guards then departed elsewhere, beyond the knowledge or interest of the Royal Sisters and their Fell Foe.

“That is the last time I do someone a favor,” the serpent chided, sitting up on his throne. Ready for the grandest fight since Elder Days, the sisters came closer. There they saw Discord in all his “splendor”: appearing the same Draconequus they had encountered back west, seated upon a silver-yellow chair adorned with motifs of skeletons and abstract patterns. It hovered above the floor, drawing debris up with its unseen field. Faint screams of agony sounded from him; poor miserable Canterlot ponies that had not been killed or escaped were settled to being his furnishing. Several were contorted into shapes that fit the pleasure of Discord best, either as footstools or side-tables. One was his neck pillow, periodically adjusted with palpable cries.

Wintermail could hardly stand the sight of innocent ponies being tortured so, and burned with fury. Stellara swallowed, less hardened to such terrible sights. Both raised their weapons, fire and lighting pulsing through alicorn steel. From the quiet whispers to the march on Canterlot, Discord had masterminded the entire war, the entire troubles to befall Equestria. Six elements now were ready and willing to end his reign of blood and terror, of chaos and cruelty. But those cards still remained hidden.

For Discord looked at his two new guests, narrowing his misshapen, mismatched sickly yellow eyes, and grinned wide. Wringing his hands, he took the moment to wonder about all the fun the three could have. “How kind of you to bring me that sword. I had sent for it, but you know how the post can be.”

Dame Wintermail said nothing. She only surged magic into Eónadin and angled it downwards, as one would before a high strike. She swung her forehoof across the floor and crouched ever so slightly, ready to pounce. A final snort from her snout came, as if to say to her greatest foe, “Come and take it.”

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 17. Undone

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 17. Undone

“Are you two thirsty? It must have been an awful bother climbing up here,” hissed the Serpent’s voice, his lips curled into a grin. He raised up his left hand, the scaly yellow bird-claw. Discord bent the spindly fingers, gaunt as colored bone, and snapped his talons. A zap of violet energy sparked between the two battle-ready alicorn sisters, conjuring up a small table beset with a crystal cruet of wine.

A swish of his paw yielded a goblet in his grip, adorned with enameled effigies to his own grandeur. Discord took a sip, “Ah, yes! Fine vintage—not doubt at least…two-thousand years. Later Kingdom, I believe.” Halfway-through his cup, Discord’s misshapen eyes narrowed, noticing his guests were still standing there, weapons primed and gazes fierce. “You’re not drinking…don’t like it?” The Wintermail bared her teeth even more, looking a wild animal eager for her meal. “I don’t think you two are being fair; it wasn’t easy—“

A blinding flash, headed by an arrow of flame, came careening towards the Draconequus. He smirked, and snapped into reality a barrier of magic, clear as freshly-blown glass and strong as a rock face. Ten feet in front of him the Wintermail stopped, her fiery sword having shattered the magical shield into a thousand shards that vanished like morning dew.

“Why exactly are you here? We don’t need to be so hostile: I can do great things for you,” Discord groaned with forked tongue, conjuring images of gold, crowns, scepters, and all manner of desirable things. He was received with a stupefyingly quick strike from the Wintermail’s flaming blade, missing again only due to the Draconequus’ unnatural ability to contort his body into any shape. He huffed, “Really, put away the weapons, and we may talk like civilized adults.”

Airborne now, the alicorn sisters broke into a formation, a quarter-circle apart, and cut their paths to the center. They primed their magic to cut Discord to ribbons, who evaded the mortal wounding to his body by coiling and curving. Even so, the tips of those two elder blades cut shallow paths in his flesh. Eónadin’s swath glowed fiery, sending its heaven-sent magic into the Fell God.

He seethed, groaned and glowered at his foes. His power left him for but a moment, and on its return a dark shadow fell over his face. The room beyond the three started to fade away as Discord flashed his single fang, “Have it your way.”

He snapped his talons, and tendrils of blue and violet snaked about, seizing the miserable furnishings of living ponies and enveloping them in pure malice. A hundred agonizing cries of suffering and pleading came forth. The alicorn sisters beat back the ache in their chest; no help could come for them—they were Discord’s now. Soon an utter blackness remained, only broken by the three left standing.

A low chuckle came from the Serpent, his body disappearing into the darkness he’d conjured, leaving only that wide toothy grin. Then that too faded.

Sword’s brandished, the sisters backed up until their tails touched. Eyes scanning their black environment, they stood vigilant for any sign of their dreaded foe. They could hear no sounds, see no stirring in the shadows—nothing but their deep breaths, sweating, and occasional shimmering of their mail armor.

A dull flash appeared, like lighting far off. Plumes of fire erupted around them, forming a large arena. But they burned neither red nor orange, and instead seemed to flicker with no light at all. They were cold and distant lights; the Wintermail could now see her breath. A chill ran up her spine—she recalled these black fires from the myths.

Discord’s chuckling returned, and as smoke rose from the featureless floor the Serpent emerged. Forked tongue and all, the Master of Chaos took the shape of great snake, a fell slithering beast that perhaps gnawed at the roots of the world when it was young. More fumes surged from his nostrils, and in a wail of screams and laughter Discord let loose a storm of that cruel black flame.

Wings spread, the sisters kicked their back legs and soared off in opposite directions, nodding at one to reassure the other. Both along the rim of the hellfire arena, the sisters charged magic into their wings and darted upwards in an arch towards the center, a burst of energy flashing in their wakes. Weapons ablaze with power, Dame Wintermail and Lady Stellara fell upon the Black Serpent. But in his wicked cunning, Discord used his primordial magic to harden his flesh. As sturdy as adamant, Stellara’s sword and axe merely grazed the skin, a simple scratch with the grating sound of metal on stone.

Eónadin of course, harder and stronger than anything else that could be made by mortal or god, fared better. A bright orange slash from Discord’s brow downwards cut out his left eye. He bellowed, screamed, wailed, and laughed all at the same time—a demonic call that really defied explanation. It pierced the alicorns’ ears, and they recoiled at the sound.

Another plume of his black firebreath surged, bathing the arena. Wintermail called to her sister, and Stellara joined her side before a yellow bubble of magic pulsed from the white alicorn’s horn, engulfing the two to prevent the flames from doing the same.

The “wail” of Discord continued, and his long body reared up, gnarled, jagged teeth bared. He struck, slamming his slithering form onto the shield, causing a great many cracks to appear. Wintermail gnashed her teeth. Falling into the black floor, Discord disappeared from view, his last move whipping his scaly tail at the shield, finally shattering it.

Wintermail fell to her knees, fighting the throbbing in her skull. Lady Stellara readied her weapons, helping her sister back to her hooves. The midnight mare shot her eyes back and forth, trying to find any sign of the Draconequus.

Then, a thin white circle conjured in the air, receding into unknown space. Moments later out came the Serpent, roaring and laughing. It crashed onto the ground, slithering around the sisters. They wasted no time assaulting the fiend, striking his reinforced body multiple times. Soon several orange cuts decorated his otherwise colorless body.

Discord then grinned, completing the circle around his foes. With a flex of his muscles, he closed the loop to finish the snare. But the alicorns were clever, and shot up into the air with lightning swiftness. Yet the Fell Serpent was more clever still, and jerked the ending third of his massive length around them, lassoing the ponies while airborne. As they channeled their magic to strike with their steel, Discord took his hold and smashed it onto the ground. The shock forced them both to lose their telekinetic grip for the moment.

Steel clanked onto the ground, and Discord began to squeeze tightly. He showed his wicked smile, and laughed with a slow brood. The air was being choked from the sisters, their faces becoming red. “Now…what to do? Burn you alive? Or crush the life out of you? See your eyes burst from your skull…,” Discord hissed, smoke billowing from his snout.

Wintermail managed to focus long enough to locate and retrieve her blade. Drawing it from the ground, the mare pulled it right through Discord. Eónadin burst out of the snake’s coil, covered in blood. He shrieked so loud and shrill that both felt like nails were being hammered into their ears.

But his hold was loosened, and Lady Stellara took this opportunity to find her own weapons. With the axe she parried away the serpent’s tail, and with sword she uppercut his jaw. Now looming high and enraged, Discord was at the perfect position for Wintermail’s final strike. She narrowed her gaze and kicked off, impaling the beast at the scutes just above the ground and drawing her blade upwards until it cut all of his throat. As blood and glowing ichor flowed out, Wintermail flared up Eónadin and slashed across, ending once and for all the great Discord, Master of Chaos.

As he wailed and cried and squirmed and thrashed in his final throes, Discord shouted curses in all tongues, against alicorns, ponies, dragons, princes, kings, and gods. And then, after the slithering stopped, the light in his eyes died and his giant assumed body collapsed, at last drained of lifeblood.

Wintermail cleansed her blade and returned it to her scabbard. Wiping her brow, she let out a deep breath. Was it finally over? Her answer came when the black flames subsided and the darkness gave way to the twilit sky. The sisters stood and looked at one another, then at their surroundings. The strangeness and otherworldly spire the Chaos Fiend had crafted had given way to the normal, mundane scape of the White City, cracked and damaged though it was. The broken marble ruins of Canterlot were poor comfort, but at least Discord was gone.

Perhaps age had not been as kind to the creature as he had hoped.

As they turned to embrace, a familiar voice caught their ears, “Hail! Can it be?” It was Henarion! The two galloped out of the ruined chamber and found the steps towards the courtyard. There they saw the distant figures of their uncle and Cardúnón, as well as numerous other ponies.

Stellara came first to Henarion, “You’re unhurt?” Tears were already in her eyes and she slung her hooves around him.

“Aye, Girl! I may be old and slow, but ain’t nothin’ can stop me!” he proclaimed proudly.

Stellara pulled back and cocked her head to the side, a coy smile on her lips, “I guess not, Uncle…”

What happened next came to q haze, and Wintermail found all the chattering of victorious ponies blending together. She should have been celebrating, thrusting her sword into the air and crying out for vanquishing the greatest foe she’d ever faced. Yet…something felt off…

Perhaps she’d been drained of energy. She felt tired and a little disoriented, and everything blurred. The clouds and twilight gave way soon to sunshine and clear skies, perfect for flying and maybe even a picnic. Wintermail smiled, and stepped out towards the edge of the garden to get a better view atop the inner wall.

As she was about to lift upwards, a small hoof tapped her shoulder. She turned around and saw a short young colt. Wintermail bowed politely, “Yes? May I help you?”

“My Lady, you’ve fought hard and deserve a good rest. Please, allow me to oil and sharpen your weapon while you leisure.” His voice was quiet, but of a high, polished sort.

Wintermail studied the colt. He was yellow, dusty yellow, with an orange mane. A small earth pony, certainly no older than sixteen. For somepony so young, and having endured a battle doubtlessly so taxing, he seemed awfully dutiful. She grinned, “Thank you graciously for the offer, Friend, but my weapon doesn’t require any such maintenance. You deserve a rest yourself.”

The colt then frowned, “Nonsense, Dame. Every Knight should have their effects properly looked after. I insist.” He then seemed to reach for Eónadin’s hilt.

Wintermail backed away, “Perhaps…but I have my own squire for that.” The alicorn furrowed her brow, “What is your name, anyway?”

But he did not answer, and instead tried again to fetch the blade. Wintermail gently stopped his hoof. The colt grumbled and became more aggressive. Then, like a dull echo, the mare heard a faint whisper, “Look…listen…” She could feel it pulsing from her sword, Eónadin speaking in its quiet way. Soon a buzzing tapped at her mind, and she sensed a faint outline of something. It grew stronger until…of course! She closed her eyes and used her aural sense.

And that made everything so much clearer.

The shapes of ponies’ inherent magic were made known…yet, they were too dim. They held the print of mere artifices, objects enchanted—they were not living. Turning her sight back to the young colt, Wintermail’s mind’s eye balked at the magnitude before it. Aught else were but puppets to a Master bared in full to the sight unseen. Towering above, arms outstretched and pulling on invisible strings, stood Discord’s own aura. Like staring at the Sun after days underground, the sight proved too powerful to endure.

The Knight recoiled at primeval magic, the essence of a god, or something god-like. Clever he was, indeed—but Wintermail was not without her own guile. Cooling from the sting of seeing the Draconequus in his true terrifying might, the alicorn recalled a story she’d heard long ago:

Discord had woven a difficult knot with trickery and illusion; was there any use in trying to untie it? Drawing her blade, Wintermail charged it with magic and swung, catching Discord’s aura with the tip. Lady Stellara gasped as the young colt cried, apparently attacked by her own sister.

“Nikóleva!” she cried, rushing to restrain the white mare. “What madness has possessed you?! The fighting is—“

“Mitilion din-nylónadároco dheneÿ,(Look with your inner eyes,)” the Dame replied, voice low and stern.

Stellara obliged, and she too withstood the revelation but a mere moment. The tall slithering shape of Discord knelt before them, the outline of his arm clutching his belly. Soon there came a roar, a bellow of rage and frustration. Around them the sky darkened and the Sun withdrew. Stellara looked around as all her friends and allies vanished, flashing grins of malice before disappearing in smoke and vapor.

Unsheathing her weapons, the midnight mare took stance beside her sister. The effigies of Discord returned, and the ruined halls of the castle appeared again on the mountain side. In the courtyard, their foe once more became visible.

Yet he had changed. No longer slim and gangly, he stood a burly creature, arms so long that they rested on the ground, fists clenched. His yellow eyes and red irises faded into diseased pits of malice, faint lightless lights at their centers. His horns, once one an antler the other of a goat, had grown to become a crown of gnarled bone, each new spire of a different animal. The feathered and leathery wings were now wide and lofty, able to enclose his body. And his scaly red tail was made into a club with spikes.

And the Draconequus now truly looked a miserable thing: his fur was mangy and discolored, his skin dried and cracked. His wings were filled with holes and withered feathers, and his claws and hoof were filled with rot.

“Chances I gave,” he began to speak, his voice now deep and devoid of anything but cruelty, “Yet they were refused. I have run out of patience. If you two mortal, weak ponies wish to fight a God, you shall have that wish.”

He paused, allowing the alicorns a chance to retort. They said nothing, and instead scanned the situation and devised tactics to respond. “I arose when all the World was but lifeless stone, before the rains came, before the seas filled. I have faced far mightier heroes than you two, in an age of grander mortals. Your gods have withdrawn, and only I remain.”

Discord then reared up and snapped his talons, ready to end it in one fell motion. A creeping heat pricked at Wintermail’s back, soon followed by a sizzling. Warmer and warmer it grew, until the sisters began to sweat. Steam rose from the air around them, and with that Wintermail understood. Sweltering became boiling hot, and the pain grew. Summoning her magic, the white alicorn channeled a barrier that cleared away the thermic spell.

The monster groaned and then stamped his hoof. Moments later the grass beneath Stellara’s hooves started to melt, becoming the consistency of sandy mud. Her legs caught, the mare began to sink ever slowly but without escape. Struggling for a moment, she then remembered her lessons and prepared a spell of her own. Zapping the quicksand with a pale blue beam, she made the water inside flash boil, but not without receiving a minor but painful scald to herself. Freed nonetheless she lifted off and vowed to remain in the air.

Wintermail took the advice and joined in flight. Discord scowled and threw his fisted paw into the ground, yanking it out with the loud rumble of rock underneath. A stony spire rose from underneath the white pony, its impossibly sharp point missing her by mere inches. The distraction worked, and Discord managed to hurl a punch right at the mare. She stopped herself before slamming into Canterlot’s inner wall, spitting blood and brandishing her sword.

Ignited, Eónadin came barreling towards Discord, who managed to throw up barriers of conjured metal and stone. The black sword cut through each like cloth, but more simply came to replace them. Wintermail used her great agility, circling the Hellfiend up and down trying to land a blow, but was confounded each time. She then tapped into her sword’s magic, discharging a blast as she struck another barrier. The rest dissipated and Discord seemed stunned, but when she moved to strike him directly he countered with even faster precision. And so she’d be locked into a constant cycle until she died of exhaustion.

Allowed a moment to breathe while the two her engaged, Lady Stellara observed from behind, trying to figure out the best way to proceed. Discord was too formidable to attack directly, too crafty to attack from afar. They’d need something creative. She thought and then remembered what Wintermail had said before. The blue mare’s eyes widen with the realization and she shook her head for forgetting something so basic; sometimes the simplest answers were the most elusive.

She flashed her auric sense, mentally narrowing her field of vision to withstand Discord’s power. As he brought forth the barriers to block her sister, Stellara could see the process. The Draconequus was mighty indeed, with otherworldly magic at his literal fingertips, but he was not a God as the alicorn’s reckoned it: he could not simply draw creation from nothing. Whenever he flexed his spellcasting, there was a delay, a period when the magic wove whatever he wished to conjure or affect. And to those who could see, the process was quite visible.

The younger sister tried making use of this new information; meanwhile Wintermail was waging a futile battle. She was no fool; she understood that her efforts weren’t working and probably wouldn’t if nothing changed. But now it was an effort to at least stall and distract her foe—perhaps Stellara might think of something during that time. It was moot, it seemed, when Discord swatted the alicorn out of the sky. Her blade’s edge caught him, and he recoiled in great pain, but soon raised his other hand. “I grow weary of this.” With the flick of his wrist he brought forth a glowing rope, soon tied into a lasso. Swinging it he gripped Wintermail’s back hooves and pulled tightly. Slamming her onto the ground, he stomped his hoof on the mare, but her own strong forelegs kept the Draconequus’ leg from crushing her bones.

As Wintermail struggled, Discord turned his attention to Lady Stellara. Gulping and raising her blade, the mare’s attempted defense came to naught. Her weapons were earthly creations, and could not harm Discord in the way Eónadin could. She managed to plunge Nocadecoë and Ailéránen into his right arm, drawing the monster’s blood and cries, but nothing he could not quickly recover from.

Clenching his paw, he then flashed open his fingers, and Stellara was yanked back to the ground. She felt a thousand tiny threads pulling at her, digging into her flesh. She yelped, trying to resist as the threads led her forwards. They must have been sharp as steel, able to spread their vicious sting in her skin. How had Discord breached through her armor? It was probably little task for him.

“Come, Dear. Don’t tarry,” the Hellfiend beckoned, grinning. He noticed the Wintermail power her horn, gripping the hilt of Eónadin while she restrained Discord’s hoof, “I wouldn’t do that; one jerk and your sister will be skinned alive. I’d prefer it otherwise, though I could make a nice rug.”

The rage Wintermail had felt towards Discord before that instant became a poor shadow of her newfound fury—nothing threatened her sister. The Draconequus however paid no mind, still drawing Stellara towards the black alicorn blade, “Retrieve the sword, if you would.”

The blue alicorn stepped slowly, clearly understand how dire her situation had become. Yet she too possessed tricks. She met her sister’s gaze and called out, “Midailénilion belcían venë! Midilímera ydarasdro venë nówin cadabdasiln!(Watch his magic! You can see his devilry coming!)” Discord raised an eyebrow, trying to remember his Alicorn. Before he could figure the meaning, a flash of blue magic came from his trapped pony. In an instant his invisible net was empty and the blue mare was ten feet away, free and ready to retaliate.

With her two weapons, Stellara grit her teeth and readied to pounce. Brow laced with sweat and her muscles with a slight burn, the teleport was tiring, but it had become easier since she first started the technique.

But before the younger alicorn could strike, the elder unleashed her rage, crying out her war-bellow. Charging her already-strong limbs with magic, she shoved Discord from on top of her. Caught off-guard and thrown with force he didn’t consider was possible, he crashed onto the ground and roared. Wintermail grabbed her sword and cut the rope around her hindlegs, then opened her auric sense once more.

Adjusting to Discord’s signature, she caught the formation of some tendril of magic. She struck with prompt precision and cut the tendril. Thus did she see exactly the sort of thing Eónadin could do. The fell beast was restrained, cringing in agony as the black sword’s power snuffed out his unique energies. The bright aura dimmed, his left arm growing dark and temporarily devoid of magic. Discord’s essence came back quickly, but Wintermail had made a startling and decisive discovery.

The large monster prepared another attack, trying to channel his magic from below. Before whatever he was planning could manifest beneath their hooves, Wintermail severed the trail. Growling, Discord raised his hands and began to clap. Just before his hands touched, his magic reached into the chests of the sisters, attempting to crush their hearts when his palms smashed together. The white mare confounded the move in the split second she had to act, causing her own heart to pound fiercely.

Snorting, Discord planted his feet and thought a moment; divide and conquer. Going in from the sides, he tried to distract the white one with the sword and knock out the blue one. But it failed prodigiously. Stellara was about to fall to his latest trick: crystallized air broken into shards and shoved in her body; she teleported away. Without a moment to rest, Stellara teleport again when the shards changed course, and again, and again. She could see his moves before they even came, but the window of opportunity was so small. Yet with each movement she got closer until she could slash and hack with sword and axe.

Wintermail meanwhile cut every trail of magic, lifting off with her wings and darting towards him. She must have parried three or four times before she made her move against Discord, aiming for his chest. He pivoted out of the way, but once again was caught by the tip. Disoriented and weakened, Discord was then slammed into by the alicorn, fully grown and empowered by rage, duty, and magic.

Stumbling, the beast managed to grab each alicorn’s legs and throw them across the courtyard. Rising back to his feet, he stepped forward and thought of something truly cruel, vicious, mean and nasty to wipe these stains from his world. Fang bared and eyes pouring hatred, he wove his greatest trick.

But the sisters were clever enough to not let their chance slip. Wiping their lips of blood and popping their joints, they stood and flew closer, nodding to cue for their next move. Charged with magic, each of their weapons glowed and assumed their effects, Stellara with lightning and Wintermail with fire. Brimming with the channeled magic, the weapons were slashed forwards with intricate maneuver, unleashing their respective elements.

The discharge of magic was grand, enough to reduce mortal creatures to ash and dust. Like the most fearsome of heat storms, a torrent of thunder and flame engulfed Discord, his smoking form screeching, but then...it changed to laughter. When the spectacle died down, and the smoke cleared, Discord hobbled out on all fours, his low dark chuckle the only sound.

Seared of flesh, his bones blackened and entrails dangling in the wreckage of his skeleton, the Fellbeast advanced, seething and cringing but still with that laughter. Tissue regrew, and soon the injuries dealt were reversed. Cracking his bones back into place, the Draconequus plodded forth, growling as he did, “Quite the show, Ponies. You seek to turn nature against me? Do you not understand what fire and lightning are?”

Thunder boomed, and a strike of lightning hit a nearby garden tree, catching it aflame. With a snap of his fingers the forces of nature were amplified and ready to be sent towards the alicorns. “Order undone,” he groaned.

Their earlier attack was returned in kind, and only the concerted effort of throwing up a shield preserved the two from becoming ashen bones. But the heat grew, and a push-back was needed soon. “Redirect the flame and lightning, Stellara. I shall pierce him!” Wintermail commanded. When the younger one had agreed and readied, the white Knight broke the shield and advanced against the blaze and bolts Lady Stellara poured her magic to keep a cone of safety around her sister.

Trudging through the singed remnants of the Canterlot Garden, Wintermail had Discord in her sights, and his magic in her senses. Batting away whatever tricks he tried, either on her or Stellara, she managed to close the gap. But as she reared back and thrust her blade into his chest, he vanished.

Wintermail looked around frantically, hoping all was not now lost, hoping that he had not escaped, or that he wouldn’t reappear and kill them instantly. Using her auric sense, she soon found above a point of light rapidly growing—the exit point! Lifting off and darting towards it, she raised her sword. When Discord finally reemerged, he found himself stuck through the hand by Eónadin. His flesh sizzled and stung, scorched and blackened, but he was not done.

Before the knight could retract her blade and strike again, Discord slammed his fist on top of her, driving her to the ground. The impact formed a shallow crater and bruised the white alicorn. Lady Stellara roared in vengeance, careening to her foe with reckless abandon, but Discord wrapped his tail around her and caught the blue mare in midair. A second motion threw her to the grass with her sister.

With the flap of his massive wings Discord touched down and placed a foot on each one. “You confound my tricks. Deception has always been my way, alicorns, but I am not opposed to more direct methods.” Two stomps thrust the mares deeper into the dirt, and then he picked them up and threw them again, this time into the wall.

Small cracks formed at their backs, and only their armor protected them from deep harm. The alicorn sisters slumped to the ground, groaning and trying to nurse their wounds. They had no time; the Draconequus stamped over and grabbed them by the necks. “Worthy foes though—tough and unyielding. I could have used ponies like you.” He began to squeeze.

Gasping for breath, the sisters tried to struggle in his grip. “But where’s the fun in this? If you’re broken enough, then I can keep you around and break you two even further. Take you apart piece by piece and let you know just how much I’ve grown to hate you.”

Wintermail choked something, wheezing as if trying to communicate. Discord loosened his grip just enough to let her speak, “Beg your pardon?”

“Too clever by half, Discord. For a trickster, you seemed easily distracted.” The Hellfiend raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to reply. But the incoming blade of Eónadin interrupted him when it sliced off his right arm at the elbow. The wound seared and he fell back, releasing Lady Stellara. “Twice, Discord,” Wintermail quipped, narrowing her eyes—this was it.

Reattaching his severed arm, the wound sealing up, he snarled and growled, slamming his knuckles to the dirt. He was going to make these two suffer, suffer as no living being had, suffer as no damned being had. He spread his wings to take flight.

But Wintermail concentrated her horn and soon called upon the infinite fountain of power that was the Cosmic Well. Eyes sickly green and glowing violet, she was now singularly focused on her foe. Charging Eónadin with this new magic, she burst forwards and slashed at Discord’s chest. Her force multiplied several times, the cut opened his ribs and burned much of his flesh.

As he wailed, Wintermail swung once more, twice, three times until blood and strips of flesh stained both of them. As the initial pains subsided, Discord only laughed, “You know you cannot kill me, Pony. There is no injury I cannot heal from—I am above you all.” The flesh and bone were starting to reform and repair.

Her dark ancient blade’s own alicorn magic mixing with the drawn power from its wielder, Wintermail smirked, “I know; I’m not trying to slay you.” With a blinding thrust the black steel was driven into Discord’s heart, the wound white hot. The beast shrieked in agony, seething and gritting his teeth.

“You two…are a tenacious pair…,” he struggled to say, the immensely powerful magic pouring into him, biting back at his own essence. He tried to summon his chaos, but so long as Eónadin touched his flesh, his greatest abilities were extinguished. Wrapping his long fingers around the hilt he tried to draw the sword from his chest, but it still burned his palms.

Roaring, growling at the pain, he managed to extract the sword a foot, but then another thrust of purple magic drove it back. Wintermail stood defiantly before him, expelling her borrowed might into keeping Discord pinned down.

Soulless eyes glowering at his foe, Discord sunk his talons into the ground and tried to advance, even as his strength drained. But while he focused solely on the white one, the blue one careened from beyond his vision, barreling forwards with both her steel blades ready to bite. Lady Stellara sunk her axe into his shoulder and Ailéránen through his skull. Their nightly shrouds conducted into Discord, and he cringed, clenching his fists. She withdrew and swung again, uppercutting through his chin and jaw, cleaving his face in two.

His cries now a high-pitched wail, Discord clutched his head and sutured it back together, but not before a third strike from the blue mare. A fourth then a fifth, each cutting or stabbing or chopping some part of his body. As she shouted and yelled cries of vengeance and glory Stellara battered the Fell God. Blood splashed her armor, and only her resolve and her magic kept the soreness from ceasing her offensive.

Each injury was again healed, but each time less and less perfectly—slower and more riddled with scarring. His steps were now very slow, but he still was able to advance to Wintermail, who was channeling her will into the sword embedded within the Draconequus.

Powered by malice and rage, he tired gravely with the blue alicorn, seizing her by the helmet and slamming her to the ground. It appeared that Discord hadn’t learned, as Wintermail immediately rose up and charged him, physically pushing the sword deeper with her forelegs. Then a swift left hook, then a right, and she turned and bucked him in the teeth. Each hit cracked his skull, leaving his dark grey face riddled with swollen purple bruises, shallow cuts where bone had torn through.

His breaths now reduced to wheezes, Discord still managed to backhand the white pony, smashing his fist down on her on the ground. As Stellara recovered and moved to strike again, his tail whipped her side, the mail enough to prevent her entrails from spilling but not enough to avoid the wind being knocked out.

But none of the three would ever surrender, and Wintermail simply resumed her telekinetic hold on the sword and flew over Discord. Descending upon him, she used all four legs to conduct a concert of swift, decisive melee blows to his upper half, finishing with a final charge from her horn. Bright violet surged from the alicorn to her blade, and Discord let out an ear-piercing bout of agony and suffering. At last he fell to his knees, hands clutching the ground for support.

And the massive bulky creature they had been fighting began to shrink, slowly returning to the spindly, slender serpent they had first met. He gripped his side and spat blood, a grim reminder that for all his power and might, Discord was still kept in a mortal prison of flesh and bone. He trained his once-again yellow eyes to the alicorns and sneered. “Why?” The sisters simply stared, weapons still poised to attack at the slightest provocation—they recognized the possibility of a feign. “Why do you fight?”

Wintermail narrowed her eyes and pulsed her horn, discharging Eónadin’s magic just to be sure. Discord's pain became almost unbearable; he placed a hand over his mouth and felt the urge to vomit. His shrieks were now silent sobs; the “God” appeared to actually…be crying?

“Why…?” he squeaked through labored breaths, “Why do you fight against me? Why…fight the inevitable? Don’t you see? All order collapses, all things decay! One day there will naught but void…formless where there was form, what was substance turned to dead light. There will be nothing but…cold barren rocks under a blackened sky.”

Now there was the moment of truth, Discord weakened and nowhere to go. He could not play anymore tricks, nor weave deceptions, nor talk his way out. “Ready, Sister?” Stellara asked, telekinetically unclasping her bag. Wintermail nodded, and did the same to her bag.

“Ready for what?” asked Discord, “cleave off my head…and you’d be rid of me for a time. But I’d do the same, have the witless and despondent rebuild for me a new body, and return. A hundred years…a thousand…it makes no difference—I’d always come back. Restore your kingdom, alicorns; it will flourish for a while—“

“Quiet,” Wintermail demanded, voice level and calm. Out of their bags each mare drew three glowing talismans, all colorful and emanating great magic. Discord’s eyes then widened, a look of absolute horror on his face, as though to say “How?”

The great white knight Dame Wintermail, of the Blood of Old Alícor, then summoned a loud magic voice, her magenta eyes now replaced with pure white. The magic of the elements was flowing into her, as it was Lady Stellara. “Discord, you have disrupted our land’s harmony and visited upon our people death and destruction. Noble friends have suffered and died by your hand, by those whom you’ve deceived and recruited. The judgement—“ and then her voice remained her own, but the words became inspired from somewhere else, “We deal upon you is oblivion.”

The sisters side by side, the elements swirled above them, soon becoming a large circle. Glowing white-hot, beams of magic burst upwards and then curved towards Discord. The rainbow of heaven-sent magic engulfed Discord, and Wintermail’s voice continued, “You have betrayed honesty, by which friends remain true and wrongs are made right, with your lies and deceit.” Discord’s horror grew, his weakened breaths becoming sharp; he was powerless to stop it.

“You have betrayed kindness,” came now the enhanced voice of Stellara, she too inspired by the Element’s magic, “By which bonds are formed and life made sweet, with your cruelty and violence. You have betrayed Laughter, by which pains are healed and fears abated, by perverting it towards the joy of others’ suffering, and for fostering rage and loathing in your heart and the hearts of others.”

Discord was now able to stand, but he could feel himself becoming stiff. He was afraid, terrified, but also somewhat confused.

Wintermail continued, “You have betrayed Generosity, by which love between strangers grow, the weak made strong, and the bitter made calm, with your greed and lust for power at the expense of the living and dead.”

“You have betrayed Loyalty, by which Kings and Lords are both held lofty and humbled, and true friendships forged, with no bonds of loyalty to any but yourself, and for the treacheries you’ve committed,” echoed Stellara’s voice.

“And,” the final resonance from Wintermail intensified the rainbow, and Discord could see his lower half lose its color and harden, “You have betrayed Magic, by which the World is woven and life made manifest, with its corruption. Power you were given to create and nurture, but power you have used to destroy and taint.”

The rainbow column of magic swirled ever faster, tightening its grip on Discord. Now half of him was made of stone. Then he realized, and with a baleful grin he felt the disturbance—he knew it well. The Harmony was not complete; something was wrong. Perhaps one of the ponies was having feelings of doubt, of fear, anger, perhaps even…envy.

Stopped he would be, imprisoned in a tomb of stone within his existing one of flesh, but not undone. He had feared oblivion, but now it seemed he’d merely have to wait. One day the spell would break, one day he’d be free again. Horror gave way to mirth, and a manic laughter rose from his throat. He stood tall and proud, placing his paw upon his chest and outstretching his talons. His mouth gaped wide, and the laughter continued until the wave of stone finally seized his jaw and could move no more.

And yet, for all the relishing he had in those last moments, it diminished when he settled into his rock. Dormant, a state between waking and sleep, he’d remain yet somewhat lesser than before. The malice he’d fostered in his heart for so long, untold eons even, had dimmed. Perhaps ages hence it’d grow even smaller, until something—or even some creature, enabled him to shed it entirely.

But in the current day, of this current age, this was of little concern. The rainbow had cleared, and in its place a white statue rose, the effigy of Discord cackling as if to mock them. Both sisters looked at the statue, and then one another in confusion. They approached it and let pass a moment of quiet thought.

“Is this him?” asked Stellara, her tools of war still ready, “Is it another trick?”

Wintermail closed her eyes, sensing for any radiant magic. It was there, glowing yet faint, like seeing and hearing underwater. Strange…very strange. “Regardless,” the Knight intoned and raised her blade, “He will not get a last chance.” The swing came, the steel charged. The black metal could cut anything, an edge sharper than was possible with any grindstone and a blade that could not be shattered. And upon hitting the statue, Eónadin was neither dulled nor cracked.

Clang! But it did not cut. Utter shock came over the Wintermail’s face as she inspected her sword. Again she tried to cleave off Discord’s outstretched arm; again nothing but the reverberation of steel. Bones, armor, wood, dragonhide—there was nothing Eónadin could not pierce. “What manner of devilry is this?” she whispered.

“Some sort of enchantment I wager,” said Stellara. She reached into her pack where her three elements had settled once used, “Perhaps we performed the ritual improperly.” Wintermail nodded, and flashed her horn to retrieve her three, but when the sisters attempted to hold them, a zap of magic hit their minds, and they lost focus.

They tried again, only to have the same result. Then a silent voice uttered merely, “Enough.” And there they both understood the promise was fulfilled: the Elements had done their part, and would not be as weapons again, not while the Earth lasted.

The elder sister frowned, “Maybe if we topple it and roll it off the edge, it will shatter on the valley floor.”

Stellara raised an eyebrow, “Seems an awful long way to roll it, granted if we can even move it in the first place.”

“We can try later,” Wintermail finally yielded, the battle rush fading and the soreness, aches, stinging, and general exhaustion coming to replace it. “I could use a nap…”

Stellara settled on the grass beside her sister and shed her helmet, looking up at the white alicorn. “You look ravaged; fitting I suppose.” The blue alicorn wasn’t wrong: Wintermail was riddled with bruises, small cuts on her face, a darkened eye, and trails of dried blood on her snowy fur. Her eyes were becoming half-lidded and unfocused.

“The pot and the kettle indeed,” Wintermail smiled. A heavy sigh left her chest when she glanced at her baby sister, also beaten and bruised, bloody and worn. But she was alive, in sound body and mind; she’d just need rest—both of them did.

As the knight looked out at the castle, at the ruins of Canterlot, the marks of Discord’s reign started to disappear. The unnatural lattice above the castle throne room returned to marble pillars and stained-glass windows of ponies and their exploits. The statues to the Draconequus’ vanity returned to the various stonemasonry and topiaries as before.

The city soon in its entirety reverted to a ruined, battle-worn landscape, but of completely mundane qualities—devoid of the chaotic perversions of Discord. Blinking slowly, Wintermail grinned, “Guess we didn’t perform too poorly.” The white sister then draped her broad wing over Stellara, “But to have gotten the chance to wield those Elements…do you remember what it felt like?”

The midnight mare watched the starless twilight, “Powerful. The force of a god at my horn’s tip… And the sensation!”

“Right? Very…tingly—but in a good way!” laughed Wintermail.

“Peaceful, too…like a calm soothing coolness.” Stellara glanced up at Discord’s statue, “We did that, huh? If only Mother and Father could have seen it.”

Wintermail’s eyes teared up, and she pulled her sister closer, kissing her on the cheek, “I’m sure they would have been scared to death.” The sisters giggled.

“What now? It’s not over, you know, this war.”

The elder one sighed, “You’re right. We should go off into the city and see who’s alive. Henarion I’m sure will want to see us. Though…,” she yawned, “I think we could sit here for a little while longer.”

And a little while longer passed, but by chance or purpose the two alicorns would not need to go out and find their friends and allies. “Girls!” came a very familiar voice. Wintermail and Stellara rose to their hooves as though a hot brand had stuck them. Hobbling through the inner gatehouse, leading a crowd of other ponies, came a tall dull orange stallion.

“Henarion…,” Stellara whispered, almost ready to burst into tears. He was donned in armor, covered in dried blood and dirt, and not a few scratches. But he had an even step and seemed for the most part unharmed. When he spotted them in the courtyard, he galloped as fast as his many years would let him. Slinging his forelegs around his nieces, he squeezed and kissed them as he had when they were fillies.

Thank God…,” Henarion whispered, almost crying himself. His good eye then noticed what it was they were standing in front of, “So you did it? Is this what’s left?”

“We believe so,” Wintermail replied, “I don’t think it can be destroyed, but he does seem trapped. In either instance, his Reign of Terror is over. And you? Looks like we took back Canterlot.”

“Aye,” Henarion smirked, Primrose appeared beside him—she didn’t seem to have a single scratch on her, “Wasn’t easy, lost a lot of good ponies, but we got the bastard on the run. We’re chasing any remaining foes out now.”

“I’ll bet you have a wonderful tale to tell, Uncle,” said Stellara.

“I doubt it’d excite you two much, seeing what you took down.” The sisters just gave nervous laughter.

The surviving pony soldiers entered into the courtyard, marveling at the stone Discord, evidence of his ultimate defeat, and of the Royal Sister’s greatest feat. Hooves were stamped and cheers called out, and more than once praise was made to the “Twin Goddesses”. The mares blushed.

Several important-looking ponies emerged to greet the sisters. First, and most eager was the tall green alicorn of whom one was fond and the other was not. “Lady Stellara, Dame Wintermail,” Cardúnón bowed, “We owe you a debt of gratitude. I am relieved that both of you are unharmed.”

Stellara approached and smiled, “Not entirely, but…well I’m glad you’ve made it all right yourself.”

“It wasn’t all him,” his sister Rhílë quipped, craning her neck to the sisters.

“Should I be surprised?” asked Wintermail, narrowing her eyes at the green stallion. He drooped his ears.

“Now, Nikól, this one’s not so bad,” Henarion called, placing a hoof on Cardúnón’s shoulder.

Before any of the alicorns could say something else clever, three more ponies came, each dressed in some form of armor; a yellow unicorn in a crested helm, a brown earth pony knight, and a maroon unicorn in a coat of mail.

Wintermail recognized the first and turned her body stiff and stern, “Captain.”

“At ease, soldier,” Gendarmette of the Canterlot Guard command, “I’ve been informed—I am no longer your superior.”

“The Princess has told us: now that you are the Regent of Canterlot, you’ve been given authority of all the realm’s knights, “added Sir Grimheim, Commander of the Free Knights.

“And over the raised militias,” smiled Commander Stonehewn.

“Not to mention the Canterlot host sent to rendezvous northwards with the Equestrian Army. Sister, what is our next move?” came Stellara; though tired duty still came first.

“Excellent question…we’ll have to take stock of our forces. Also, we must ensure Canterlot’s defenses can be repaired enough that its garrison can be reduced. Now that I am Regent, the realm’s safety is my priority."

“And not simply Canterlot’s realm,” came a voice on the wind. Elderly and with a hint of sardonic bite, it belonged to a beige alicorn. He touched down before Wintermail and Stellara. “You claimed your dignity as Queen, yes? Then your authority extends quite a bit further.”

Wintermail frowned; she had done that, hadn’t she? “You’re right, but is it really appropriate at this time?”

“What better time than during a great crisis?” Unlike any other instance, the Librarian was not making some snide remark or hidden insult. The eyes of all the alicorns and the commanders were directed at Wintermail, a mix of pleading, encouragement, and skepticism; her next words would have to be chosen carefully.

Her gaze stern, she finally replied, “Lords and ponies name their Kings. There will be time for that later. Now, I serve as Regent, and we first must look after Canterlot. What do you recommend, Delbedasir?”

“If you want my old wisdom and experience, then I say the absolute first task is that Her Majesty assume her most ancient and sacred duty.”

“And that is?” Wintermail raised an eyebrow.

The Librarian looked up at the sky, “Ordinarily, it’s not supposed to be so dark.” He then looked back at the Regent, “Discord had stolen the command of the Sun and Moon from the Prince, God rest his soul,” everypony in ear shot lowered their heads and a nodded, “and now they stand without a Master.” The Librarian kept his red eyes on Wintermail.

She frowned and returned the stare for the moment, “…Me? I…am to direct the Sun and Moon? To wake every morning for daybreak, and sleep only when the night falls? I don’t…”

“Yes, Nikóleva, for nopony may assume the Right of your Bloodline, or the powers and authority therein, without also accepting the attendant duties. Reach out with your magic—the Sun and Moon know who you are, they are not mindless.”

The white mare then simply gazed up at the sky at the dull twilight that had seemed to last forever. Starless, naked, empty it felt—it was all wrong. But was she to take control? The resolve that had convinced her to assert herself while in the woods faded to the background, and the mind of a humble peasant girl returned, feeling far too in over her head.

She looked back at all the other ponies around her. Her Commanders were standing tall, faces hard to read, but ready to be ordered. Cardúnón and his sister met their Exilarch’s eyes with hope and pride, swelled with anticipation for their long-awaited Alicorn Queen. Wintermail’s Uncle Henarion and his wife were warm and kind, telling the White Knight that no matter what, they’d respect her decision. But she knew Henarion’s entire life had been building up to this moment, the entire line of his ancestors devoted to protecting the Royal Family in exile until their return. Could she steal that from him?

And then Taberanyn. She looked…pensive, nervous…but with a slight smile. Her younger sister was just as unsure. But Wintermail was her keeper, her protector—nopony wanted nor needed indecision or hesitation. The Prince’s specter loomed heavily, the kingdom he’d fought for and the ponies he died for.

Wintermail arose from thought with a fierce expression. She flashed her horn, and started…searching for the Sun.

“Your Highness,” said the Librarian, “Before you take control of the Sun, please note: once you’ve bonded it to you, you’ve signed a contract that can never be broken, not until death. You’ll have an obligation, each and every day to do as ordained. Go against the Order, and you’ll incur a special sort of wrath.”

The mare said nothing, and still tried to figure out how Delbedasir meant about “reaching out”. She thought about the Sun, warm spring days and sunshine. She directed her mind to the sky, trying to feel anything, or even grasp at something. Wintermail became frustrated, she felt like a fool and had nothing to show for it.

But then, eerily similar to the voiceless whispers from the Elements and Eónadin, she sensed something speaking, “Do you accept?”

Wintermail closed her eyes, thinking over just one last time. The terms and obligations were announced to her mind, and she reviewed them all. Finally, she took a deep breath, exhaled, and then repeated. Her limbs became heavy with anticipation, her heartbeat quickening. But she’d found the Elements, cast down Discord, and was Equestria’s rightful Queen. This was as it should be. “I accept,” she uttered, a magical echo in her voice. Opening her eyes, they glowed vibrantly with great power, and she felt the immense weight of the Sun in her magical lattice.

Spreading her broad wings the white alicorn flew up into the sky, labored strokes as she moved herself and the Sun. Soon peaking above the horizon came the bright yellow orb, turning the purple sky to blue.

Ponies atop the city, and creature everywhere shielded their eyes for a moment as true sunlight returned to their world. A new day had dawned, bathed in praise and cheers and shouts of joy. The Long Dusk, the Empty Night, or the multitude of many others names it was given, was at last over.

And when Wintermail touched down, awed by the power she had just wielded and the spectacle she had just produced, another glowing appeared. This time it was upon her flank. She turned her head and saw a pattern develop, the light blasting away once finished. What remained was a burning orange image of the Sun, marked forever upon its new Mistress.

The Wintermail very nearly stumbled back and fell over herself, so overcome with surprise. Everypony around gasped, the alicorns’ eyes widest of all. The white one found herself staring at for quite a time before Cardúnón broke the silent stun.

“I don’t believe it…not one, not a one of our race has ever gotten a mark, not since the Cataclysm. Not in three-thousand years!”

And that statement, more than any other could, cemented in Wintermail's mind that this was her place, where she belonged. To raise the Sun, to rule Equestria.

While everypony marveled and basked in the sunlight, Lady Stellara’s attention was drawn elsewhere. What about the night? She’d always had a special fondness for the stars, their lovely twinkling and the stories of the pictures they once drew. The Moon’s silver light was pleasant, and she hoped to once again see it tonight. Had Nikóleva taken control of it as well?

Stellara chuckled, “Maybe I could too,” she mused quietly, with very little meaning. She sparked her horn pale blue and pretended to “reach out”. Giggling to herself, she was just about to finish her little jest when her magical focus snapped hold of something. Stellara was caught off guard and confused. Another silent whisper came to soothe, “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“They” must have been mistaken. Her sister was the eldest, the rightful Queen. “We do not make mistakes,” it said again.

Through her mind Stellara learned the agreement, and was given a moment to consider. Wintermail was still being fawned over by excited ponies; Stellara was out of the crowd’s eye for the time. Less pure thoughts though gave way to a sense of righteousness—there could be no day without night, not sun without moon. She nodded weakly, then felt the energy and strength of the Moon and stars. She lowered them, tucked away beneath the circle of the world. “Until nightfall…,” the whisper came.

And as her sister had experienced, Stellara’s flank lit up and dispersed, revealing her own mark. A black shroud, a pale white crescent moon in its center. Stellara’s heart skipped, and the light attracted everypony towards her.

“It only makes sense,” the Librarian said, softly smiling at his favorite pupil.

Cardúnón rushed forward and swept the blue alicorn up in an embrace, letting go once he realized he forgot respectability. “Forgive me, Lady, I was—ahem, congratulations!” Stellara began to laugh and slung her hooves around his neck.

“Thank you.”

When Henarion came, Stellara disengaged to instead embrace her dear Uncle, her caretaker all this time. The orange stallion stroked her periwinkle mane. “So this is what I have been working towards? I think if I died now I wouldn’t be too upset.”

A tear ran down Stellara’s cheek, “Oh don’t say that, Uncle—you still have a good hundred years left with you.”

Henarion weakly nodded and choked up, wiping his good eye, “I hope so.”

The celebration then began in earnest, ponies starting to sing songs and talk about the battles fought and the victories won. Wintermail approached from behind Stellara and placed her hoof on her back. “If somepony had told me we’d now command the heavens when I woke up this morning, I’d probably hit them in the face for insulting me.”

“You didn’t get enough of that already?” the sisters laughed. Stellara then frowned, “I hope we realize what we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

“Nothing easy, Taby, but I think it’s clear nothing we do from now on will be.” The two stood staring out the inner wall’s gate, watching what parts of the city, mountains, and valley they could.

“Do you remember the part about a ‘Sign of the Covenant’ we made with the Sun and Moon?” asked Stellara, “As I recall it’s distinct from these marks. What do you suppose it will be?”

“Could be a brand or something; might really hurt,” she giggled. Wintermail bent down and spotted a single strand of green hair. It looked rather fresh and alone, but it could’ve been anypony’s; except hers—she didn’t have green hair. She shrugged and remained beside Stellara, enjoying this brief respite while she could.

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 18. Taking Charge

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 18. Taking Charge

Everything was heavy. Her limbs, her breaths, the very air—now it had fully dawned on Wintermail. Before, she’d had too many things to worry about, but allowed a moment’s pause the grief was almost too much. Mourning came from her left and right, the many ponies who’d known and served their fallen sovereign paying due respects.

The service was to be short—unfortunately still so little time was available, but he deserved a proper burial. Wintermail’s glossy eyes looked up from the floor, shifting to the casket the deceased Prince now rested within. She sighed, stepping forward to see his face one last time. They had found his body, miraculous largely intact. He’d been broken and beaten, but possessed no great mutilations.

She peered over the edge, a painful lump in her throat. But he looked peaceful, regal even. The morticians had done well; his blue fur was washed and groomed, his mane trimmed and combed back. He was dressed in his silken vest, hooves folded over his chest. The face was calm and reserved in quiet retirement. Had she been a filly, Wintermail could have believed he was merely asleep.

She knew better.

And with great tragedy, so too did his wife and son. Princess Mother Coruscina, at last dropping the inner strength she’d borne since the fall of Canterlot, dressed in black. Her sobs were silent but wracked her body to its very core. In her hooves, head against chest, was little Vale, now Prince of the White City. A deep bout of pity hit Wintermail; he was but seven years of age. Some thought it best to try and convince him his father had simply left, gone someplace hidden. Wintermail shook her head; children were smarter than that.

It was a grievous pity that somepony so young had to learn the harsh reality of death. Wintermail thought back to that day long ago, when she was only five and Taby but a foal. Nikóleva remembered clutching her father as he bled to death. She placed a hoof over her mouth and beat back the urge to weep.

Tears were dripping down her cheeks, but still she tried to stiffen her lip. Wintermail rested her right hoof on the casket and stood for a time. At last, under trembling breaths, she spoke softly, “Thank you, Peter. What you’ve done…for me, my sister…I don’t think I could have ever repaid you. And now,” a sigh left her, “I failed to protect you, my Lord, my Liege. I hope you don’t begrudge me too much.” Wintermail gave a weak smile. “I’m sorry that I pushed away my duty, that I sought to run away from what I’d been called to do. I will make it right, my Friend. You told me many things about who I was and what you believed I could be…if only I had believed you then.”

She wiped her eyes, breathed in, and stood up tall. “Know this, Peter: you made a Queen, and now she will make your Kingdom. Rest now, Great Prince.” Wintermail bowed her head and returned to the stands with the other mourners, taking place beside her sister.

Elder sister cradled the younger in her long neck. Henarion and his family stood nearby, lost in their own thoughts of grief. Ministers, commanders, soldiers, craftsponies, farmers, landowners, and even alicorns were all coping in their own ways. The room’s hushed cries and whispers were drowned out as Delbedasir, Prince Petrafyrm’s oldest and most trusted adviser and friend, read aloud a solemn passage from the Alicorn Holy Book in that ancient tongue.

It was a lament, a tale set before the Fall of an alicorn who’d lost a loved one, and of their journey in learning to cope with the grief and loss. The story was a small comfort, yet Wintermail couldn’t help but smile at the end.

When the service was over, ponies came to bear the Prince’s casket into the deep catacombs to be forever entombed within a stone sarcophagus among his ancestors. Flowers were tossed atop the wooden lid as he was carried away, and there the last would be seen of Petrafyrm the Just.

Everypony was dismissed, and they began to shuffle out in a quiet rustle. Near the door of the service chamber, Wintermail looked back to see the Princess and her son speaking with the Librarian. The white alicorn hoped their pain could be lessened by old wisdom, but right now she had duties as Regent.

The rendezvous with the Lords further north had been delayed for too long.

Henarion kissed Primrose and Eldowas farewell before they returned to their quarters in the castle. Joined by their Uncle, Regent Wintermail and Lady Stellara took brisk steps towards the Council Room. Along the way, as they passed outside in the pleasant summer morning under the porticoes, the din of work came on the wind. Carpenters and masons labored to restore the fortifications within the castle, as many more were busy at work within the city repairing ruined shops and homes. Wintermail’s own smithy had put aside its usual work of weapons to instead forge nails and fittings and tools.

It was a gargantuan effort, paid for by what was in the treasury and the donations of wealthy and concerned citizens, and would not be complete for a long while. Weaving between moving workponies, the three passed under the arches and found their way to the Canterlot council. Guards astride the entrance bowed before the new Regent as she nodded in reply. They opened the oaken doors and allowed the alicorns within, shutting them once the three had gone through.

The chamber seemed bare compared to how it once was, doubtlessly ransacked of valuables when the city was occupied. Banners use to hang from the walls, chandeliers from the ceiling. The gold had been stripped away, the crystal stolen. Most of the banners had been ripped off, but were since picked up and taken away for mending. One remained, slightly torn, but some insignia were need in the realm’s council chamber. A small cart was off to the side, holding a tin pitcher of the wine the Prince always offered to his guests and councilors.

Standing around the table were the Prince’s old ministers, now Wintermail’s agents of state. Their talents and expertise would prove critical. They warmly greeted their superior; Wintermail returned the hospitality, and Stellara and Henarion assumed their places at the table.

The white Regent poured herself a small measure of wine in her tin cup and smiled after a sip, recalling the memories she’d had with this vintage in the Prince’s company. Downing the last drop, she came to the head of the table, judging the wonderfully-carved chair to be too small for her to comfortably use.

She stood and looked ahead, swiveling her gaze over each attendee. There was one missing—soon made right when a beige alicorn entered. He bowed and apologized for his tardiness; Wintermail understood and simply waved to the Librarian’s spot. All eyes on her, she waited to speak, trying to relive all the times she had sat in Court with the Prince, observing the methods and etiquette of authority.

“Thank you for coming. I have summoned this council for important work, and this shall be brief. The Realm’s forces have headed north, and were we not delayed by the siege and Discord, we would be there as well. All the same, we must join with them and the Equestrian Host. I have received a report that the Great Horde is still marching eastwards.”

Waiting for his chance to speak, Chancellor Logostus protested, “We’ve cut the head off the snake, Lady-Regent. Discord lies imprisoned in stone; the horde has no leader.”

“The horde has been roused to action, and only force will stop them now. A swath of ruin lies in their wake, and it shall only cease once they’ve been broken. We must act now, even though Discord is no longer a threat.”

“I’d feel better if he was broken apart,” added Henarion.

“You and I both, Uncle,” sighed Wintermail, “He can’t be cut or smashed or damaged in any way. Last night we had teams trying to pull him down or dig him out—he did not budge; he cannot be moved. But he is frozen in place.” Wintermail then allowed her words to settle, resuming only when agitation had died down, “Now, in my absence, I commit the affairs of the Realm to Princess Coruscina. I’ve arranged for the order to be made.”

“Should we not allow her time to grieve?” asked the Librarian.

“We shall, which is why you and the Chancellor will carry on when she wishes. Above all your concern should be the rebuilding of Canterlot; I want this city restored to its former state as best as can be done with our current resources. You both know your other duties; they have not changed with the Prince’s death.” Wintermail then turned to Captain Gendarmette, “The Canterlot Guard shall march to the realm’s army. Ready it soon.”

“Of course, my Lady,” nodded the Captain, “But if I may advise you, the Guard was raised a very long time ago to defend specifically the White City. Ranging afield for raiders and bandits is one thing, but sending it away…”

“Well noted, Captain,” Wintermail spoke evenly, “But Canterlot is no longer a mere outpost. What was a mountain stronghold has become the center of a prosperous state, and its defense depends upon affairs beyond its borders. If we reserve our most elite troops, our allies will grow suspicious or unnerved.” She then turned to Sir Grimheim, “The Guard, along with our Knights shall be our detachment, the most senior and skilled soldiers at our back. The Lords of Equestria deserve nothing less.

“Without the professionals, the garrison of the City relies upon you, Commander Stonehewn, and your militia. Conscript one of every household in Canterlot to stand watch and patrol the countryside—just enough to not leave the constructions starved for resources.”

“My forces will be as diligent and valiant as though they were the Guard itself!” Stonehewn bellowed, capping off with a hearty laugh. Wintermail couldn’t help but smile at his spirit.

“Excellent. I wish to leave by tomorrow morning. Can it be done?” she announced and stared down her subordinates; there was one correct answer.

The Guard Captain and Knight Commander shared a look, shifting their eyes in thought for a moment. “It can, my Lady,” began Gendarmette, “but both assemblages suffered casualties in the siege. If we cannot replenish the losses, then I wager only around six-hundred can march.”

“We must accept that—they will be able to march faster anyway. Now to the matter of supreme commander. This council needs a Marshal and vassal levies a leader. Without the Prince or Helmraed, may they rest in peace,” several ponies in the chamber bowed and nodded their heads, repeating the words, “I appoint my sister, accomplished warrior and tactician, and newly instated Wardeness of the Moon as Marshal of Canterlot. I will have a diploma drawn up and your armor adorned with insignia as can be found on short notice, Lady Stellara.”

Mouth agape, Stellara sat in stunned silence. She, without much in the way of formal military training, should certainly have been passed over in favor of better-qualified ponies. Others picked up on this, and they made confused looks at both sisters.

“Sister, I understand we’re pressed for time, but don’t you suppose somepony else might fill this position better?”

Wintermail’s magenta eyes were intense, causing Stellara to shift and stir. “You orchestrated the victory at Windhock Vale, and as I recall are undefeated in chess,” the older alicorn smirked. “You’ve…thirty years of experience with combat, and I have my full confidence in your ability.”

“Thank you, Regent…,” Stellara said, staring into space. “What about you? Won’t you be leading the forces? Am I to act as a lieutenant?”

“Yes. And as a lieutenant you must assume charge in my absence. I’m afraid I will not be traveling with you all to the Equestrian camp,” Wintermail announced to hushed murmurs. “My task brings me elsewhere. I am going north, beyond the ridge-borne walls to the ruins of the Alicorn March. Cardúnón!” That green stallion, heretofore standing quietly behind everypony, directed his silver eyes to his Queen. He wore a determined face, utterly willing to accept whatever mission he was given—she had not in fact forgotten their race.

“You and the remaining alicorns in the city will accompany me. We will cover ground by sky, as swiftly as possible. We are going to rally the other chapters of the Downfallen; I expect to raise few warriors, but even so we fearsome giants are a harrowing sight.”

Cardúnón smiled, “I know just the place to rally at. Though, if Her Majesty wishes, I can lead the effort while she remains with Canterlot’s soldiers.”

“I know you can, but this is something that I must do; the Alicorns need their Queen in person.” Clearing her throat, Wintermail towered over the council table and spread her gaze over the ponies, “That’s all. Any questions or qualms?”

Ponies shook their heads and remained quiet. “Good. Dismissed. Be ready to leave at daybreak.”

Captain Gendarmette and Sir Grimheim rose first, bowed, and left to prepare their respective forces. Commander Stonehewn however approached the Regent and pulled an object from his belt. The unicorn allowed Wintermail to overtake his magic, and she brought it her face. It was a brass horn, adorned with ornate silver rings. “This was found by one of my soldiers; she was going to sell it for the silver, but thought it too precious. The Prince’s Horn—you might want it.”

Wintermail both studied and admired the beauty of the piece, almost entranced by its luster and quality. “Thank you very much, Commander. Could you send that mare to my chambers later; I’d like to give her a just reward for such honesty.”

Stonehewn nodded and excused himself, passing by Henarion. He noticed the orange alicorn’s missing eye and the patch he wore over it. “There’s a shop in the garment district that sold me this.” The unicorn’s own patch had a certain sheen to it, “Velvet.”

Henarion grinned, “Oooh that’s nice; mine’s just wool.”

“You poor stallion; I had to use a rag when it was being drained,” the maroon commander cringed.

“The draining is the worst part,” laughed Henarion.

“The worst part!” and Stonehewn began to laugh himself, “Good day, Dragonsbane, and good luck.” The alicorn “Stronghoof” nodded.

He shimmied past other departing ponies, the Chancellor and Librarian among them, and turned to address Wintermail. “Am I to go with you and the alicorns, Nikól?”

The Regent thought a second, “Hmm…what do you wish to do? You have no obligation to go anywhere but home.”

“I always have an obligation to you two,” Henarion replied with a stern tone.

“Then…go with Stellara—keep her safe. I don’t know what sort of snakes she’ll find with the Lords.”

Henarion smiled a bit, then shifted to a frown, “And you? You’re very big and strong, but still only flesh, Girl.”

Wintermail laughed, “Don’t worry; I have Cardúnón!” The green stallion overheard his name, and then saw the single bright blue eye of Henarion boring into him, letting Cardúnón know that whatever task he’d been given…he had better not fail.

Stellara was about to step through the door, vexed by her new position and responsibilities. But then a gnawing sense of doubt forced her to turn back. “Sister,” she began, eyes training the floor, “I…well, if I prove inadequate in my capacity as Marshal, I’d like to put forth now, that…er…”

“This is quite a lot to put on you; I am sorry about that, Taby. But,” Wintermail leaned in close to her sister’s ear, “You are a great fighter, and I know you can pull victory from the jaws of defeat. But above all, I trust you.”

“Are you telling me you mistrust the others?”

“Not at all; they are dutiful and moral ponies, but you are my sister, my blood. I know you won’t disappoint.” Wintermail brought Stellara’s head to her chest. The blue mare sighed, and then dismissed herself. As she and Henarion were about to leave the door, Wintermail called, “Perhaps you’d like to sup with me tonight, Taby? I don’t think we’ll get the chance to see one another in the morning.”

Stellara nodded and smiled before disappearing through the door, off to arrange affairs and receive briefings from her new commanders.

Wintermail gave Cardúnón a look and then nodded with a sneer to let him know he was also invited. He then bounced off happily to inform his own sister and ready the alicorns for tomorrow.

Wintermail herself though continued standing in the now-empty council chamber, staring out the wide windows at the lands beyond. The hills, forests, mountains, valleys, fields—they were now all hers to govern. It was almost too much; the pressure, the expectations, but she had put on a decent mask she thought. She caught her reflection in the window, a solemn contorted expression. If everything happened as hoped, that mask wouldn’t go away for a long time, and when she removed it, would even Nikóleva recognize the face underneath?

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Wet, wild and cold were the words many described this far land. Never before could they have proven to be more apt. Awash with the bandits driven from the southern realms to the lawless north, and the dens of diamond dogs emboldened by the horde of their fellow savages, this forested country was too dangerous for most to traverse without escort.

Regent Wintermail was no such traveler. A pack had befallen her and her retinue of alicorns, either too dull or too brazen to flee in the wake of the Sea-Borne race. Three dozen strong perhaps the curs were, assailing their camp in the early hours. Surrounded, Wintermail merely drew her blade and caught it alight. A sharp word had left her lips: “Leave”. One dog pressed on; he was left cinders.

They fled, and nothing had troubled their company since, though for safety and speed they’d traveled by air most of the way. But the wild weather in the North was unpredictable, and the frequent drizzles often became storms, alive with thunder and lightning. Then the journey would continue on hoof. Even in the height of summer the cold wind blew from the frozen wastes beyond, yet still Wintermail led her kindred further to where Cardúnón called.

A few days since leaving Canterlot, the company of Alicorns trudged on in the night just before dawn. A light rain was falling, and the pale glow of Stellara’s christened-moon poked through the holes in the clouds. A chilly breeze blew, but most in the company had been raised here in their youths—the Northern Wilds held no surprises.

Cardúnón at the head of the group pointed his hoof to a faint light. “Almost there! Through the glen!” he cried, encouraging all to gallop. A short while the company arrived at the stone ruins of something once grand. The flickering torches, sheltered from rain by awnings and overhangs, illuminated the cold grey skeleton of a bygone alicorn city, of lesser nobility than that where the Kings once lived.

Wintermail looked around and saw the tops of the collapsed and shattered wall adorned with large silhouettes. Alicorn sentries watched and listened, silently allowing their kin through without contest. Though, even had they wished, the occupants of this remnant of an earlier time were too few to hold any position for long. This place was no fortress; it had not been in an age.

The buildings were difficult to see in the night, but what little was visible was unimpressive. Broken and worn by age and neglect, most rested in piles of rubble. The grass and weeds had long reclaimed the streets, and when Wintermail’s company arrived at the old town plaza, they found only a muddy square. In its center was a cracked pedestal, its statue nowhere to be found.

The alicorns within the town gathered, trying to read these new arrivals. There were many, perhaps hundreds of what could be seen. Wintermail was almost overwhelmed—so many of her race in one spot, where for so long she’d thought she’d been alone. Her kind must have been very good at hiding.

“I gathered them here, your Highness,” began Cardúnón in the Alicorn tongue, “Those of Canterlot unable to fight were sent ahead to the cities, to call them all here. Though, I think only those healthy and strong enough for battle came.”

Wintermail nodded and then watched those around her, studying the alicorns from the various chapters of the Downfallen. Cardúnón and his sister had organized it, never amounting to anything like an army or some sort of movement. It merely functioned as a brotherhood, a means to arrange and dispense charity, and also to collect the alicorns in one place—as right now.

Triple-Kin from all across Equestria, from the southern cities like Hoofington, Manehattan, Baltimare, and Detrot, sent their best warriors. But their Exilarch frowned, estimating the numbers she could see. “You said there were nearly ten-thousand of our kin in Equestria.”

“All the ones left in the world,” Cardúnón sadly replied, “We have yet to call the ones living in the North.”

“There are not more than several hundred here; we sent more soldiers from Canterlot.”

“You should not expect more than a few thousand; most are too old, too young, or too damaged,” Cardúnón said.

The Exilarch then trotted forwards and climbed atop the pedestal. Attention from all was drawn to her, and once she had it she cleared her throat. She let more time pass, still coming to terms with this crowd of alicorns. Had there been no war and she a younger mare, Wintermail would have been elated and thirsty to ask questions; now she had to fulfill her objective quickly.

“I thank you all for coming, and I hope your journey was free of peril.” The white alicorn’s face then became hard and filled with a quiet anger, “But I know better; the dangers have only grown. My name is Nikóleva Daughter of Maiëlindir. Some of you may know that name; some of you may know that of my father.” She allowed some of the crowd to murmur—some in fact did know these names.

“I am a Knight of Canterlot, and now I am its Regent. But before all of that, I was first of the Royal Bloodline. My ancestor was Vasílion, our last King, and therefore I am his Heir, the Exilarch. And now I come forward to retake the title Queen of the Alicorns.” The murmurs dimmed, the great ponies trying to gather exactly how they felt about this.

One bold mare, yellow face sallow with age and strain, voiced this concern, “What proof do you have, Nikóleva? You are not the only one to have claimed this.”

A clang of metal rang in the plaza, the black steel of a greatsword catching the torchlight. “Eónadin, the Sword of Kings. Forged in Elder Days and wielded by the Kings of our vanished home. It was my father’s heirloom.” Some were visibly impressed, but still others were not.

“Stolen!” cried one of the alicorns.

“No! She speaks the truth!” Cardúnón’s deep voice boomed, “She is the true-born heir of Solárindil! She has fought in great battles, and vanquished many foes, among them Discord!”

A collective gasp came, and now more were brought to heel. That same gruff yellow mare groaned, “The Sun went dark some nights ago; we feared such a fiend had done this work. Are we to understand you undid it?”

Cardúnón approached the mare, not in aggression but certainly with a purpose to cow, “She found the Elements hidden long ago, and threw down the Accursed Serpent!”

Rhílë appeared from behind her Exilarch and joined beside her brother, “Nikóleva has corralled the Sun; she’s assumed her place as its Wardeness.”

A rather young and handsome alicorn stallion rose from the crowd, his coat a deep emerald. “And if you all are telling us the truth, what does Her ‘Majesty’ decree?” he asked with a sharp bite.

Wintermail felt the prick, the gentle nudge like a cat asking for food. A grin curled on her lips and she began charging her horn. “Friends, there is work to be done,” she spread her wings and lifted up, “For it is now daybreak.” And in a grand shine, the rays of the Sun burst from the horizon in a show of red and orange and yellow. Her figure cutting through the beams, Wintermail appeared a graceful and imposing mare, the magic from her horn coming to a point above her head almost like a crown. When she touched down on the mud, the rain had cleared and the growing warmth of the Sun touched the cold skin of the alicorns.

In full view now Wintermail shined as the tallest and fairest of their ancient race. The hearts of the most cynical ponies softened, and they saw an image of a past glory, of one they might be able to call their leader.

The old yellow mare and young emerald stallion approached, their senses of awe yielding to an eagerness. The rest moved forward and waited.

“A new kingdom will come here, law and order will be done in this northern country once again,” the Queen spoke, lightly pacing around the crowd, “But it first must be won on the field, by the price of blood and iron. I have convinced many Lords of the Southlands to gather a great host, and have sent many of my warriors of Canterlot to join them. I have but one last source of courage and strength; you all.

“The enemy will find us, they always do in the end. We have the chance to strike, to vanquish our foes at last and earn that long-awaited peace and quiet. So I call upon you, My People, to take up arms and fight beside me. The ponies of Equestria are outnumbered, and I fear they alone might not be enough. But we could perhaps turn the tide, and muster our strength for one last great charge. This is our land as much as it is the Tulicëai’s, and we should share in its defense, and its prosperity.”

The yellow mare came forth, age visible in her steps. “A wonderful dream, Nikóleva. My name is Aravorón, and I have brought the chapter from Manehattan. I’ve spent two-hundred years waiting for the Exilarch to lead his ponies. Aracílnë was his name in my youth, but he was no King. Cardúnón told us that royal sisters had achieved fame and status in Canterlot—I thought it surely his own tall tale.” Cardúnón shifted in his stance, but remained still and stoic beside his Queen.

Aravorón studied Wintermail, seeing her armored and girt with that old sword. “Our kind has rested in the wilds, and grown. I am eager to end the scourges that plague us—there are many more who also agree. But I’ll tell you, Nikóleva of Maiëlindir, you will not get many warriors. Even of those who can fight, some will have to stay behind and protect their homes and families.”

Wintermail met the elder mare’s eyes and nodded, “I understand. I want you all to know, however, once we’ve crushed our foes to the south, I fully intend to devote soldiers to driving out the filth in these wilds. Even if the Lords of Equestria do not name me their Queen, I shall still look to the lives of my own kin. That is I promise I make before you all and God above.”

Many in the crowd nodded in approval, some stamping hooves. Cardúnón and Rhílë looked back at one another, smiling.

“Then you have my pledge,” Aravorón said.

“And mine,” that emerald stallion shouted.

“The Downfallen of Detrot will fight!” called a thin aquamarine mare standing on the ruins of some building.

“As those of Fillydelphia!” came the voice of an off-white alicorn, mane bright orange.

More of the chiefs of the various chapters consented, and soon all within the city ruins were ready to assume whatever weapons they could for one last show of grandeur. But Wintermail was not going to idle and revel in her new warriors. Those that knew the posts in the North were sent out to call others—ten-thousand alicorns resided in all Equestria; she needed as many as could be spared. In the meantime, while the day or so of their journeys passed, Wintermail would drill and train her kin as quickly as possible. Hopefully Stellara could manage affairs long enough for the alicorns to arrive.

Wintermail remained on that pedestal for a while, watching the alicorns fly away and fetch weapons from various storage places. A hesitant smirk crossed her face; perhaps the Prince had not been so wrong about her.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

The stomping of armored ponies echoed for miles around, the shimmer of their mailcoats and pikes loud against their silent marching. Adorned in her armor, her helm fitted with a tall crest, Marshal Stellara led her forces with the same diligence since leaving Canterlot days before. To her left marched Henarion, appointed her personal bodyguard and confidant. To the right were Sir Grimheim of the Free Knights and Captain Gendarmette of the Guard. They had been itching for battle the whole way, and if all went well they would have not only that, but a victory to go along.

Stellara had left Canterlot in good shape, its reconstruction in the very capable hooves of the officers of state. But as the host ventured along the valley river and turned northwards, the midnight mare adjourned herself for an afternoon.

The Elements, dormant and silent, were brought back into their forest. It was kind this time, allowing a friend into its heart without trial or issue—a simple straight path to that crystal tree. Stellara placed the “fruits” back onto their branches, bowed and thanked the tree for its help, and left the old chamber behind. Would the Elements ever be needed again? Hopefully not. At the edge of Everfree, the blue pony had taken a sentimental look back before darting to her forces.

And once again at its head, Stellara would not leave until her task was complete.

Emerging over the hill, Stellara saw a vast assemblage of tents, of smoke rising from fire pits, and varied colorful banners fluttering in the breeze. This was the Great Camp, some ways west of Hoofington; far enough, at least, that she could not see the city. Swinging down her hoof, Stellara ordered to resume marching. Soon the shuffling of her own troops died back to the din of smiths’ hammers and soldiers training and idling.

Coming closer, Stellara counted dozens of different coats-of-arms for all the various Princes and their vassals called. She knew many of them, but those she looked for stood taller and more intricate. The Marshal found the banners of six of the seven Princedoms, and of the King of Poneva. Coltorado was fighting in the fortifications of its mountainous realm, harassing the horde as it marched east. The Free Cities possessed little in the way armies, but their ships were sent south for operations against those lands. And their gold certainly helped lessen the monstrous burden of warcraft.

And of course, the exiled King of Mareposa had little soldiers since the Horde had broken and overrun his kingdom. A small loyal retinue remained to his service, its banner lost in the sea of many others.

Stellara found the azure field and the violet star of Canterlot’s insignia. Finding an empty patch of field, she ordered to make camp and begin drills, trusting her commanders to see it done. Henarion by her side, the midnight mare galloped to the tents of who were to be her subordinates.

A grand tent, very wide and of a fine weave, stood before her, flanked by the household guards of some lord. She swallowed a lump in her throat and mustered her courage. Stellara and her Uncle towered over the guards, “I am the Marshal of Canterlot. I wish to speak with the Realm’s lords.”

The guards seemed a bit intimidated, but held firm. “The Marshal was killed in battle, I’ve heard,” one of them said.

Stellara levitated up a small scroll with a wax seal. She broke it with a knife she carried and unrolled it before the guard. “This is a diploma from the Regent of Canterlot, Dame Wintermail Flamecaster. I am her appointed Commander of the Canterlot Hosts.”

The guard could not read well, but he recognized the official seal. “Very well, My Lady.”

Ducking under the opening flaps, Stellara and Henarion emerged to find the tent with a number of Canterlot’s vassals sitting around a table and debating. They were well-dressed, often wearing small circlets of gold or rings over their horns. Most were unicorns, though a pegasus and a few earth ponies could be seen.

The blue alicorn looked at her Uncle, who gave a reassuring nod. Hardening her countenance, Stellara strut forward, causing everypony to slowly focus on her. An alicorn was an uncommon sight, and many of the lords wondered what it meant.

“Noble Lords,” she spoke, now at the head of the table, “I am Stellara Nightwrath.” Lords who’d fought at Windhock Vale remembered that name. “I am the new Marshal, and I’ve come to assume command of our forces here.”

A burly pale blue stallion rose, a ginger beard thick on his face, “Where is Prince Petrafyrm? Will he not lead us?”

A trembled breath left Stellara’s snout, “The Prince is dead, murdered by Discord. So my sister and I avenged him. Prince Vale is too young for leadership, and therefore his mother has invested my sister, Dame Wintermail, as Regent. And she has appointed me Marshal.” Once again Stellara produced the diploma and set it on the table. The Lords read it, some grumbling.

“And this new regent?” an older pegasus countess asked.

“She is away gathering more forces.” Stellara breathed deep; alright, Taberanyn, time to show them you are in charge. “I will command Canterlot’s forces, and I have brought the Guard to bolster our effort. I am an accomplished warrior and tactician, and I do not intend to lose. If any of you take issue with my command, voice your concerns now, for I shall not tolerate insubordination.”

“You’re the one of royal blood aren’t you?” asked the bearded stallion. Stellara nodded. “Very well. If you’re our new Marshal, then I hope you do not disappoint.”

“You can bet your life,” she bluffed, “Now if any more wish to contest, do so now. I must go to the Princes and talk with them.” Nopony spoke, a group of loyal vassals reinforced by their love and admiration of Petrafyrm. If he had chosen the two alicorn sisters for daring missions and positions, they trusted it. Stellara understood, and tried to ignore the pressure of such expectations.

“Excellent. I shall return later to settle any disputes or uncertainties you all might have. Until then, My Lords,” Stellara bowed, as did Henarion, turned around and left.

After asking a guard where the Princes’ tent was, Stellara set out to the center of the vast camp, passing hundreds of soldiers working and training. According to reports she’d received, the combined host of Equestria numbered around eighty-thousand—a truly colossal army to move, let alone feed and supply. But it had been done so far, though their true test remained.

Stellara ordinarily would have marveled at the organization in the camp, the almost mechanical way soldiers knew their duties and worked. Drills squares ordered by shouting commanders and specialists ensuring all the equipment was battle-ready would have delighted the mare, who took great pleasure in the less visceral and martial aspects of warfare. But right now she was too occupied in her thoughts.

She had faced the Princes before, but that was against the backdrop of Prince Peter and her sister—now she was alone. The show she put on for Canterlot’s lords impressed her, but could she feign the sort of confidence and authority the Princes expected? None were used to being told what to do, after all…

At the entrance of their tent, Stellara paused and looked up at the behemoth. In their enthusiasm of unity, they went and stitched a cloth banner of Equestria’s insignia above the flaps, the sun and moon and its alicorn striking Stellara deep. The tent was dozens of feet wide, and certainly tall enough to accommodate a fully-grown alicorn. Arresting her hesitation, she stepped through. Inside she found what amounted to a cloth-walled mansion, separated into many rooms and servants going about to tend to the many sovereigns inside. They did possessed their own tents with their respective armies, but when need came they congregated here.

Down a hallway, still baffled that a tent could include a hallway, Marshal Stellara came to the center chamber, a grand wooden table at its center—nobles loved their big tables and halls with mead and ale.

And sure as the guard told her, the Princes were sitting around, jesting and carousing, drowning drink and feasting on pastries and other sweet things. Stellara scowled—they cared little for the battle to come. But then she softened; perhaps they wished to enjoy some earthly pleasure before they passed from the circle of the world.

Stout Wealthford of Detrot, beard covered in frothy beverage, was the first to notice the blue mare. “Well if it isn’t Lady Stellara! Friends, Canterlot’s Prince has arrived!” The other Lords perked up, setting down their selected indulgences and shifting their attention towards the alicorn.

“No, My Lords, I have come in his stead.”

“Well met then, Lady Stellara,” the prim and proper Luminescent of Hoofington greeted, waving a hoof to offer wine. “Please sit and enjoy a vintage. We have heard of the siege in Canterlot, and surely that as well as your journey here have left you parched.” Stellara bowed and paid respects to her hosts, allowing a servant to draw a goblet of red wine. The white unicorn Prince allowed his guest to become settled before continuing, “Is Prince Petrafyrm behind, looking to restore—“

“The Prince did not survive the siege,” Stellara spoke curtly. The indignant shock gave her pause, and she cleared her throat, “Forgive my rudeness, Lords. It is not favorable circumstance that I represent Canterlot’s host. My sister, Wintermail Flamecaster, has gone to rally forces elsewhere; in the meanwhile I should like to know what our plans are.” Marshal Stellara held her gaze over the Princes, remembering the late Peter’s lessons on commanding a room.

Venerable Princess Nephele of Cloudsdale was the one to reply, “Of course, Lady. Firstly, our condolences; Petrafyrm was a good stallion and a just ruler. We are here today by his hoof. Now: we possess a grand host, of warriors from across the land.” Some of the rulers rang their cups on the table. “Indeed…five Princes, two Kings, and an alicorn Lady.”

“Marshal,” Stellara corrected, a slight grin on her lips.

Nephele returned it, “Apologies.” The pegasus Princess rose, the oldest of them, her strong alicorn blood shining through, “I do not intend to lose against this rabble. Therefore we need a clearly-defined command. We will not squabble and bicker over slight insults—there shall be no confusion over which of us holds supreme authority of the Host.”

“Agreed,” spoke Rufus of Fillydelphia, his war braids rattling with gold and silver beads, “We should vote, and honor whosoever wins.”

“It makes no difference to me,” groaned Brynhilda of Horsava, the pink filly almost lost amongst her broad and tall peers, “So long as I get a damn-good fight!”

“I’ll be sure not to disappoint, Your Highness,” Stellara quipped, earning a chuckle from the young Princess.

“Well then, shall we put forth names, Friends?” suggested King Hillwick of Poneva. He had a candidate in mind, though granted his first choice was out and about on no doubt some very important errand.

“Princess Nephele of Cloudsdale,” offered the cyan pegasus, “I am the eldest, and I have seen many battles. And I can fly over the battlefield for a broader perspective.” Some of the Lords seemed already to be considering it.

“All true, Princess, but I believe my experience qualifies me best,” Prince Rufus contested. “I have already led forces against this horde’s raiding parties; my realm is at the edge of Equestria—"

“All due respect, but mine is further in the wild plains, bedeviled by mustangs and minotaurs.” King-in-Exile Auburn Flare puffed out his chest and held is crown proudly upon his head, “I am a King, and Mareposa has dealt with this war in far more intimate ways. I shall lead us.”

“A ‘king’?” Rufus laughed, “Self-declared, perhaps. What authority do you have?” Auburn Flare did not take the insult kindly, and nearly rose up to ram his hoof into the red-haired Prince’s snout.

King Hillwick sparked his magic and restrained both stallions, “Is this any way to behave? If I may, I had an eye on the Wintermail, the true Queen. Yet she is not here, so therefore I cast my vote for Marshal Stellara.” The tan unicorn smiled at the blue alicorn, raising his eyebrows to call her for a response.

Heart thumping, Stellara pushed down her doubt and remembered that her sister had trusted her with this business. “I accept your nomination. I am…well versed with battle, with the command of troops and the maneuvers of war. And it was I who played part in vanquishing Discord. If I may boast, the greatest foe our world could know was defeated by my hoof.” A quiet shiver traveled down her spine, the nerves soon calmed. Now for the final blow: “As I am also of the royal alicorn bloodline, you Lords will find nopony better to lead you in this camp. Only my sister, the Queen, can outrank me.”

A stupor caught some of them, caught off-guard with such brazen audacity. Stellara looked around and frowned, “Shall we vote already? We’ve little time to plan before I intend to engage.”

Brynhilda leaned back and giggled, “Very bold, Marshal…I like it. She has my vote.”

Nephele approached Stellara, nearly meeting her in height. The old pegasus narrowed her eyes, “And what do you have to offer as Commander?”

The Marshal of Canterlot was not about to be bullied, “Victory. The various armies you’ve all brought are filled with strong soldiers, but they suffer in a lack of organization.” Prince Rufus stirred, ready to contest; Stellara cut him off at the knees, “Your vassals command their own knights and levies, be they swordponies, archers, or those with spears. Thousands of small duels, ponies hungry for glory. This is romantic, but not as efficient as it could be.”

“And you propose?” Nephele asked, eyebrow raised.

“Patience and trust. Pikes, swords, archers, and pegasi; they all possess certain roles in combat. We should allow ourselves to assume command of a particular type; cede control of our own forces that are not this type and assume control of those that are—only so long as the battle lasts, of course. Our regiments will be more effective; able to control more of the terrain, which is key.

“Our enemy shall fight in a grand mass, clans and races with their like out of habit and comfort. Even so, their forces will have little in the way of sophistication—they value prowess and strength in battle over such boring trivialities like tactics and organization. We will be outnumbered, but we can at least make the effort to fight better pony for creature, and with better cunning.”

She finished speaking and let her audience digest the words. Prince Luminescent began to nod, “Perhaps King Hillwick’s suggestion was not misplaced; I am impressed. You approach war like a craft, like a trade.”

“Now you all understand why Regent Wintermail placed me in charge,” Stellara said with a smug grin.

“Then I cast my vote for her as well,” the white unicorn then raised his hoof. It was now four votes, counting Stellara’s; five were needed for a majority.

Wealthford was that deciding vote, and soon after some grumbling the other Lords rescinded their opposition and admitted that this midnight mare, a blue alicorn from the northern wilds, was a gifted strategist—and sorely needed in the deeds to be done. She accepted with serene grace, respectful bows to each and every of the sovereigns. With the niceties of etiquette finished, Stellara immediately called for any maps and charts they possessed; it was time to plan.

The lines of battle were thought out ahead of time, the roles of each commander assigned and their respective units divvied out. She’d spent much time reading about the ancient forces of Old Equestria, a force of soldiers far above the peasant levies and knights of this current age. But she’d restore some of that genius yet, and field something she could be proud to call an army.

Stellara detailed and organized as best she could; this battle would prove decisive. If won, it would break the horde and all its ambitions; if lost…then that remnant of civilization that was this fractured Equestria would disappear entirely—an ignominious end to a legacy of millennia.

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 20. Celestia and Luna

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 20. Celestia and Luna

Was this merely a dream? A pristinely-groomed white face stared back at her, but the Wintermail almost didn’t recognize it as her own. Even her mane—her once short pink mane, lightly dusted with soot, was changed. Now it was long and striped with green, cerulean, and blue. And it seemed to flutter by its own, perhaps charged with the immense well of magic always stored within her.

Patiently she stood on the terrace while hoofmaidens adjusted her dress. That same elegant white dress she’d worn for her knighting was now repurposed for a Coronation. With pale golden trims and sparse adornments of jewels sewn into strategic locations, the garment flowed with her natural curves and shapes. Wintermail appeared a cloud or a wave cresting and coming to life like something from an old sculpture or painting. The mares dressing her were truly masters of an art.

Nikóleva had trod a long journey. At first an awkward giant wandering from place to place, to a grimy smith crafting swords, to a member of the illustrious Canterlot Guard in service to the White City’s court. From there she became a knight and went on to play a critical part in uniting the lords of a broken realm against an otherworldly threat.

The War for Harmony had first sparked with the Fall of Mareposa, and moved eastwards. But by courage, daring, and a little luck Wintermail and her sister the Lady Stellara had earned the right to wield the Elements. With them they struck against Discord, the Hellfiend that had led the Horde on a path of destruction across the land. The Horde was then broken in battle, their mustangs and thestrals enticed into the Equestrian fold.

But battles continued. Those Princes and Kings who yet lived took what they still had and hunted down the remnants of the enemy. Coltorado held fast in its mountains and valleys, their King Cobalt Stone eventually triumphing against the dragons and thestrals still clinging to the spoils of conquest. Warchief Jasicus of the Mustangs was true to his word, his nation clearing out many pockets of minotaurs and zebras. And the allied bat-ponies fought alongside their pegasi brethren, earning a great long-lasting mutual respect from even those ponies of Cloudsdale.

And the Free Cities, great repositories of wealth, combined their fleets and launched expeditions to the South, striking the homelands of the minotaurs and zebras. When word reached of such attacks, most in the Horde preferred racing to defend their homes and families over some vacuous and vain hope of plunder in a country that had been roused to terrible wrath.

Wintermail and her sister had participated in many of these battles, though none were so great, so large, or so decisive as that fought in summer. A harsh chilling winter had set in, but still the fighting carried on. Then when spring came and the frost melted away and the flowers bloomed, the last of the foes ran or surrendered. Some of the Lords, Brynhilda chief among them, rallied to continue the attack and invade Minotaurica in vengeance.

But so far from home many others refused, and ultimately it was decided that the minotaurs posed no more threat. Their greatest warriors were dead or dishonored, their King killed, and their tribes leaderless. Soon the many clans would return to their quarrelsome ways.

Thus little was left but to pick up the pieces and rebuild. Spring turned to summer, and the Congress met one final time to simply reaffirm what was already known on the victory at that Battle for Equestria: to name a new Queen for a reborn Kingdom.

It was not to be an elaborate ceremony; coronations in the deep past could have thousands of entertainers, minstrels and jugglers. Exotic and mystical beasts would have been paraded and made to perform tricks while a banquet was prepared that could feed a city several times over. Some coronations had lasted days, even weeks. Some had commanded budgets in excess of an entire year’s revenue.

Not a prudent policy for a realm recovering from a war.

Wintermail’s was to be conservative, but still some items of ceremony were demanded. A new crown and scepter, crafted only by the finest jewelers in all of Equestria, were absolutely necessary. The renovations to Canterlot Castle were nearly complete by the war’s end; good thing as it would serve as the venue for the reception afterwards. But besides these few luxuries, there would be relatively few extravagances. A fine compliment to a humble and at times austere mare who soon would be Queen, and hopefully would set a responsible tone for the reign to come.

The mare in question looked to her left, seeing her younger sister standing by. Lady Stellara was gowned in deep cool colors: blue, purple and black. Woven to look like the night sky, small gems were sewn into the fabric to glisten like stars. A silver pendant made to resemble her crescent moon hung around the midnight mare’s neck, while her hooves were covered by complimentary slippers.

Stellara’s mane too had changed, grown from that soft periwinkle to a darker and oddly translucent blue, sparkling like stars the same as her dress. And it too waved on its own, awash with a special magic. It was most curious, but the sisters had grown very used to it by now.

“How are you feeling?” Stellara asked.

“A strange mixture of many things,” Wintermail quipped, allowing her maidens to affix the earrings. “Happy, proud, anxious…nervous too. More than a little nauseous.”

Stellara giggled, “Take some gingerroot; it’d be a shame to ruin such a nice dress.”

The white alicorn groaned in reply, slinking back into her thoughts. Very shortly she would be presented before an immense crowd of nobles, commoners, and even foreign observers. A thousand years had passed since such an occasion had happened last, and everything would be portentous to what would occur from hereon. Perhaps it’d be best not to think about it.

A distraction, then, was welcome. “I ain’t bothering you, am I?” came that gruff voice. Henarion stepped through along with Primrose and his son Eldowas. They all looked very nice, well-kept and groomed. Henarion himself almost seemed unrecognizable, what with him dressed in a silken vest and his normally messy mane combed. Wintermail too noticed his new eyepatch, now made of velvet.

“Of course you’re bothering them! Look, they need time to prepare; off we go!” said Primrose, smacking her husband’s foreleg. He took it in good stride.

Wintermail fought the urge to laugh while her attendants finished touching up the alicorn’s appearance. She tried turning to her Uncle only to have one of the hoofmaidens gently direct her back, “Eyes forwards, your Highness.”

“Nonsense!” Stellara beamed, “You are always welcome! Have you come to wish her luck?”

Henarion nodded weakly, then trained his good eye on Wintermail. He watched her, slowly stepping forwards. The gown, the jewels, the ceremony to take place…the old alicorn felt a deep mixture of pride and apprehension. “When I was…ten, my father told me about my ancestors, and how we’d protected the royal heirs for generations.”

“Yes, Uncle,” the white mare replied, “You’ve done a fine job.”

“Ay!” he chuckled then returned to a stern demeanor, “He said: ‘the Exilarch one of these days will have a foal, and when I’m gone you’ll have to take my place.’ Your father was born, my father died, and the cycle started again.”

A trembled, troubled breath left his snout, “I let Maiëlindir die, but I managed to keep you two alive. But when you left, Nikól, I was so scared. I never wanted to stop believing, but I knew enough to know you probably didn’t survive in the wild alone.”

Wintermail kept strong, locking her shame and regret inside with her great will, but even so a shallow breath escaped, “Henarion, I am—“

“But you did, and you made something of your little self. Both you girls; now you’re heroes! I ain’t got nothing to say but what my family’s been after all this time has come true. You’ll be Queen, Nikól, and I’m happy to see it myself.” And then the stallion retreated back beside his wife, she nuzzling her neck in his long stature.

“We would never have gotten out of our cradles without you,” Stellara confessed.

“Only to be of service,” Henarion replied with a bow, “I suppose soon I’ll have to call you ‘Your Majesty’, Nikól.”

“Papa!” chirped little Eldowas, jumping upwards to try and reach his father’s height, “Now that Auntie Nikól is gonna be Queen, what does that make me? Can I be a knight?” The blue colt pattered on his short legs towards the white alicorn, “Auntie Nikól, would you knight me? I want to slay dragons and rescue towns like Father!”

As the boy was running to the Wintermail, Stellara seized him in pale blue magic, levitating him upwards and placing him on her back. “They’ve been telling you too many stories. I’ve told you: it’s a long and difficult journey to become a knight. You have to train and study, and you can’t even fly yet!” Stellara trotted back to the door carrying her “nephew.”

“When I become big, Aunt Taby, then?”

The midnight mare giggled, “We’ll see what your mother has to say. It’s frightful and dangerous business, you know.”

“Ha! I am not scared!” Eldowas proclaimed, puffing up his tiny chest. Stellara shook her head and smiled. “Uncle, we ought to go find our places before things begin.”

“Yes, right. Come, dear,” Henarion said to his pegasus wife.

“Good luck, Nikóleva,” Primrose said.

“We’ll see you soon, Sister,” Stellara warmly spoke before leading her family back out. Along the way they passed another alicorn, the ancient beige bearded stallion. “Good morning, Delbedasir,” Stellara greeted on her way out.

“Lady Stellara,” he nodded, voice unusually light, “Lord Stronghoof; Lady Primrose.” The others responded in kind before they too disappeared.

Eldowas could he heard asking if he could grow beard, and then demanding to hear the story of the slaying of the great Telnarakh, followed by Henarion’s agitation at having told the tale a dozen times before; Eldowas didn’t care.

The Librarian chuckled, “Charming fellows, indeed.” The hoofmaidens were just about finished adorning their to-be sovereign, and soon released her from the pedestal. Wintermail took a moment to inspect herself in the mirror. “Your Highness, we’re almost ready to begin. I trust you’ve memorized your vows.”

“Perfectly,” she said, ensuring her mane was largely covering her right eye as she liked it. Pleased, the mare allowed herself to frown, “Though, perhaps you could give me some advice.”

“Certainly; I intend to remain in your counsel for a long time yet.”

She met his red eyes, swallowing a lump in her throat, “This is all very much—too much almost. Protocol and ceremony are nice, but…a thousand years is an awful long time. There will be much that needs to be rebuilt from scratch, won’t there?”

“I won’t lie: it will be a difficult road. Prince Peter left you a strong foundation to build a kingdom upon, but we’ve a long ways to go before the ancient glory of Equestria is restored—if it even can be.”

“Am I the mare for it?” Wintermail more thought aloud than asked.

“Bit late for doubts I think.”

“And…what does it mean to wear this crown? The Lords named me their Queen, but…surely they didn’t simply give up their own reigns for mine. Will I truly rule or simply be a figurehead?”

Delbedasir stroked his grey beard with a hoof and groaned, “Now that is the question. Will you be a force of nature, a Queen of indelible will? Or will you simply yield to the stronger, fiercer lords who took the reins of your realm and drove off? Every king, be they from Alícor, Equestria, or any other minor nation in history, has had to answer this question. And it has always been theirs and theirs alone to answer. I cannot give you anything more than advice.

“But advice I shall always give. You, Nikóleva, will have to test and study the limits of your power, the extent of your prerogatives. The vows you will make soon will provide you a useful frame, but what law and custom does not tell you will be your own creation. And there will be struggles. You will fight and argue and disagree. There will be disputes and riots, rebellions and even wars.

“It is a shame Peter was not able to teach you all the tactics of statecraft, but you will learn them in time yourself. You must, for though the Kingdom was won by heroic deeds and good virtue, it must be kept with guile, shrewdness, cunning, and good manners.”

“I’d have done better to stay a knight,” Wintermail sighed.

“’Dame Wintermail’ had a nice ring, didn’t it? What will the Queen be known as?” he asked. He’d given her the assignment to decide a regnal name, something that spoke of what she wanted to be as ruler, what she wished to say of her reign. Some Kings took names for their achievements in battle. Some wanted to recall earlier kings, conjuring memories of those perceive golden years; often they fell short of their inspirations. And still others were quite content with the name their parents had given them.

But Wintermail didn’t want to keep her name. Nikóleva was a nice name, and described her well. When King Hillwick’s father had translated it all those years ago into ‘Wintermail’, it suited her very nicely. But Wintermail was a certain pony of a certain time: a smith, a knight, a warrior, a wanderer. Wintermail, or Nikóleva, had been many things, but a Queen was not one of them.

Wintermail was hot-tempered, brash, self-doubting, and troubled. The Queen her realm deserved would be sober, stoic, gentle, and above all reliable. The white alicorn must be the rock upon which all other ponies depended on staying firm.

She’d given thought to it before, and had a few good ideas. But upon a little further reflection, Wintermail at last found the perfect name; one that evoked what she wanted her reign to be about. The Librarian patiently waited until she raised her head and smiled, speaking her new regnal name to him.

He nodded and grinned, “It suits you.”

Immediately he called her towards him and began to lead her out; time was up and the coronation was to begin. The two left the dressing chamber, the hoofmaidens following behind. They emerged into one of the numerous hallways of Canterlot Castle, a pair of guards flanking the doorway detaching as entourage to the Queen-to-be. Few words were spoken, Wintermail’s thoughts afire with those same mixed emotions that were knocking her mind since she had woken up. But her will, her determination were both far stronger than any anxiety, and she would stay the course—it was too late to turn back and the white alicorn would never truly have done so.

The hall was eerily quiet, most ponies in the throne room awaiting their sovereign. The marble floors were polished and the sun peeked through the glass, the illustrations of the windows shining in the light. Wintermail recalled when she had first stepped through this room, admiring the ancient work of those images. Back then she hadn’t known their meaning, and indeed thought she was just delivering a simple sword for the Prince’s son.

Now these would be her halls, and her guards and her ponies to command. A very harrowing thought, one Wintermail knew she would not become used to for a long while.

Veroche her squire, dressed and groomed as well as he’d ever been, stood beside the heavy oaken doors before the throne room. Against him rested the giant black sword that had served her so well over this grand adventure. Ten feet away, Veroche bowed and presented Eónadin to his Queen. The alicorn retrieved her blade, fastening the decorated scabbard around her waist, the golden sun on its guard facing outwards. Her maidens ensured her gown was not wrinkled or otherwise cinched undesirably.

The girting of the Sword of Kings was essential—how could a Queen defend her realm and people if she couldn’t even defend herself?

Two more guards astride the doors opened their great iron fastenings, revealing the massive throng that had gathered for this momentous occasion. The sound of the doors closing boomed, and Wintermail surveyed the room. Ponies from across Equestria, of all stations and backgrounds, stood on either side of that long red carpet that stretched to the golden throne. She remembered vividly when she had first entered, seeing the great Prince in his gravitas and splendor commanding his court from that throne; her chair now.

The banners hanging from the columns remained: Canterlot’s argent field and violet star. But paramount to them, lording over the old banners as a parent does their child, hung the colors of Equestria itself. A field of azure, speckled with white stars, fittingly centered by a white alicorn wings spread. Over its chest was the silver moon superimposed over the golden sun.

A thousand eyes settled on Wintermail, but she stayed her nerves like death was the penalty. She advanced at a brisk but graceful pace. Her small entourage followed a respectable distance behind. Along her path familiar faces smiled and nodded, memories they’d shared and battles they’d fought brought to mind. Bretteur who had taught her the proper way to fight with a sword, Lieutenant—now Commander, Stormvane who’d served her well when Wintermail fought in the Guard. Captain Gendarmette and Commander Stonehewn, loyal officers of the realm, gave their silent regards.

Chancellor Logostus, always agitated but always on task. She even spotted that pegasus who had first visited her shop and made that fateful order that started all this. Greymane, so friendly and helpful, grinned as if to let Wintermail he’d tell his friends “I knew the Queen when she was my tenant!”

Veroche disappeared into this Canterlot crowd while Wintermail continued. Towards the front of the chamber stood the great lords and their vassals. The Princes and Princesses, first so hostile and suspicious, were now united in one room to witness something downright magical. The Little Kings dressed well and wore their regalia, but had resolved to yield to a larger Queen. The masters of those Free Cities looked at Wintermail while in their jewels and fine vestments, gaudiest of all the Dogaressa Marina of Manehattan.

And among them was Jasicus and even the Thestral Chieftess. A couple seasons of battle had won their approval with the rest of the lords, the fell deeds before redeemed with a victory won for all ponies and their kin.

A simple trek from one end of a room to another dragged on: so many familiar faces with memories attached. To her right Cardúnón, Rhílë and many of the alicorns stood. From when she’d first been shown the Downfallen to their fateful charge in battle, they’d all given her a place to belong. Long the object of her wonder, Wintermail had finally found her race and together they’d done beautiful things; perhaps in the future they’d do even more.

The green stallion smiled—Wintermail still had a problem with him, but she was grateful for all his help and companionship.

But whom she saw next stalled her heart for a moment. An idle comment she’d made during the preparations reached the ears of a messenger who informed the young minor son of Hillwick, settling as the new King of Poneva. He offered an invitation to the certain family of a pony who had passed nearly three years before. His surviving sister Wintergreen and her children and grandchildren had opted to make that difficult journey to Canterlot to witness this coronation.

Thirty-seven years ago a kind young earth pony named Evergreen had let a tall stranger into his home out of the cold. That clumsy mare worked and lived there for a time before departing for adventure in the wide world, and now she was going to be Queen. Wintergreen could scarcely believe it herself, but when she saw the alicorn’s face, she nearly broke into tears.

Wintermail for her part bit her tongue to maintain composure; breaking down in front of thousands of subjects would not be becoming for a ruler. She was thrilled though, and held no doubt that the spirit of her late friend Evergreen was right beside them.

The carpet picked upwards at the platform, potted flowers beside it. On the first terrace of the golden throne stood Henarion, Primrose and Eldowas. All that need be said had already been, so only glances remained. The orange alicorn received a special place beside the throne, truly the least Wintermail could do for her Uncle.

Little blue Eldowas wanted to jump up and give his giant aunt a big hug, but Primrose’s strong forehoof held him place; there’d be a time for that.

And on the second platform where the throne itself was mounted was a gilded and intricately carved table. Placed atop was a crown—no tiara or diadem that would be worn in a casual manner, but a full ornamental crown for the strictest of ceremony.

It was truly a work of art: a circlet of gilded steel set with precious stones all around. Its circumference was strung with two chains of pearls, one each on the top and bottom rims. Dressing its top were broad spires, inset with rubies and artistic embossing recalling the ancient alicorn artwork of old books. On its front and center was a medallion with the Kingdom’s symbol, decorated with white enamel and of course the respective precious metals for the sun and moon. Above the medallion was the effigy of the alicorn open sun-cross; the same symbol she wore around her neck since the day her father gave it to her.

Against the table was a scepter made of a good hardwood. Carved with abstract patterns along its length, the top was a knob of electrum. More precious stones surrounded the widest part, while the very top was decorated with golden alicorn wings, the very feathers sculpted from the metal!

Prince Petrafyrm made it clear that it is who wears a crown and scepter that is important, their qualities and virtues. All the same, with such regalia the Queen certainly would strike a majestic image.

Side opposite of the table stood Lady Stellara. Hers was the greatest honor; to stand beside her sister and usher in a new era of history. They had done so much together, as a team, as family, as sisters. Without Stellara, little Taby that Wintermail used to rock to sleep in her cradle, there would have been neither defeat of Discord nor victory at the Battle for Equestria. The realm could have but one Queen; Stellara still deserved to share in her sister’s glory.

Standing before her throne, Wintermail turned around. Now facing the crowd and all those who’d helped her along the great journey, the white mare felt the immense gravity of the event. Delbedasir on the platform below awaited the prompt. His liege mouthed the word “begin”; the Librarian cleared his throat and summoned a vocal spell.

“We have gathered here for the coronation of a new Queen, the first such in over nine centuries. In accordance with the ancient custom of Equestria, I present Nikóleva Maiëlindirnasí Solárindilbainuir, named Wintermail in the Equestrian tongue. She is of royal blood and the Lords of the Realm have given their assent. Do they still?” he asked to the ponies near the front.

“We do,” all the Princes and Princesses and Kings and City-Lords said in unison, exuding their imperious dignity.

“People of the Realm, whom your Sovereign is to lead and protect, do you assent to the crowning of this mare?”

“We do,” came the vociferous cascade of a thousand ponies. Tales traveled quickly, and Wintermail was now a hero of theirs, one of the Twin Goddesses that might someday live on in myth.

Delbedasir then turned to his kin the alicorns, “Paina nor-Alícor Osademë, lís wasdárocilíma céba dhiëna roniltinodë Ferenimu?(Children of Fallen Alícor, do you assent to this mare becoming Queen?)”

“Wasdárociléda,(We do,)” the Triple-Kin replied, Cardúnón’s voice loudest of all.

“Then,” the Librarian said, taking a small goblet from a nearby retainer, “Does Nikóleva accept this responsibility?”

Nikóleva, after so long wandering and wondering, stood as tall her massive height would let her. Wings splayed and eyes filled with resolved, she replied proudly, “She does.”

“May she recite her vows.”

They’d been rehearsed many times, deeply ingrained in her memory. Nikóleva had even caught herself dreaming about saying them. Her heart beat quickly but she would not stutter or stammer. “I, Nikóleva, shall wear this crown and wield this scepter not for my own glory but that of the Realm and its People. I shall maintain the Law, dispense justice according to the traditions of our kind, and defend our frontiers from those who threaten our peace. I shall recognize and protect the ancient rights of ponies. I shall punish those who break the law in accordance with their crimes.

“I shall wear the sword and smite our foes, and I shall carry the cup and treat our friends. I shall honor and reward those who are loyal and faithful to me and the realm, as I ask to be honored and rewarded by those who serve me.

“I swear to this all in view of Ponies and God.” The sacred vow was made, and woe betide the one who broke such a hallowed oath.

Delbedasir dipped his hoof in the goblet, coating it in a small measure of blessed water. He then gently dabbed some on each of Nikóleva’s cheeks, and again on her forehead. “With the assent of the people and the providence above, you are hereby renewed and reborn as Queen. Please kneel that you may be crowned.” She obliged, resting on her knees and craning her neck. Delbedasir sparked his red magic and took the crown from the table.

Her heart kept pounding, her breaths shallow and quick; this was it. Delbedasir spoke once more, “By the Grace of the People of the Realm and Almighty God,” he placed the great ornament on her head and let her rise full and high, “You are crowned Celestia, of the House of Sun Flare, Queen of Equestria and the Alicorns, Wardeness of the Sun, Princess of Day, Defendress of All Ponykind.”

The Queen took her scepter and finally sat down on the throne. Delbedasir stepped down to the floor, “Long may you reign!” And the rest of the room repeated the benediction. And then it erupted into cheers and stamps, of a kind she’d never heard before. Emotion welled up, and she could only slightly tilt her head towards Stellara. Her blue sister smiled and stamped with the rest, tears streaming down her face. She was so proud of her older sister, of all they had done and was so touched that she meant enough to the new Queen to be allowed a spot beside her.

Trumpets blared and the cheers intensified. Henarion wiped tears from his good eye and cradled his family close. Cardúnón and his sister nodded in approval, their hard work having paid off. The Lords grinned wide, Brynhilda of Horsava even bellowing like she was in battle! The energy in that one… Even the Librarian couldn’t help but give in to the mirth.

Perhaps even the ghost of that great Prince Petrafyrm wept tears of joy from the back, his spirit finally able to rest.

Soon the crowd would be dismissed and the festivities outside could begin. They’d go long into the night, and certainly the Queen would have to receive hundreds of ponies during. But she’d take it all in stride, like she’d her new reign: one day at a time.

Tomorrow would be the start of something glorious, and she was excited. The new Queen didn’t quite know where to start, but she was surrounded by many smart ponies would could give her some nice ideas and advice.

At that moment she was the Sovereign of a vast realm, subject to none but God and justice. This was a new era, not simply for Equestria and its ponies, but for herself too. Nikóleva and later Wintermail had done great things, but their purpose was fulfilled; their time over. Now Queen Celestia ruled.

The many trial and tribulations, hardships and difficult decisions of being Queen were yet to pass; right now today was a good day. Indeed it was for one pony in the crowd. Standing at the back near the corner of the room stood a pale blue alicorn with a green mane. It smiled and nodded, watching the new Queen. When the doors were finally opened, it quietly slipped out. The alicorn mused on what good a simple suggestion could do. It’s mission was complete and a good rest at home was in order.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

No time to lose, then. While the Lords remained in the city, excited and enthused, Queen Celestia needed to strike while the iron was hot. Goodwill was a resource just the same as gold and land, and the white mare knew better than to let it slip away. A good splash, a strong first impression would do wonders. So the peers of the realm were called to her throne room.

Thus the Kingdom of Equestria was to be ordered, but in a slight and inoffensive manner—Celestia’s power was new and fragile; it needed to be cultivated and nurtured carefully. Six Princes, three Kings, and Four City-Lords stood around in a broad crescent, wondering what sort of schemes their new Queen had; she knew their suspicions, however small, were still real concerns to be maneuvered about.

Atop her golden throne, Celestia wore a more practical tiara, a gilded band with a center crest, decorated by an amethyst cut in into the six-pointed star. Gaze heavy and imperious, she found three young ponies and softened her countenance to a warm smile. “Cinnabar of Poneva, Caerulea of Fillydelphia, and White Bough of Detrot; come forward.”

Three unicorns answered. One was a small colt, cinnamon coat and cherry mane—very similar to his father. This was the young Cinnabar, now King of Poneva. Second a filly came, who unlike her father Prince Rufus’ hot colors wore a cool medium blue coat and purple mane. She was this Caerulea of the westernmost Princedom Fillydelphia. And finally White Bough, Wealthford’s younger brother who was just like him in every way except being clean-shaven and not so round.

Celestia waited a time before speaking, “My deepest condolences; your fathers and brother were some of the most noble and bravest ponies I’ve met. Eternal glory is theirs.” Cinnabar, the youngest, was visibly upset and wiping his eyes. Celestia’ heart felt pierce by a dagger, but she continued, “As Queen, it is my duty to appoint officers to govern the lands of the realm. But I’ve no intention of depriving grieving ponies of their birthrights.”

She motioned to Chancellor Logostus, now turned from managing a single Princedom to a whole kingdom. He levitated up three scrolls, which Celestia overtook. One was given to each of the three, “These are Royal Writs formally recognizing your rights to your respective thrones. As Queen I grant my blessing for all of your rules, and I pledge myself as your liege to aid should any claimants seek to overthrow you. A stern hope that such circumstances do not arise.”

The young new rulers bowed and returned to the line of Lords. Celestia cocked a very slight grin; she was proud of herself, for she had encouraged the loyalty of three small and easily-impressed ponies. Strategically important, too: one ruled a northern bulwark, the very boundary of Equestria proper, another a western outpost and a wide reach of fertile farmland, and the third a wealthy and important center for manufacture and transport. Well then.

Next Celestia found little Lord Vale standing precociously in a silk vest, small diadem, and red cloak. His mother Coruscina stood behind him. The Queen gently summoned the colt forward. “Your Majesty,” he said with his high-pitched voice and bowed in the most adorable fashion.

Celestia giggled, but then restored her regality, “Lord Vale, Princess-Mother Coruscina, the Royal Prerogative has assumed direct rulership of Canterlot and its attached lands; the Crown thanks you graciously for this. But as with our friends beyond, I’ve no desire to take your dignity or rights. I cannot return Canterlot, yet I offer the princedom of Trottingham to Lord Vale. And of course his mother has my blessing as Regent until he should come of age.

“Out of respect for your heritage and love for your father, I allow you, Lord Vale, to retain the title of Prince of Canterlot in addition to that of Trottingham.” The colt seemed stunned, but soon he grew a smile as wide as his entire head. He then stood tall and proud, trying to mimic the poses numerous statues around the castle made.

Both the new Prince and his mother bowed. Celestia then narrowed her eyes, “Although no sign of Noblesse Oblige has been found since he fled the battle last year, it can be assured that his former realm is still full with loyalist elements. You may settle into the city of Trottingham, but many further boroughs and counties will certainly give trouble. I myself will lead forces to help you pacify the region should you request my aid.”

“Peter would have been most pleased,” Coruscina said, causing the Queen to feel a twinge of bittersweetness. “And we may visit anytime?”

Celestia couldn’t hold back a light chuckle, “Of course, my Friend. Everypony in my realm is welcome to my court.”

After a final bow Prince Vale and Coruscina received a formal diploma and withdrew to their space with the others. And just like that, what had historically been the second-most powerful state in Equestria was conferred to a righteous and loyal party.

The Queen then stood, scepter beside her. She knocked it once, “I’ve no more honors or titles to grant to any existing vassal of the Crown, but I do wish to announce my new Law of Guarantee.” A few hushed whispers and groans came from the lords. Princesses Brynhilda and Nephele were the most suspicious. “Each of your estates has their own histories, traditions, customs, and laws. I will not, nor do I desire to, undo centuries of these cultures with the stroke of a pen. Indeed, I shall have my officers draft and copy a formal proclamation that your historic rights to judgement and lawmaking in your own lands be respected and upheld by my authority.”

Many of the Lords began to nod in approval, but Celestia reaffirmed herself, “However, as one realm we must all have our common ends. The pursuit of justice and prosperity are my main concerns, and I will create a forum for the establishment of common law. I ask all my vassals that they might attend a deliberative assembly, that our grievances and disputes can be resolved without the bloody business of war.”

Princess Nephele of Cloudsdale seemed to appreciate this idea very much, as did the City-Lords, always wary of their hungry neighbors. “The matters of taxes and tariffs are daunting and frankly fire up passions.” Celestia allowed the room the chance to softly laugh. “I hope our first such session can resolve some of these. I intend to hold these deliberations yearly or thereabouts. I do not wish to usurp your rights or offend your honor, and I hope very much this counsel can keep us civilized and productive, for the realm and its people.”

“Hear!” cried some of the Lords.

“Then you are all dismissed. Return to your homes as you like; may we enjoy this new peace and may it be long-lasting and bountiful!” And she knocked her scepter again. As the many Lords began to shuffle out, Celestia glanced at Lady Stellara, standing just beside the throne. The elder sister made a coy grin while the younger just rolled her eyes and smirked.

Several ponies remained in the throne room, and Celestia called two of them forward. Jasicus of the Mustangs and Shosanna of the Thestrals were ready. Now was the moment their efforts in helping the Equestrians would at last pay off, and all the hardships their kinds had faced would amount to something.

“Lord Chesikkeshi and Lady Xshutsanenah,” Celestia spoke. The two grew looks of mild shock; their names were often too strange and difficult for Easterners to pronounce correctly, and they were touched that the Queen had made the effort to do so. “Our bargain was struck when you turned from the Horde. The War is finished; your end was given, and now I give mine. There are lands between the states of Mareposa and Fillydelphia that are sparsely inhabited. They are filled with marshes and forests, and were ravaged during the War. If they cultivate the land and raise warriors for the crown, it shall be granted to the Prairiefolk. To their chieftain I then grant the title ‘Prince of the Mustangs’.”

After so long, after the stories his father told him and the vile deal struck with that lying serpent Discord, this beautiful white Queen at last gave him the one thing he always wanted. The mustangs now had a new home, a new place to belong. “A thousand blessings to you, my Liege,” he bowed, half-tempted to run and kiss her hooves. “I shall remove my people there at first light!”

The Queen smiled warmly back. “And to the Mountainfolk,” she began, causing the Thestral Chieftess to excitedly hover up into the air, “There is a broad mountainous plateau in the northern space of Canterlot’s lands. It is filled with caves and valleys, clear streams and good timber. And few ponies live in it. There I decree shall be where the bat-ponies settle, and you shall be ‘Princess of the Thestrals.”

Princess Shosanna grinned wide, her fangs bared for the world the see. She fled closer and performed a supreme gesture of thestral trust and friendship: she presented her head before the Queen. It was an odd custom, but thestrals held their persons as sacred and permitted only a select few to touch them. Celestia gently placed her forehoof on the mare’s dark mane, withdrawing once she made a short stroke. She wanted to giggle but maintained composure.

These two enemies-turned-friends received their diplomas and were escorted out, both eager to relocate to their new homes. And a reputation for sparing and rewarding enemies who surrendered and helped would carry Celestia far.

There was still a bit more to do, but Celestia was enjoying it so far. It was actually a little fun! “Cardúnón,” she announced. The green stallion perked up and left the company of his sister to answer his Queen’s call. “Despite our disagreements, your efforts in uniting our scattered people have been most appreciated. Some contend that the alicorn charge won that battle,” Celestia then glanced at Stellara, who had an eyebrow raised, “The historians will be debating it for centuries I’m sure, but nonetheless you command respect amongst our kin, and you have mine.”

Logostus was gestured to deliver another diploma. “Your dream was to see the alicorns grow and prosper once again. Very well; go north.” Cardúnón seemed puzzled; he opened the scroll. It was written in alicorn, gracefully and beautifully in the Queen’s own. He then looked back at her in astonishment. “You are now the Marquis of the North, my sworn defender of that frontier. Garrison it; let none pass our borders. Who better to protect us than the Triple-Kin of old?” The stallion smiled and craned his neck. Celestia resumed her regal gaze, “What’s more, since I am compelled to remain here in the Southlands for much of my time, I cannot often be present to rule our people. I am their Queen, but it would do to have a royal representative. Therefore you are also created my Viceroy of the Alicorns. And as a show of thanks for all you’ve done for myself and my sister, you and Rhílë are allowed to wear the Title of Prince and Princess of Equestria.”

The lavender mare trotted beside her brother and joined him in his bow. “We are very gracious, Your Majesty,” she confessed through a wavering voice. The siblings shared a proud and joyful look.

Cardúnón felt a deep sense of mirth, for at last what he longed for over the past decades came to pass. “I will rebuild the cities and the roads, restore the farms and pastures, and not let a single foe set foot upon your March!”

The Queen enjoyed the enthusiasm and gave with a wide smile. She nodded, “I cannot wait to see it!”

As the two siblings started discussing all their plans to beautify the edge of the Kingdom, Celestia faced her own sister. “Taberanyn, if you would please come before the throne,” she motioned forward with a hoof. Lady Stellara had no prior knowledge of this—would she be getting an honor? Should she be excited, or nervous? She settled on both.

Stellara stepped down the throne platforms and stood before the Queen, sword and axe girt at her waist. She already knew she’d inevitably serve as her sister’s Marshal, so what else did Celestia want? Standing all this time in the back, tall but very quiet, was Henarion. While Primrose and his son enjoyed their time in the city, the old alicorn thought he’d watch his niece’s first true day of court. Now it had become very interesting.

Small beads of sweat began to drip down Stellara’s temple; it had suddenly become very hot. “Taberanyn, my Sister, I could fill a book with all your qualities, all your deeds. Your patience, your love, your loyalty, your kindness…you were the other half in this grand adventure.” Celestia, for the first time, had to pause while speaking to maintain herself, “You are the other half of our triumph. You deserve this every bit as I do.”

Stellara wiped a tear, silently cursing at herself for such a breach of protocol. The Chancellor levitated up another one of those scrolls. “You, Taberanyn, shall therefore be assigned your proper titles: Wardeness of the Moon and Princess of Night. Will you also accept my offering to you of Marshal of Equestria? I want you to command my forces—you’d be much better at it than me.”

The blue mare trembled, and wanted to weep in joy. Taking in a deep breath, she finally answered “I do, Your Majesty.” Those dark feelings she had while lying awake in bed, that the older, prettier, stronger sister would overshadow her, vanished—of course Nikóleva would never forget!

“I want you to be my closest confidant, my most trusted friend, my most honest adviser, and my fiercest warrior.” Celestia leaned back and let Stellara speak her peace.

The younger alicorn thought, and then grew coy again, “Will I get my own castle?”

Celestia’s eyes were heavy, and for moment Stellara was afraid that she’d offended. But then the white mare’s face softened and she chuckled. Then she burst into a fit of laughter. It was contagious, and soon Stellara joined. Celestia curled her forehoof towards her, and Stellara stepped up the terraces. Older embraced younger, and the Queen kissed Stellara on the cheek. “Every princess gets a castle! We’ll have to meet with the architects to choose a suitable location.”

Stellara wondered where that would be. She was fond of that dark wood, the...Everfree! Would it allow her to build a castle there? She wondered. When the blue alicorn broke away, she got another idea. “Am I allowed my own regnal name, too? Like you, I want to evoke something different now.”

“Did you have any candidates?”

Stellara thought about herself, and the powers she had, her role and position in this new realm. She wanted something short, yet beautiful, easy to remember but still said a good bit. She then glanced at a nearby banner of the Kingdom and studied its symbolism. “Yes…yes! Luna! Call me Luna!”

And so Stellara Nightwrath stepped up that throne, and Princess Luna stepped down. She immediately found Cardúnón. She beamed towards him, and maybe later when she could have some leisure they’d go out into the garden and enjoy some time together. Then she realized with them both being the rank of Prince, a prospective marriage between them would be acceptable. Oh Luna figured she'd endure no shortage of torment from her sister for that! Foal steps, now.

Chancellor Logostus held one final scroll. Celestia called Henarion, her final recipient of honors for today. The stallion was smart enough to discern this. He answered with his same grim expression. “Uncle, you deserve much more that what I can give you. I could grant you land, money, warriors—but I know you better. You’re a simple stallion who grew up with little and wants for little. In fact I’m sure you have everything you do want.” Celestia paused, studying his face; it didn’t change much.

“But allow me at least to recognize you. None of this would have happened without you.” He moved to interrupt but the Queen did not stop, “I’ve said it before; it’s true. You raised us, you protected us, you taught us. You put up with our bad days and helped us through our worst. Even…when I left you still kept my sister safe. And even when you were long released from this duty, when you had your own family to care for, you still braved the treacherous journey west. You fought against Discord, you fought against dragons and the like, and you rose us up when we doubted ourselves.

“You never faltered nor reneged on your vows. You are as unshaking as a rock, and the world owes you a debt.” Celestia rose from her throne and stepped down to the floor. She met her uncle face to face, “I want to make you a Prince of Equestria.”

Henarion chuckled, “I ain’t gotta wear a crown, do I?”

Celestia brought him close, “Maybe for ceremonies.” She released him and regained her majestas, “Also, as you are a descendant of its last incarnation, I think it only proper that you be given a place on my new Royal Guard.”

But Henarion’s face fell and he stirred, “I’m a bit old for that, ain’t I? I’d actually just like to go back to my farm—haven’t had a chance for a while.”

Celestia was disappointed, but smiled in understanding, “Certainly. Even a ceremonial position? You’d only have to come see me every so often.”

“Well…I was planning on doing that anyway so, why not?” He then gently bowed, “Thank you, Nikól. But now I’m going to have to explain why I am a Prince but Eldowas can’t be a knight!”

“Tell him when he can fly I’ll see what I can do.” The two hugged a second time, and then Henarion returned to the middle of the chamber.

So that was finished. Celestia now had to meet with her ministers about whatever else needed sorting out. But she saw the longing face on “Princess Luna”; she seemed agitated, and the white alicorn couldn’t suppress a giggle. “Lovely day, isn’t it? Think I did all right with the Sun, hm?”

“A good breeze, one perfect for a nice flight.” Luna answered.

Celestia made the connection pretty easily, “Go. You’re dismissed for the rest of the day. Have fun with…him.”

Luna’s face lit up, “We might go for a nice meal; would the Queen like to join?”

“The Queen is busy. It’s fine; go.”

That was all the permission she needed. Luna practically leapt from her spot and glided over to Cardúnón. The pair were soon joined by Rhílë and Henarion, all walking out to spend some time in a pretty summer day. Maybe they’d get one of those icy confections made from snow, or enjoy a nice dip in the cool river in the valley below. It all seemed so inviting.

Celestia grinned until the oak doors slammed shut. Then she returned to her throne, somewhat disappointed she couldn’t join. But, there was work to be done, over nine centuries’ worth. Before some of her ministers entered with papers and summons and other matters of state, she spared a final look out the window. The clear blue sky and warm sunshine filled her with hope and determination.

The future was bright and full of promise. The reign of Celestia would by her will be remembered for peace, justice, and plenty. High hopes indeed, but her fire burned strong and she was ready. Time to get to work.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

“And that, my dear Twilight, is how Equestria was truly made. Honestly, the nonsense some ponies spout…” Celestia groaned, stirring in some sugar into her teacup before removing the spoon.

Twilight giggled as she wrote out the final bits in her book. The inked pages had grown very thick by now; nearly half the tome. But Twilight was nothing if not thorough, and Princess Celestia certainly enjoyed painting a vivid picture of her life. But as she let the ink dry, Twilight Sparkle had a puzzling thought: Princess Celestia, right? That’s how she’d been referred to for the violet mare’s entire life, and surely before.

“’Queen’, correct?” Twilight asked. Celestia raised an eyebrow and sipped her tea. “You were crowned Queen of Equestria. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you called that. Care to explain?” Twilight had crossed her forelegs for effect.

“Oh yes, that!” Celestia brought a hoof to her chin, “Let me see…if I remember, a famous Equestrian jurist by the name of Habeas Corpus summed it up rather nicely. ‘The Monarchy of Equestria is ruled by Celestia, who is Queen by title, Princess by habit, and Empress by dignity.’”

“And what motivated that choice?” Twilight narrowed her eyes at her mentor, “Were you trying to seem younger?”

The two then shared laugh. “No, not at all!” confessed Celestia, whose face then darkened just the slightest bit, “It was…a courtesy.”

“What do you mean? Is there a story attached!?” the purple alicorn blurted out, practically bounding up and down like a filly.

“There is…but haven’t you had enough stories? We’ve reached the end, Twilight.” Celestia frowned.

“’End’? No! There is still so much unresolved! Such as what became of all your old friends, and how did you centralize your kingdom? And what happened to Sombra after he escaped!” Twilight’s enthusiasm calmed down, “And how…Nightmare Moon came to be.”

A dull ache snared Celestia’s heart, but she held herself steady and stoic, “How far do you want me to go? I could tell you my life up until yesterday morning.”

“Not that far, Princess. But I know the history after Nightmare Moon was banished; if you want…I’d like to hear it up until that point.”

Celestia’s face then grew very dark, but with no hint of anger or malice. She turned to the fire and brought her drink forward with magic. The crackling, rising orange flames gave her comfort, a small warmth against an encroaching chill. “Very well.” Before Twilight could grin and become excited for more stories, Celestia’s aura stilled her student, “But I should like you to heed this warning; what you wish to hear is not nearly so long or complex as what I told you earlier." Twilight seemed almost disappointed. "It is, however, more difficult for me to recount. Do not shy from knowledge because it may frighten you, but also be aware of the dark truths in our world.”

Celestia turned back to Twilight, who seemed mildly perturbed. “Yes, Princess. But I endeavored to record your life, and that will not be complete until you finish your story.”

The white alicorn was proud of her Most Faithful Student’s mettle and determination. “All right. But there are things I wish to show you, so you can understand. So therefore I think we’ll be taking a…what do they call them—yes, a field trip.”

Twilight yawned and closed her book and gathered her things, “I cannot wait, Princess. That best-seller is closer and closer each day!”

Celestia let out a playful groan and rolled her eyes. “Eat a good breakfast; I want to leave no later than eight o’clock.”

Twilight, all packed up, approached her mentor and gently nuzzled into her, to which Celestia reciprocated. Then the violet alicorn left the “Queen’s” chamber and navigated by the dimly-lit corridors back to her guest room.

She was a sweet and gentle mare, with all her flaws and quirks yes, but good all the same. Twilight was also thirsty for learning, and no matter what would have agreed to hear a good story, regardless of what dark and difficult things it told. Celestia’s stiffened her lip; it was important that both share in the tale—Celestia had borne it alone for too long now.

The alicorn shook her head; Twilight was a strong pony, she’d do fine.

A nagging presence beat at Celestia. It had been for a while, and she finally decided to do something about it. “You can come out now,” she called.

A flash of blue magic appeared beside Celestia in her room, and soon a shorter, much bluer mare stood. The elder sister smirked, “You know you can’t hide from me. Your aura is as bright as your Moon.”

But Princess Luna wasn’t here for banter, “Are you certain you wish to go through with this? I know Twilight is relentless when she has her interest piqued, but…doubtlessly you would only darken her world…”

Celestia watched her sister’s face, her own twisted in a bittersweet grin. “Do you remember what Uncle once said? ‘I ain’t never heard a truth that was kind’,” the elder said, trying her best to imitate the rough northern accent of the long-deceased Henarion.

Luna giggled before returning to her brood, “Most days I do. How will you paint your retelling? Will I be the villain?” Luna then thought more and frowned, “Don’t make yourself the villain.”

The Queen sighed heavy, “I shall tell the truth, and posterity will decide.” Celestia brought a hoof under her sister’s chin, “But why worry about that now? Perhaps a snack is in order?”

The two began channeling magic into their horns, readying for a teleport. “I have been feeling a bit famished. A break from court might serve me well,” confessed Luna.

“Do you have a preference?”

“Hmm…you know, I have been interested in trying what they call a ‘cheesecake’.”

Princess Celestia immediately liked the suggestion, “I know just the place!” And in a flash of blue and yellow the Royal Sisters vanished to some poor shop that would have to satisfy the hunger of two very large fully-grown alicorns.

But it’d be a nice comfort before the morning came. Then, Celestia would once again be brought to terms with her long life. Winning and building a kingdom had proven to be a task she enjoyed and became rather adept at. It was the little things, as Discord once cruelly said, that had been Celestia’s bane.

The little ways a pony can hurt another.

But that was for tomorrow to worry about. Celestia sighed and decided to lay back and enjoy the night with her dearest sister. Yes…it would do her some good to not stress the future for a moment; and perhaps a second helping would so as well.

End of "The Twin Goddesses"

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 2. The Royal Sisters

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 2. The Royal Sisters

“Now,” began a tall beige stallion with a long and frankly unkempt beard sprouting from his chin, the sound of his chalk clacking on the blackboard, “Each of the three pony races possesses an inherent measure of magic. This all manifests in different ways.”

A wide-eyed navy blue mare sat in one of the classroom chairs, eagerly hanging onto every word the Librarian said, absolutely enthralled to discover the mysteries of the world. He drew up a few symbols: three circles in a row. Unicorn was a circle with a line drawn from the top, pegasus with two smaller circles on either side, and earth pony a horizontal line intersecting with the bottom of the circle.

Taberanyn’s reading had gotten considerably better in the past couple months, and Delbedasir felt more comfortable lecturing her with written words, but pictorial aids were useful as well. The ancient alicorn actually rather liked Taby, always coming into class with an infectious willingness to learn; a refreshingly far cry from her stubborn sister.

“Unicorn magic is most visible, as it is ‘externally manipulative’,” he wrote the term on the board. Taberanyn was immediately confused and raised a hoof. Delbedasir indulged her, “It means its effects are cast onto objects apart from the user. Pegasi and Earth ponies possess “internally manipulative” magic. Pegasi can of course fly, walk on clouds, and influence weather systems. Earth ponies’ talent is in physical fortitude, and closeness with the Earth. These qualities however cannot be imparted onto other objects or individuals; only the user.

He wrote more material on the board, neatly arranged in columns. “What makes alicorns so special,” he punctuated his speech with closed eyes, “Is that we are essentially an amalgam of all three. Earth pony and pegasus magic come naturally to individuals capable of their utilization, but unicorn casting is something that must be learned through study instead of experience.”

He levitated up a brush and wiped down the board, “Now we will learn about ‘enchantments’. There are three categories of magic influence: channeling, enchanting, and infusing. Channeling is the method with which one controls an object remotely, as if one were actually holding it. This is a simple operation that most unicorns learn at a young age. More advanced techniques can increase the capabilities of objects and their users, and this is often done with weapons and tools.

“Infusing is of little interest to us, as it is an incredibly difficult and arcane process that one must truly labor at. Enchanting is the basic imparting of spells, willed instructions for magic, that are placed on an object.” He stepped over to Taberanyn, and eyed her small piece of chalk.

“Look at the chalk, visualize in your mind’s eye writing your name. Focus on making that chalk do that. Don’t levitate it, instead tell it to.”

Taberanyn closed her eyes and followed the Librarian’s instructions. She got a small strain in her forehead, but felt the magic tingling in her horn. She played a mentally-created scene of the chalk writing her name a dozen times, and after what seemed like forever finally imparted that vision onto the chalk.

It took a moment, but that white rock soon sprung to life and sloppily clacked onto her board and scrawled out poorly-written letters that when you looked at it correctly might have spelled “Taberanyn”. But the blue pony’s face lit up, and she grinned as wide as any foal ever could. She looked down at the slate, then back at the Librarian, then at the slate again.

She turned herself towards Nikóleva, who was standing in the corner lazily sifting through some books. “I did it! Nikól, look! I did it!” Taby shouted, almost jumping from her chair. Her sister moved her eyes from the page and saw the barely-legible scratch on the slate. Nikóleva presented a warm smile before returning to her studying.

Taberanyn’s toothy grin didn’t subside, and she immediately wiped down her board to attempt again. The Librarian quietly placed a hoof over his mouth; he couldn’t have been prouder—she was actually repeating the exercise without further instruction! The white sister would have dug her heels in and insisted she didn’t need practice.

The blue alicorn must have repeated the spell ten times; each instance she was able to focus a little better. What Nikóleva failed to understand is that writing her name perfectly wasn’t the point of the lesson. Delbedasir inspected Taberanyn’s technique and form, “Excellent. Your mind is like any other part of your body, and it must be trained; once you can visualize this in your mind, it will be far easier to imagine other, more complex things.”

The Librarian wrote out a few more things on the board for Taby to mimic via enchanted chalk, and left her to the exercises. He was about to move over to his desk to catch up on some of his backlogged work when he caught the title of Nikóleva’s book.

The Arcane Magicks

This was a very old tome, and of course Nikóleva managed to get her hooves on it and get ideas in her head. The Librarian silently cursed the Prince’s order to allow her full access to the library’s collection.

“Delbedasir,” Nikóleva spoke up, startling the beige stallion and interrupting his retreat, “What is ‘Alicorn Magic’?”

The Librarian’s eyes widened, and he immediately snatched the tome from her magical aura. “There’s nothing in this book about such a thing!”

Nikóleva furrowed her brow, “Not much, no, but just a paragraph. It mentioned an ancient form of magic, but the author knew very little. Is there a book on it elsewhere in the library?”

“’Alicorn Magic’?” now Taberanyn perked up, distracted once again by her indolent sister.

The Librarian groaned loudly, “You don’t need to be snooping around over that.”

“Why? Because it’s related to dark magic? I know the Prince says that’s forbidden, but shouldn’t we know something about it, just in case—“

“There is no such thing as dark or black magic,” Delbedasir intoned, his voice cold and stern, “Magic has no morality; it is a force, not an entity. But what you’ve read about…it’s very dangerous; stay away!”

Nikóleva became indignant, and stomped a hoof. “You told me there’d be no more half-truths, lies or riddles. I was placed here to unlock and hone my abilities, and I do not appreciate knowledge being censored like this.”

Lórian above, this mare… The Librarian sneered and flashed his horn, so much his eyes began to glow. “Very well,” he said with what sounded like a harmony of several other voices. Moments later a bolt of magic shot itself into Nikóleva’s forehead.

She was confused, and regained her composure shortly afterwards. She looked at the stiff-faced Librarian and frowned, “What was that supposed—“ Then like a crack of lightning a burning, agonizing sensation drilled into her head. She collapsed to her knees and cringed, suppressing the urge to wail in pain. Her eyes began to glow a sickly green, and a trail of purple haze drifted from them. But even though she felt like a thousand needles were being pounded into her skull, through her horn she felt the strongest surge of power in her life.

Clasping her hooves to her temples, the white mare began to shriek, ready to unleash the tremendous store of magical power in her body. Taberanyn recoiled in horror, desperately seeking a way to stop her sister’s suffering.

“Nikól…,” she muttered before sharing a glance at the Librarian. He flashed his horn and sent another bolt at Nikóleva, but this one instead dissipated the green and purple glow instantly.

She viciously fought the urge to vomit, heaving a while and drying her eyes. Her legs wobbled, and with great struggle the mare managed to stand once more. She still felt the chills, and eyed the Librarian as viciously as she could in her greatly disoriented state. “What…what did you do?” she demanded, her voice shaking and exasperated.

Delbedasir replied, but not in any sort of mocking or smug way; with solemn, even dour, composure, “I induced your strongest ability.” He levitated up a small pitcher on a nearby table and poured a cup of water. He passed it to Nikóleva, who downed it in less than a second. “That is what it feels like to wield ‘dark’ magic. You do not draw the power from your own stores, but rather from the cosmic energy that permeates creation itself. Such magic is the purest might any mortal can wield.”

He stepped forward and brought a hoof under her chin. Inspecting her eyes, he poured another measure for the mare. “’Alicorn Magic’ is misleading; any living creature has the ability to summon this power, but we alicorns have a greatly-increased resistance to its effects. We can recover from its use far quicker, and withstand the awesome agony it causes far easier than any other race.”

Delbedasir poured yet a third glass, and after Nikóleva downed it she seemed to be a little bit better. He then turned to face Taberanyn, “With this power, one can do things beyond imagination: manipulate life and death, and violate the natural laws. But it takes a grave toll.” His stare went back to the white pony, who looked as humbled as any creature ever was.

“Had you been Tulicë, that small exposure would quite possibly have killed you.” Delbedasir magically enveloped The Arcane Magicks and gave it back to Nikóleva, “But, if you must pursue these studies, you need to strengthen your body and mind. The strain is immense, and one must master their own inherent magic first.”

The Librarian trotted towards his desk, and cleared his throat, “Which is why you both need to practice your exercises!” He sat down and opened up a ledger, “That’ll be all for today. Wonderful progress, by the way, Taberanyn.”

The blue alicorn smile and bowed her head, “Thank you, my Lord.” She rose from her seat and walked over to her sister, “Are you all right?”

Nikóleva took a moment, the last vestiges of disorientation fading away, “I’ll be fine.” In fact, once she had her bearings, she could no longer feel that splitting headache or the blood throbbing in her face. But that experience was something she’d probably be fine never having again.

The two mares gathered up their things and placed them inside their respective saddlebags. Nikóleva was first to reach the door, opening it and allowing her sister through. Next for their day was their sparring lesson with Swordmaster Bretteur.

A short trip through the halls of the castle, and they arrived at one of the open-air galleries. In summer there’d be lovely breezes, and the two alicorns would be able to enjoy an ice-cooled drink and some small sweets in their leisure times. Nikóleva had done a bit of that in the season when she wasn’t drilling troops or leading sorties.

But now, during this time of year, it was cold. It had been a long time since Nikóleva traversed the frigid lands of her birthplace, and frankly she’d gotten soft in this regard. Their teacher said the winter chill was bracing, and kept one alert. He had all the furniture shoved off to side for maximum space in the room, and forbade a fire from being lit in the hearth on one of the walls.

The two shivered, the chilling northern winds blowing in from the balcony. “Ah! Good to see you again! Let us waste no time,” the dull brown earth pony commanded, gesturing to the two wooden swords resting on a rack. A rather cruel gust blew in, freezing the alicorns in place like statues. Puffs of hot breath dispersed in the air, and Nikóleva glared at her instructor.

“Don’t worry; you’ll feel warmer once you start moving. Taby, I hope you’ve been practicing your forms,” he smiled.

The midnight mare returned a grin and nodded, immediately taking her neutral stance, “Of course, Master.”

The lesson commenced from there, and Bretteur was relentless in both criticism and coaching, making sure their stances and forms were perfect. Nikóleva had learned quite well, and adopted a particular style of dueling.

The alabaster alicorn took a liking to a fighting style that blended technique and power, creating a blindingly quick and forceful method. As Bretteur sparred with both, he found the most difficulty with Nikóleva. She was incredibly strong, built up by birth and habit, and she tended to get carried away when doing well.

Taberanyn was a joy to work with however. Very receptive and always interested in improving, she worked hard in her leisure time to master the forms. She could block and redirect any move he made at the respectable pace. Against a diamond dog or freshly-trained soldier she’d be able to hold her own. She lacked the power of her sister, though, but that would come in time.

The blue pony had been working so hard in fact, she flew out of the balcony to cool off in the winter air. Bretteur admired her graceful flight, and wished he too could fly; there were so many more things to learn in dueling when one could maneuver about all three axes.

He thought he might bring this up to the Prince once they’d mastered the more traditional style.

After an hour, Taberanyn performed a wonderful parry and riposte, and landed a “fatal” strike on Bretteur. Excited and proud, she requested that she and her sister duel.

Bretteur shook his head, “She’s further in her lessons than you.”

Taberanyn didn’t care, and insisted. “If you’re sure…,” he resigned, and stepped back to the wall and observed the two cross wooden blades.

They began with their weapons held in a magic embrace, angled slightly upwards. As Taberanyn sidestepped to the right, Nikóleva reciprocated the action, keeping her distance and waiting patiently for the right moment. The blue sister narrowed her gaze and thrust the rounded blade towards Nikóleva, but was instantly stopped by an agile block.

Nikóleva’s blade slid down Taby’s and hit the crossguard. The younger alicorn skillfully spun around, taking the blade with her foreleg and tried to strike Nikól from the side, but naturally the taller one caught it with a close guard. Taberanyn bared her teeth and retracted to execute a high strike. Again the sword met Nikóleva’s, but this time she rapidly glanced off the blow with a hanging guard and gracefully struck with a transverse swing.

Taberanyn felt a sharp smack on her shoulder. “Fatal hit,” Bretteur announced. Taberanyn snorted and raised her blade for the second round. Once more the sisters crossed weapons and readied into their stances.

Yet this time Nikóleva was first to strike, and she opted for the high blow, coming down from above. This left the wielder open to a forward thrust, but the white mare’s moves were so quick Taby couldn’t hope to utilize that narrow window. She did however manage to catch the blade in her crossguard, but the older sister took the wooden prop in her forelegs and pushed down with far more force than probably was acceptable in a sparring duel.

Nikóleva broke Taberanyn’s grasp, and shoved her to the floor. Bretteur’s face became very displeased, and he motioned to act. But the blue pony magically retrieved her blade and again blocked Nikóleva’s strike; just barely. Taberanyn pulled back her hind legs and bucked her sister off, then leapt forward to land a forceful stab.

Agile Nikóleva made a magnificent roll, dodging the attack with a poise uncommon for such a large pony. Her sword swatted Taberanyn in the back, and she fell to the ground defeated for a second time.

“Fatal hit,” the Swordmaster spoke again, but then glared at Nikóleva, “We are sparring. You acted like you actually wanted to injure her!”

The two didn’t hear him though. Too enraptured with energy and determination, the two prepared to begin the third set. Taberanyn wobbled up to her hooves, and Nikóleva rubbed her bruised belly for a moment. Then their faces became deadly serious, and both galloped towards one another with fervor and passion reserved for the battlefield.

But Nikóleva used a truly treacherous tactic; she lowered her blade and instead rammed into her sister. Her massive weight and strength flung Taby across the floor, and Nikóleva readied her blade for the killing blow. Shaking herself from her daze, Taberanyn crept low and stuck out her legs to trip her running sister, gathering her blade to hit the downed alicorn. Nikóleva proved too quick, and rose up as soon as she fell.

Taberanyn prepared a hanging guard, but Nikóleva punched with her forehoof and split the wood in half, knocking it from her sister’s embrace. A magic aura took hold of her sword, and Nikóleva swung down to “finish” Taberanyn.

It was stopped immediately, and Nikóleva was so shocked she was no longer channeling her great strength into the attack. “That is enough,” Bretteur intoned, voice dripping with contempt, “This was a sparring match; you both express poor etiquette. Especially you, Nikóleva.”

Remembering where she was and whom she’d been fighting with, her ears dropped and she hung her head low in shame. She took her sister’s hoof and pulled her back to her feet. Nikóleva inspected her baby sister for any serious injuries; none she could find.

“Are you alright?!” the white mare asked, bursting with remorse and worry, “I’m sorry…” She had almost felt like she’d been in the field, fighting with shouts and blood gushing from cleaved bodies…she had lost control. This was not something that should have ever happened with her sister.

Taberanyn dusted herself off and glared at her sister. A moment later the scowl faded to a warm smile, “Of course! That was great fun! It reminded me of when we wrestled as fillies!”

Nikóleva responded with a slowly-growing smile, “I remember you would ram your hooves into my knees when I pinned you. One time they became so swollen I could not walk right for a week.” The two sisters laughed together, and placed a foreleg around each other.

Bretteur shook his head, and placed the one good sparring sword back on the rack, “Dismissed. Be sure to practice your forms.”

The two sisters left the training studio, and resumed their sojourn through the castle. They engaged in simple chit-chat as they moved down the hall, and laughed occasionally. Nikóleva lightly hit her sister’s shoulder with a hoof, “I never thought you’d be so tough.”

Taberanyn silently fought the aching urge to rub her shoulder; she probably had a lingering bruise, “We’re alicorns, remember; it’s in our blood. You weren’t half bad yourself, Sister. One day I’ll best you!”

Nikóleva rolled her eyes at Taby’s sudden bravado. “Only if ‘you practice your forms’,” the white pony teased, mocking their swordmaster’s voice and intonation.

The blue pony cracked a slight smile, and turned her eyes back to the hallway, trying her best to ignore her aches. Tomorrow no doubt there’d be welts on her; a hot bath should clear that up well enough. Though…sparring against her sister proved to have been a foalish enterprise; Nikóleva had spent thirty years honing her body, and still trained further in the guard. Taberanyn had managed to injure her sister in their duel, but nothing seemed to slow her down.

And when Nikóleva held her down on the floor…little Taby felt so helpless…there was nothing she could do.

Taberanyn banished those thoughts, and remembered what a blessing it was to have her sister back in her life. Besides, there’d be plenty more time to beat her in a competition...she’d just train more intensely and frequently. Nikóleva couldn’t be the best at everything, right?

The pair passed by some members of the Guard, who stood at attention for their Knight Commander. Nikóleva flared her magic and opened the double doors leading out into the snow-frosted courtyard. The sky was clear and sunny, and frankly it was a bit bright. Squinting, Nikóleva felt a frigid gust blow through her pink mane. She stopped and sat down on her haunches for a moment, bringing her forehooves up to her mouth to warm with a hot wisp of breath.

“What’s next?” Taberanyn asked, levitating out a dark cloak from her saddlebag. Donning it made her feel so much warmer.

“Soon I’ll have to go to the mustering yard to drill my soldiers,” Nikóleva replied, standing back up, “I’ll first have to stop at the barracks for my armor.”

Taby placed a hoof under her chin and thought a moment, “Before you do, though, how about a little fun?”

Nikóleva raised an eyebrow, and watched her sister spread out her brilliant blue wings. She leapt up into the air and effortlessly soared to the top of the outer castle wall. “A race! Around the city, down the trail of the waterfall, up the mountain and back here.”

The snow-white alicorn met her sister at the wall and looked at the prospective course. Nikóleva then backed up and stretched out her legs and back, unfurling her giant wingspan in all its blindingly-white glory.

Hearing a few satisfying “pops”, Nikóleva turned her attention to Taberanyn and grinned, “You’re on.”

Before anypony even said “go”, the midnight alicorn catapulted herself off the wall, rapidly shrinking in size before Nikóleva’s eyes.

“Oh no you don’t!” the alabaster mare shouted as she careened into the air. She darted to the outer city wall and spotted the blue speck of her sister, far ahead—winning! Nikóleva poured all her strength into her wings, and sped along the length of the chalked stone fortification. Taberanyn became ever closer, and as the chilly air stung Nikól’s face and burned her throat she kept going, never letting up.

Taby looked back, and doubled her efforts, diving almost instantaneously down the length of the waterfalls. Nikóleva’s eyes bulged; her sister was a lunatic, practically falling down to the valley floor a thousand feet below. Taby flew just a foreleg’s length away from the falls, and used her wings to spray her chasing sister with absolutely frigid water.

A sharp tingling shocked through Nikóleva’s body, and she felt her heart leap in her chest. “That’s…ch-ch-cheating!” she yelped, shivering as the tiny drops of water froze on her fur. But a burning resolve erupted inside, and she fought through the icy mantle as she had so many others. Straining her wings to their limit, Nikóleva trailed Taberanyn closer every second. The next maneuver was exhilarating; a perfect right-angle course correction along the length of the valley river. The blue flier managed it flawlessly, and she taunted back, expecting her sister to careen into the chilling drink.

“Did you think it would be that easy? I’ll bring you a towel—,” her voice went dead when Nikóleva mimicked her sister’s correction, and the river’s water splashed behind the white blur barreling towards Taberanyn. Turning her attention to the race course, the younger alicorn weaved through the small riverside village, wind lancing through her periwinkle mane. Some poor ponies dove into their homes and ducked down to avoid the two as they orchestrated an elegant dance around each home at stupefying speed.

Nikóleva closed within twenty feet, but Taberanyn flapped her blue wings forcefully and shot forward. Their course then turned off over the river and through the naked woods at the base of the mountain before leading up to the sheer cliffs.

Taby was starting to feel the burning in her throat from the winter air, but still pressed on—she had to win! Again she made a drastic turn and soared up the mountainside, dodging the jagged rock outcroppings that littered its face.

But Nikóleva was watching and summoned her inner spark, that inherent pegasus magic that gave her the liberating ability to fly. It charged her wings, and she felt even lighter. Every pegasus and alicorn could do this instinctively, but Nikóleva knew how to give it an…extra push. Her lungs felt like they were being pricked by needles, and her heart wanted to burst from her chest, but she ascended ever further up the mountain.

And before she could process it, the white alicorn was atop the walls of Canterlot, on a straight path to the castle courtyard. She quickly found the spot where they’d begun and slammed down onto the stone walkway. A loud “crack” echoed from the yard and a flurry of powdered snow blew from the impact zone. When it had cleared, Nikóleva heaved and held her head down to abate the feeling of nausea, and looked down to see that she had actually split the pavement!

“I should…be…more careful…” she muttered in between gasps. She looked around the area for a moment and scrunched her face; where was her sister? The realization came a moment later and her face lit up.

Then, a blue pony came from atop the castle wall, sluggish and moving erratically. Hovering just above the stone, she gave out and fell to her knees, her legs almost numb. All her blood had drained from her face, and she felt like she could not breathe. Nikóleva’s jubilation immediately disappeared and she rushed over to support her sister with her long neck.

Taberanyn’s stomach burned, and she finally gave in to her exhaustion. Falling backwards onto the snow, she shut her eyes and sighed when her breathing returned to a semblance of normalcy.

“You…you…win,” she struggled through labored breaths.

Nikóleva gathered a cluster of snow and magically melted it into water, and placed it before her sister’s mouth. The younger alicorn slurped it up quickly and then slowly returned to her hooves. Taberanyn then nodded and drank another floating orb of water.

The alabaster alicorn patted her baby sister on the back, “You almost got the better of me with your tricks; almost.

Taby’s wheezing had stopped, and her light-headedness was just about gone. Still panting, she gave Nikól a sly little grin. Jerking her head to the side, the blue pony led the other to the gate, in the general direction of the barracks.

A voice called out behind them just as they reached the gatehouse. The pair looked back and saw a earth pony courtier galloping forward. He was a minty green, and wore a courtier’s vest, Canterlot’s coat-of-arms sewn into the breast. Atop his head was that silly little felt cap, and he carried saddlebags filled with what were assumed to be dispatches from various ponies throughout the castle.

Nikóleva recognized him; what was his name…Parcel Express? Something odd like that. She stood tall and confident, as Knights ought to. “Dame Wintermail!” he shouted, “Forgive this disturbance, but his Princeship has requested your and your sister’s prompt attendance to his council chamber. I was actually on my way to the mustering—“ he caught sight of the gaping crack in the stone floor. “What happened here?” he asked with a look of slight horror.

“A bit of fun that became too reckless, good pony,” Nikóleva declared, then glanced to her sister, “We’d best not keep his Highness waiting.”

The courtier then ran off again, out the castle gate. Nikóleva and Taberanyn turned back around and headed once more into the place they’d just left. Nikól groan quietly; why couldn’t the Prince have decided he’d want her to attend earlier, when she’d have been easier to find and more able to prepare. Her pink mane was wind-swept and messy, and she was still covered in a few crusts of ice.

Ah! He’d get over it.

Taberanyn meanwhile passed the short walk a little differently, playing their race over in her mind. She’d pushed herself to the limit, and still felt a raw soreness in her wings. Taby had even used a few…underhooved tactics to give her a step up—all in the name of sisterly fun, of course! Yet it didn’t seem to matter.

A gentle nudge from Nikóleva brought her back, and Taby followed the older mare into the opened doors of the Council Chamber. It was a rectangular room, the walls on either side of the pair adorned with arches and bright windows. Two chandeliers hung down from the ceiling, and brass poles jutted from the arch columns. From the poles draped the Prince’s personal banners: an azure chevron on a field of argent, decorated by a six-pointed purple star, and outlined with delicate gold trimming.

In the center of the room sat a long table, elegantly decorated with a highly-detailed map of Equestria, Canterlot itself marked in bold red ink. All along the sides of the table were chairs, housing members of the Prince’s trusted advisory, and at the far end was an elaborately carved chair.

Sitting in it was the Prince, dressed in his embroidered vest and red velvet cloak. His spired crown however was sitting on the table just by his right hoof. “Dame Wintermail,” he spoke in his kind voice, “And Taberanyn, I am so pleased you’ve joined us today. Sit; we have very important matters to discuss.”

The two did as they were told, choosing seats across from one another. Nikóleva sat next to the Librarian; he made the most annoying old-pony groans and grumbles. Taby was fortunate, and sat next to the Captain of the Canterlot Guard, a dull yellow unicorn mare who wore a number of scars on her face. The Captain gave Taby a friendly smile, and courteously shifted her unequipped warhelm away from Taberanyn’s tablespace, in the high-unlikely event that she’d have to use it.

The Captain was technically her sister’s superior, and Taby couldn’t help by grin when the mare glared at Nikóleva for something.

Marshal Helmraed and Chancellor Logostus sat on either side of the Prince, and both patiently awaited their sovereign’s words. The Prince leaned back in his chair, and magically moved a few of the abstract wooden figurines on the table map.

They were put on a place designated “Diamond Dog Country”. “It would appear our gambit has worked frightfully well,” Prince Petrafyrm started, moving some light-blue colored figurines onto Canterlot, “Our scouts have reported that the western dog clans have elected a leader of their own, and are gathering their strength. It’s clear they took my warning as a challenge, and will most probably march on us come spring.”

“That is actually what I wished to discuss with you, my Lord,” Helmraed spoke up, producing a folded letter and sliding in to the Prince. Magically the Sovereign took it up and read it, then set it down and furrowed his brow.

“I’d never thought they’d be this bold,” he finally said.

“Their new leader seems to be confident and daring; agents we have in their camps have told us they intend to march in the next few weeks, and before winter’s end we’ll have to deal with them,” Helmraed announced. The pegasus then outstretched a wing and placed another figurine on a western part of Equestria, “I believe they’ve become emboldened by what happened in Mareposa at the end of autumn.”

“And what would that be?” Nikóleva asked, staring intently at the map.

“The unthinkable: Mareposa has fallen to a horde of Mustangs and Minotaurs,” the Prince intoned gravely, “Thousands were killed in the siege, many thousands more in the weeks afterwards. I had only received this news a few days ago.”

Nikóleva felt her heart plummet into her stomach. “How many attacked?” she inquired in a perturbed whisper.

“Easily tens of thousands. They’ve decided to winter in Mareposa, but I cannot say when they will march again, or to where,” the Prince’s demeanor grew stern and resolute, “I would conjecture that the wealthy cities of eastern Equestria would probably be their best target. There are many prime places to plunder between Mareposa and here; we are blessed with such a long time to prepare.” The Prince turned his gaze to the dark blue pegasus, “Marshal Helmraed! How many soldiers can Canterlot muster?”

“With our last census I would estimate roughly five-thousand citizens may be levied, added to two-thousand Knights.”

“And the Canterlot Guard can field one-thousand of the finest soldiers in Equestria,” the Guard Captain interjected.

“Of course, Captain. But that leaves eight-thousand to the Prince’s banners, and most would be green and poorly armed,” the Marshal continued.

The Prince sat for a moment with his hoof under his chin, “Enough, though, to fight the dogs. We’ll have to prepare; gather supplies for fighting in the cold and snow. We must destroy the Diamond Dogs as an organized threat, before they join with the horde out west. Marshal Helmraed, call the banners.”

“Right away, your highness,” the Marshal nodded.

“But…my Lord, what shall we do about the minotaurs and mustangs?” Taberanyn meekly asked on the far end of the table.

His Princeship smiled, “Chancellor Logostus, I should ask for you to send word across to the rulers of Equestria; it is time we summon the Congress once again. Grave days await our land; we will not survive on our own.”

But the Chancellor frowned, and averted his eyes a bit before replying, “My Lord, my couriers will be dispatched by sunrise tomorrow…yet, I must voice concern…”

The Prince’s face turned stoic and his eyes calculating, “Speak freely, Logostus.”

The Chancellor paused, swallowing the lump in his throat, “Survivors from Mareposa have shared reports of…blood magic being conducted within the ruined Great Temple in the city. Travelers have told that a bright beam of light shines up to the clouds, and screams echo from it.”

“What on this earth could that be?” Nikóleva asked, her face twisted into an uncommon apprehension.

“’The heralds make their call, and from the depths of Tartarus shall slither from the earth’s bowels the scourge of the elder days, the Draconequus.’ Then the prophecy is true,” a brooding Helmraed gravely said.

“I suppose the rest of what the scriptures say, about the Gods themselves coming here to fight holds true as well,” the Guard Captain mocked, smirking and rolling her eyes, “Your highness, how can we be expected to believe the rumors half-mad ponies spout? They’ve obviously seen terrors, but surely there is no ‘portal’ to the underworld being opened.”

The Prince simply stared off in extreme disturbance. An uncomfortably long time of silence passed before he finally raised his left hoof, “That’ll be enough, Captain Gendarmette. Delbedasir, your knowledge of mystical and spiritual matters must surely have some insight.”

The ancient beige alicorn pursed his lips, stroking his beard for inspiration. “If…Discord is in fact returning, then weapons and armies would be of little use. We’d need proof, but what we’ve gleamed from stories and the interrogation of that captured diamond dog seem to indicate a modicum of veracity to all this,” Delbedasir took a breath and groaned, “Something has spoken to their shamans; something has emboldened them…from very old books I’ve come across mention of…these sort of portals.”

“Just mentions?” the Prince asked, chin resting on a hoof.

“Forbidden magic…grave taboos, affronts to life and nature. The practice of drawing flesh and bone from living sacrifices and grafting them to a soul pulled from Tartarus. This is beyond any spellcraft with unicorn magic,” the Librarian stared straight at Nikóleva, and she soon realized what he meant.

“Are you saying…the horde possesses ‘Alicorns’ within its ranks?” Marshal Helmraed asked, thoroughly disturbed.

“Not necessarily, but whatever is doing this would be a formidable obstacle indeed.” Delbedasir flashed his horn, a red aura moving a wooden figurine from Canterlot to Mareposa as he resumed speaking, “We’d need to send a scouting mission to investigate, I believe; verify the presence of such a ‘portal’.”

“Yes, that would be sensible,” the Prince concurred, magically moving more figurines to Canterlot, “And in the meantime, this Congress can be used to organize a unified force against this horde. If these tales are fanciful, the invaders are still far too numerous for even several of the Equestrian realms to deal with.”

“And if these myths turn out to be true, my Lord?” Captain Gendarmette asked, still wearing her incredulity.

The response came from the Librarian, glaring at the pale unicorn, “Then, Lórian forbid, a different approach might be required.”

Nikóleva looked at her sister, and the two exchanged looks of confusion; what was that supposed to mean?

The Prince’s voice snapped the two sisters back to attention, “For now, Marshal, what is the best way to fight these dogs?”

“They would most certainly travel along the west road; our guards posted at the border station can send word of their march.” Marshal Helmraed unfurled a wing and pushed a wooden figure to a point on the map between a number of hills, right on a part of the Princedom’s road network, “If they leave when we’ve been led to believe, they’ll be right here by the time our banners have been combined and marched westwards.”

“We can hold that valley with pikes and archers, but what’s to stop them from turning back and going around the hills?”

“That is why, my Lord, I recommend a detachment of earth ponies and pegasi to go around, and deploy once the dogs either are engaged with the vanguard or attempt to outmaneuver us.” Another couple figurines were retrieved from a small wooden box and arranged to illustrate the Marshal’s suggestions.

The Prince analyzed the plan for a moment, and turned his eyes to Captain Gendarmette, “And the Canterlot Guard will lead the van, with Dame Wintermail in its ranks of course. I want you, Marshal,” he spoke to the blue pegasus, “To be at the head of the flank.” The two officers nodded, and Wintermail nodded second, meeting her Prince’s gaze with grim determination

The Prince backed his chair out and donned the gilded crown, “Come the spring thaw, the diamond dogs will be nothing more than a nuisance once again. Then we can focus on the horde and…these otherworldly premonitions.” The Ruler of Canterlot went over to a nearby table and poured some wine into a few silver chalices, offering one to each member at his council table.

Dame Wintermail took the cup and gave a slight whiff of the drink—a sweet southern variety, imported from the city of Neapony. He knew it was her personal favorite.

The Prince placed the silver tray back on the table and took a sip. “My intentions for the Congress were hopefully to broker a sense of unity and some measure of trade agreements; we’d have to start small. I cannot expect to stitch together a hideous patchwork of dozens of Princedoms, counties, petty kingdoms, marches, and free cities within a few years—not after nine-hundred years of estrangement.”

He gulped down some of the wine, “Yet…perhaps this ascendant horde can be used to our purposes…”

Wintermail stopped, and set down her cup. She took a while to find the courage to speak up, “Your highness…are you talking about…taking advantage of this crisis?”

Prince Petrafyrm shot her knight a look, and gingerly placed his chalice on the table. He approached the mare slowly, intimidating the giant white pony more than anything had in a while. His eyes bored into her, and she winced in dread, “You have much still to learn about statecraft. I would have preferred if there weren’t a massive army marauding across western Equestria at this very moment, but life isn’t always so accommodating. However; a wise ruler I like to think can take such a terrible setback and derive some…benefits from it.”

He let up his on glower at the poor knight, and faced his other councilors, “That is all for today. I should like reports on the dispatches to Equestria’s Lords and on the mustering of our forces in the morning. Hearth’s Warming has just passed, and very soon those dogs will be on the move.”

The Chancellor, Marshal, Guard Captain, and Librarian dismissed themselves, left with sizable work on their hooves. Nikóleva and her sister were the last to follow, but the Prince’s voice stalled them both.

“Taberanyn, your sister has proven a capable soldier; have her take you on her marches and drills.”

The blue alicorn made no attempt to hide her confusion, “My Lord…? I…I am not a soldier.”

The sovereign’s face was unchanged, “No you’re not, but neither are the five thousand levies that will march beside you. You are now a citizen of my realm, and in my service. You are therefore obligated to answer the call for defense.”

Nikóleva stepped in front of the two, and grit her teeth, “Your ‘Highness’, I’m afraid my sister will not fight your wars.” There was a slight hint of venom to her speech, and the Prince internally smiled at her resolve.

“You have fought as a mercenary before, yes Taberanyn?”

The younger alicorn hesitated a moment, recalling the instance when she and Henarion had lent their services to a small lordling with a few gold bits to spare, “Correct.”

The Prince grinned, and patted his hoof on Nikóleva’s shoulder, “I would never ask you two to march to your deaths; we will be victorious, and I shall be there in the thick of it all. I cannot have the Heirs of Solárindil cower here in the castle while the threat looms out there.”

The Prince flashed his magic and poured more wine for himself and the two alicorns, “You have your vows, Dame Wintermail, and your sister…well don’t we all wish to be part of something greater? Taberanyn, many years later, when your foals learn of the great battles of history, wouldn’t it be wonderful to say that you fought the day the diamond dogs were thrown down, never again to murder and rob innocents?”

The midnight pony simply stared, not even bothering to drink her cup. She glanced at her sister, and thought a moment.

“Or will you tell them you were too afraid to take the field?” the Prince asked, a sly grin creeping on his lips.

“I will not abide you bullying my sister!” Nikóleva asserted, attempting to tower her immense frame over the mere Tulicë. The Sovereign of Canterlot however held his grace, and nonchalantly took another sip. Seeing how her tactic didn’t quite work, she turned to Taby, “Father would not have wanted us to seek battle…”

Taberanyn stood quietly, then produced a look of determination, “You’re right…but Father knew better. He started to teach you to fight because only a fool would think alicorns could stay away from danger for long.” She smirked up at her sister, “You are bound in service by your vows, and I am bound to you by blood; you said it yourself: we belong together.”

Nikóleva didn’t like it, but soon realized that her sister was right. Taberanyn unfurled a large blue wing and draped it on her Nikól’s back, “So long as we’re beside one another, nothing can hurt us!”

Nikóleva wiped a tear from her eye; it touched her more than maybe anypony could understand that after all these years and all she’d done, Taberanyn loved her sister as much as before the day Nikóleva left in shame. The tall white pony craned her neck around Taby’s while the blue mare nuzzled up into Nikól’s snowy fur.

The Knight soon broke the embrace, and narrowed her gaze, “In that case, you’ve quite a lot to learn.”

The Prince beamed, and magically co-opted the two’s cups for a toast with his own, “Outstanding!” The three took another drink and licked their lips in satisfaction, “Now, I believe an appointment with the armorer is in order…”

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 19. The Battle for Equestria

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 19. The Battle for Equestria

A hundred feet were all the remained between them. Marshal Stellara and the sovereigns of her country stood in a broad line, armor donned and weapons girt. Looking across at them were the chiefs of the clans and tribes that had amassed far out west. A varied band of barbarians, these creatures scowled and glowered at their “hosts”.

Banners fluttering the wind, the two factions finally decided to stop exchanging looks and meet at last. Tall Stellara was matched with the Minotaur King, Aurýx. The scarred silver-blue bull held a glaive, blade down. His hand moved to the necklace of claws, teeth, and a single white horn. “Where is she?” he demanded, jingling the necklace.

Marshal Stellara simply stared at him with her heavy gaze. The bull snorted indignantly.

King Aurýx was joined by his comrades. Great Warchief Jasicus stood to his right, curved falchion at his side. A grizzled zebra, strange jewelry adorning his face in strange ways, stood at the minotaur’s left. And a thestral hovered above. It caught Stellara’s eye, its dark fur very much like her own, its golden eyes possessing a nightly beauty. But she’d only seen these creatures once in Mareposa; they were so exotic she couldn’t quite tell the gender of their supposed leader.

But those four were it. Stellara shifted her head a few times, “Where is Noblesse Oblige?”

The minotaur grumbled, “Fled. Lost the stomach for fighting.” Stellara raised an eyebrow.

Jasicus saw the incredulity in the alicorn’s face, “Do you expect anything less from a faithless traitor?”

“So he turned tail and ran? We’ll deal with Trottingham in time…,” brooded Princess Brynhilda, nursing a dark grin.

“Perhaps he knew best; your god is defeated,” declared the midnight Marshal, “Thrown down by the deeds of myself and my sister.” Stellara then nodded at Princess Nephele.

Taking the summons, the old pegasus flared her wings, “This war is over. Our terms are generous: abandon your treasure and conquests, and return home. Remain, and die.”

King Aurýx began to growl, half-tempted to crush the insolent mare’s skull right there. Jasicus noticed and gently raised a hoof at the minotaur’s leg. The aged tan stallion’s eyes dropped and his voice became low and solemn, “We’ve gone too far now. We will die if we turn back.”

“My warriors have come far with our beasts; to come back poor is a shame we cannot live with,” spoke the zebra chief, voice deep and with a certain rhythm to it. The thestral simply hovered above and stared, not speaking or making any kind of gesture.

“Then our words have failed, it seems,” King Hillwick sighed.

“Save your breath for battle, Friends!” Rufus of Fillydelphia sneered before turning back to the Equestrian camp. Soon the rest of the Lords joined him, leaving just Stellara and Nephele. The blue alicorn stayed still for a moment, finally spotting the vast array of enemies on the further field. She turned her head to her own forces, and felt her heart drop—would it be enough?

Princess Nephele smiled and draped a wing over Stellara, “We’ve spent quite a while on planning. Trust in our soldiers, in your commanders, and yourself. Tonight we’ll feast on ale and cake!”

“Or lie dead on the ground,” Stellara mumbled. She perked up, “Right! To your position, Your Highness.” Nephele spread her wings and flew off to join her unit, Marshal Stellara soaring towards her own position.

At the front-center of the Equestrian army, behind three lines of the assembled pikes Stellara assumed her command. In the deep formations Stellara could see some eighty-thousand ponies all equipped with the tools of war, their steel glinting in her sister’s Sun. The pegasi had cleared the skies for today; it was deemed more important to prevent speedy thestrals from using the cover than for any other advantage pegasi might derive from it.

Each Princeling was assigned a particular formation, all arranged with a particular maneuver in mind. A broad line, centered by Stellara’s own pikes including the Canterlot Guard, was supported in the rear by archers and other missile troops. Behind them were the famed Hoofington Battle-Mages, cunning and skillful casters who could use deadly weaponized magic. Their Prince Luminescent, armed with his ancient heirloom blade Evenstar directed them. They were positioned atop a rocky bluff, giving them a wide and high view and effective range.

The flanks would be the real deciding factor. The left one was spearheaded by Horsava’s Hussars, led by their fearsome Princess Brynhilda. Heavily-armored lancers, they wore iron mail and laced plates. Upon their backs the unicorn and earth pony soldiers donned flamboyant wings adorned with feathers. When they charged forward the sounds these wings made were said to strike fear into their foes’ hearts. Though long settled, the Horsavish remembered their wild days on the plains, and relished glorious battle.

Behind them heavy swords, maces and axes protected the rear. This left reserve of heavy troops was commanded by King Hillwick. If any of the enemy sought to overwhelm or outflank the Hussars, they’d have to contend with Poneva’s warrior-king and his blade Snowdread.

And a critical component of the left hovered above: Nephele’s pegasi. The thestrals represented a highly-mobile force that if unopposed could control the terrain. Nephele’s chief mission was to contain and eliminate these bat-ponies by any means necessary.

The right flank was very much like the left. First were the heavy knights commanded by Rufus of Fillydelphia, blood boiling for battle since the first raiders crossed his marchlands. Sir Grimheim of Canterlot and his Free Knights would fight with them. Behind, their reserve of soldiers was led by Wealthford of Detrot. And finally the other half of the pegasi, led by Princess Nephele’s most trusted lieutenant.

Poor King Auburn Flare, little left for him besides his own retinue of warriors, was granted a place in the center beside Stellara. But he took it with good humor, and his petty jealousy faded to a focused desire to reclaim his kingdom.

With the mighty host arrayed, the plan could be executed. Stellara had determined this place a good spot for battle. Looking westwards, a low ridge of hills stood to the north, and to the south was a river behind which was a birch-wood. The river flowed east to west; the Equestrians therefore were unable to control the advantage there, and the Horde had already advanced past where further downstream it turned southwards. The idea was to funnel the enemy into this comparatively narrow valley.

Stellara boasted that these savages were not so tactically inclined; this was a bit of an overstatement. They might have been brutish, cruel, and violent, but they were not without their own cunning. They would act with reason, and her gut told her they’d try and crush the center. If they broke through, the Equestrian force would be divided in two and easily surrounded.

Trying to match their frontal assault would only lead to stalemate, a battle of attrition that by mathematics the Horde would win. No, Stellara thought of something better. The pikes would do what they did best and hold the center while the enemy was harassed. The flanks would advance and try to beat the lightly-armored mustangs doubtlessly attempting to outmaneuver.

A double envelopment, the supreme achievement of any military commander. Stellara did not expect it to happen so smoothly, but if only a few decisive outcomes played out in various sectors, victory was all the more feasible.

The Supreme Commander of the Equestrian Host adjusted her armor, ensuring it fit snugly and comfortably. There were to be no chaffs, no pinches, no unexpected complications. To her left, sitting upon his haunches, was her temporary squire. Veroche, the green earth pony, cradled her crested helm in his forelegs. Wearing a coat of mail and a short sword, he nonetheless still looked frightened.

Stellara caught the helmet in pale blue magic and placed it upon her periwinkle mane. Tying the strap just right, she looked back at the squire, “Stay close to me, and you’ll be fine.” He nodded and silently obliged, starring forwards at the formations. Stellara smirked, “Don’t worry, lad; my sister expects her squire back in one piece—I don’t want to disappoint her.”

At her right stood Henarion in full battle-dress, the God-Cleaver at his belt. He kept his good eye on his niece, reaffirming his sole duty to keep Stellara alive until the bitter end. “How are you feeling, Girl?” he leaned in and asked.

“Burdened, I think is the best word. That is…if I don’t win this battle, I might as well die in it.” Henarion frowned, but said nothing. “Do you remember that filly at the Vale? Orchard Blossom? She was so scared…and in her eyes I saw betrayal. She had trusted me…I sometimes still have nightmares about it. And now there are eighty-thousand Orchard Blossoms here, all depending on me.”

Henarion did remember that pegasus, and he knew very well the type of dreams Stellara talked about. “Nightmares like that come and go over the years, but they’re a sign that you still have a good heart. But do you remember what happened after she was killed?” Stellara turned and raised an eyebrow. “You took charge, and won. One’s regrets can weigh heavy on one’s mind, but they can also become a source of strength.”

Stellara did not smile, but she did not frown either. A slight nod, “Thank you, Uncle. Still, I’d wish Nikól were here…but we couldn’t wait any longer.”

“She’s gonna miss one hell of a good fight,” Henarion grinned, stretching and popping his joints.

“Indeed.” Swallowing her nerves, Stellara charged her horn and enchanted her voice. Spreading her wings, she took to the sky and lorded over the soldiers of Equestria. One deep breath began it, “Friends! Lords, Knights, and common folk alike! Words are for poets; I do not intend to bore you with empty speeches. Our actions shall speak louder than any voice every could!” Already that familiar clanging of swords and spears echoed. “We are eager, we are ready! Sheer destruction stares us in the face, so what I ask you all free people is to fight! Fight as though it were your last day! Fight as though immortality were the prize! Fight as though your children, your homes, your country were in peril!”

The roar was massive, a wave of fervor spreading across the field. Marshal Stellara’s magic drew her blades as she narrowed her teal eyes at the advancing horde. “These barbarians have come this far into our country; let them come no further!” Touching down onto ground, Stellara rose Ailéránen and swung it forward, “All formations! Advance!”

And the hooves of thousands of soldiers began to stomp, trampling the grass and weeds beneath. Overhead the two pegasi wings flew forth to engage their targets, and from behind the archers were nocking arrows and the battle-mages beginning their conjurings. Marshal Stellara spared a glance at King Auburn Flare, regal and willing for combat. From what she could see, both flanks were beginning their marches, the knights and hussars at the front.

Being so tall, Stellara was able to use her keen vision to see above the pike formations. Through the forest of raised spears she saw the head of the incoming foe; the mass of minotaur warriors, the lumbering shapes of greater warbeasts behind. “First line, deploy pikes!” she commanded, and soon the first three ranks of the first line, the most elite pike forces of all the realms, lowered their long spears. “Forward march!” and Stellara’s center continued.

High above in the sky, Princess Nephele flew beside her warriors and the other pegasi. Ninety-three but astoundingly still hale enough for war, she drew her ancestral greatsword Thundermaul. She spotted the incoming south thestral wing and called to her warriors to ready for sport. Her vanguard was the pride of Cloudsdale, the Wonderbolts. They had been raised centuries ago, and lived and breathed flying. If they were not fighting in the air, they were performing great feats of aerial prowess. They had become popular for their shows and displays, but the Wonderbolts were at their core warriors.

“Strike like thunder and lightning!” Nephele belted, charging headlong into the incoming thestrals. Within seconds Thundermaul had cut two of these dark flyers out of the sky. But their reputation was well-earned; thestrals were incredibly quick and agile, and confounded some of the weaker flyers amongst the pegasi. But Nephele and her Wonderbolts were in a different league entirely.

Above the river, Cloudsdale pegasi performed one of their favorite tactics: the sky-ribbon. Nephele and her officers gathered at the front of a large wedge formation, and once they broke through to the rear of the poorly-organized thestrals, the wedge-point broke into several single-files. With their precision the Wonderbolts curved back, creating a kind of net around the thestrals. The bat-ponies contested by the other pegasi, these Cloudsdale elites were able to fly back to their starting position before crossing over the opposite route.

Thus dozens of pegasi formed this basket in the sky, darting faster and faster as they grew more familiar with the current situation. Any thestral that tried to break out was attacked in a rapid succession of strikes. Enveloped on all sides, the bat-ponies were now at the mercy of the pegasi.

Nephele began the slaughter and hundreds that could not escape were mercilessly slain in sprays of blood and severed limbs. The Princess’s strikes made good on her blade’s namesake, striking fast as lighting and hard as a sledge. Thestral after thestral fell to the ground, lining the riverbank with gruesome corpses, but through the slaughter she could not find their leader. Princess Nephele could not give their chieftain a name or even a gender, but she knew its face.

What more glorious combat could there be than between a pegasus Lady and a thestral Lord? Yet this pony could not be found. She grumbled, and then realized: their leader was fighting in the north wing, across the field! With sharp eyes she managed to find the dark clouds battling opposite her own. There! Her next objective was clear.

The thestrals sought to retreat, and then that turned to a rout. Thousands of pegasi began to pursue, crying out in victory. Princess Nephele however gathered her horn and blew. The Wonderbolts knew the sound and returned, but the rest weren’t familiar. “To me!” she chased after them, “To me! Halt!”

Precious seconds were slipping away, but soon she managed to wrangle her warriors back into formation. The Princess had saved the left flank from encirclement by the bat-ponies, but the right remained in jeopardy. She swung off the blood on Thundermaul and resumed her position in wedge formation, ready to soar over the battlefield when she noticed something down below. By the river, in the woods, a new challenge arose.

She called a messenger immediately, “Send word to King Hillwick behind the Hussars! We need to reinforce the river!” The courier obliged, but some of her officers raised misgivings, claiming their orders were to contain the thestrals. The Princess exercised her great authority and corralled them back to her command.

“We have no time to lose! To the woods, or all is lost!” and her Wonderbolts and pegasi wing flew east.

Stellara saw this. She saw it well; her eyes were just as good if not better than a pegasus’. And she did not like this; it confounded her plans. She turned her head due north, to the other pegasi wing. Their fight had been lost—she saw a scattered swarm fly back to the Equestrian camp and the second swarm descend towards ground. The right wing of pegasi had been overwhelmed by the skill of the thestrals, and now would doubtless help the mustangs overwhelm in turn the entire Equestrian right flank.

“Where are they going?” she asked aloud, frustration heavy in her voice, “No! No, no, the Princess needs to go south!” She summoned one of her several pegasi messengers, “Tell that old mare to reinforce the right! It is in danger of becoming surrounded!” The pegasus nodded and flew off. Stellara now could focus on her immediate danger.

Two mustang flanks had formed, one on each side as she predicted. They were currently engaged with her own flanks, but in the center the greatest weight fell upon the Equestrians. At first, it appeared the battle-hungry minotaurs would charge headlong into the pikes—to their credit they were smarter than this. Several hundred feet from the pike wall, they broke into two groups, each going for the pike lines’ flanks. That left the bold center to the zebras and the dragons.

And as if dragons weren’t fearsome enough, the zebras had brought elephants to the field. Giant hulking grey beasts, sharpened white tusks jutting from their fronts, stampeded forward. Most Equestrians had only ever heard about these terrifying creatures, and now they were barreling towards them.

Like a portentous heartbeat, the war drums of the zebras pounded atop their large mounts, their warriors on hoof whooping beside the beastmasters. Lacking for strong armor, these zebras opted for decorations of gold and silver and shells, fanatically charging at the pikes. Stellara however knew this wasn’t the first battle fought on Equestrian soil against zebras, nor their elephants.

She had read an old account of an old battle fought by a talented and ingenious commander who had devised a way to deal with these massive beasts of war. They were fearsome, true, but elephants were not stupid. They’d hesitate to charge into the pike wall, but with no outlet they’d still plow through, even to great loss for themselves and the Equestrians. Marshal Stellara had anticipated this. “Halt!” she ordered. Her pike lines stopped moments later, but she could feel their terror. The ground began to quake as the hulking giants stamped closer. Their small eyes narrowed in wrath, and some of the front elephants started swinging their heads and trunks, grazing the dirt with their massive tusks.

One raised its trunk and blared like a trumpet, the call of the king of whatever exotic land it hailed from. Stellara seized her own horn and blew, both alerting and inspiring her soldiers. The ground was closing quickly; “Channel Formation!” And as rehearsed, the pikes rearrayed into eight maniples, roughly ten feet apart. It was close, but when the first elephant foot reached the pike lines, there was enough of a channel for it to travel through. They took the bait, the creatures preferring to go down a spikeless route rather than be gored to death.

“All shots focus on the beasts!” Stellara called to her rear, her archers and javelins readying their next salvo. A swarm of arrows and spears and lead shots arced above and pelted the grey titans with chilling accuracy. But even so beset, the elephants did not die quietly. The enraged bulls swung and thrashed their heads as they charged through these channels, catching a few poor pikeponies with the blades fixed to their tusks. Still others ignored the channels, and ran anyway into the spears, crushing a few and throwing a few more before being stabbed to death by nearly a dozen pikes.

One, perhaps the largest elephant and topped with the most decorated of carriages, charged headlong towards the Marshal herself. The blue alicorn’s heart pounded, but she steeled her nerves and took stance, staring down the great beast. Henarion stood beside her with his greatsword, “Go left, I go right; they’re weak on the flanks.”

With a hurricane-like flap of their wings, the alicorns jetted in two opposite curves. The mottled steel of their blades burrowed into the ribs of the bull elephant, its cries of pain resounding across the field. In its final throes it tried to gore any living thing with tusks and crush them with is mighty bulk, managing to kill some pikeponies who broke rank and hungered for their own glory. “Hold! Hold!” Stellara yelled, committing another strike against the animal.

As the light faded from its eyes, the bull began to rear back and unsettle the zebras in its carriage. One jumped to the ground, furious and drawing his blade. He bellowed a cry in his native tongue; Stellara recognized him as the Zebra Chief himself, insolently thinking he could have won with that elephant charge. All around moved out of the way as the bull breathed its last and collapsed, nearly cracking the earth below it. Stellara looked upon the felled creature with a deep pity; taken from its home far south for the bloody business of war only to die.

The zebra chieftain continued to boast and shout angrily in his language; dead noise to Stellara. She gave him a deathly glower and stamped a hoof—she accepted. He charged, whooping and waving his blade. Stellara growled; she was more than a head taller and wielded two magical weapons. Three motions were all it took. The first with Ailéránen cleaved his sword in two, its mundane iron broken by that of millennia. The second saw her hoof ram into his chest, cracking the wooden armor he thought could protect him from an alicorn. And the third drove her axe into his skull.

She pulled her magic and drew the axe upwards, the dead chieftain still attached. Slamming him back onto the ground, she wrenched Nocadecoë from her defeated foe, snorting as she did. Henarion stood stunned, not quite expecting such a fierce and brutal display. Stellara merely gave him a harsh look and turned back to the battle, “Come on, you bastards! Is that all you’ve got for Nightwrath?!”

Her pike soldiers cheered, and finished the business of goring the elephants that remained. As more missiles soared overhead, a large ball of magical energy careened and found its mark right at one of the last elephants. The battle-mages of Hoofington were experts in pooling magic, producing giant orbs by the input of several casters. They all had different effects, this particular one mimicking the caustic properties of quicklime.

This warbeast and its riders were burned to death, wailing in agony as their final moments dragged on. Stellara took it with a quiet dignity: the vicious cost of victory.

By now, the elephants were either all dead or had turned back around, driven to panic and wreaking havoc on the zebra warriors. But those and the dragons remained to challenge the front line. “Pikes! Reform the line! Hold them back!” the Marshal ordered as the hoof warriors advanced in the wake of their elephant attack. “Second line, defend the first’s flanks! Third, protect the archers!”

Her troops marched briskly to their stations, ultimately creating a protective box around the missile units just as the flanking maneuver of the minotaurs was closing in. The wall of spears held for the time being, the squelching and spurting of minotaur and zebra blood proof of this.

But the dragons were another matter. Many of the flying drakes had fallen at Canterlot, but the crawling wyrms remained to crash into the lines like the elephants, and their scales were too hard to pierce easily with arrows. The mages did what they could, and shot several flying dragons from the sky, but Stellara had to think quickly. Without the intended pegasi support, she would have to be creative. The call was made for every pony not engaged with holding the line to strike above and skewer the softer underbellies of the creatures or if possible their open mouths.

Taking her blade she grinned, “Uncle, perhaps it’s time for ‘Dragonsbane’ to earn his keep?” The old orange alicorn smirked back. The two leapt forward and took flight, goading the dragons into taking on a challenge more to their liking; battling alicorns. Two drakes rose and lunged at them, teeth bared for the bite. Stellara dove underneath her shiny blue dragon, luring it to the chase. She curved back, and stabbed through the scutes of his stomach. He fell out from the sky, crashing upon one of his kin and breaking her back.

Henarion got a little more vicious with his attack. The crimson drake preying after him opened its maw wide. Henarion channeled magic into the God-Cleaver until its mottled steel glowed white. He then thrust the sword deep into the dragon’s gullet, unleashing a wave of the stored energy and blowing apart the creature’s head. So quick was the alicorn’s move that the dragon had no time to realize its error.

With swords able to cut through dragonhide and their massive strength and mobility, it seemed the two alicorns would have to play a major part in clearing the field of dragons—not that the task seemed less desirable than any other. Stellara observed her surroundings before moving to engage another dragon, noting that the defensive formation was holding for now. Bitterly though she spotted the right flank, now nearly surrounded by thestrals and mustangs.

She had no troops to commit to reinforce the flank. For whatever reason the Hussars had been abandoned on the left, and her own troops needed to stay, lest the center collapse. She saw no sign of the pegasi or King Hillwick’s troops. Stellara clenched her teeth and growled in a terrible rage. The first dragon to try its luck was stabbed directly through the heart in a show of lightning and magic.

This tipped off the messenger, returning from the left flank. “Marshal!” he cried, swooping towards her.

“Where are Princess Nephele and King Hillwick?!”

“There!” the messenger pointed, “At the river crossing near the wood. The Princess and King have noticed another entry to the battle!”

Stellara focused her eyes on that area, and finally saw that banner; a sable field with a rainbow of stars. “Trottingham…,” she murmured in shock. How could she have been so foolish? She had accounted for it all, but not for a chess piece that was not on the board. “How many soldiers did he bring?”

“Several thousand. The Princess wished to assure you once Noblesse is routed, she’ll return to the thestrals. She was afraid of an attack in our rear!”

“Taberanyn, you damned fool,” Stellara angrily muttered. “I want a report on the Hussars. If Brynhilda can break through, have her charge the rear of the enemy’s center!” The messenger left in a cloud of dust.

Stellara flew beside Henarion and unleashed her rage and frustration on anything that tried to kill her. Things were looking poorly, and her egregious oversight might have cost her dearly. She had no more reserves.

So Stellara decided her best recourse was to fight on and hopefully inspire the center enough to break the momentum of the enemy’s spearhead. “Oh Nikóleva, I wish you were here,” she sighed before swinging Ailéránen at another vainglorious dragon.

Marshal Stellara’s anxiety was well-founded. Noblesse Oblige, faithless and deceptive, had feigned his absence successfully and managed to hide his forces in the wood. And now it seemed to him his tactic had worked; precious forces from the left flank were diverted to deal with him, while the main battle would soon crumble for the Equestrians.

But treason and deceit were not things looked kindly in this country, least of all to a king. Hillwick of Poneva, wearing armor in the northern style of mail and a lamellar cuirass, had received the word from the Princess of Cloudsdale. As he watched her soar to the river overhead, he took his reserve of hoof-soldiers and set course for the ford. If this new entry could penetrate to Stellara’s position, all would be lost. With all haste he hurried to the crossing, seeing the sable banners of Trottingham before the treeline, Noblesse’s greatest warriors wetting their hooves in the water.

A hundred yards now from the incoming traitors, Hillwick galloped the breadth of his line and rattled his greatsword Snowdread. “Bring me their Prince’s head!” A roar erupted from his host, and the charge began, the heaviest ponies crashing upon Trottingham’s as they emerged from the river crossing.

It began to look like a slaughter for Noblesse, especially when Princess Nephele and her Wonderbolts joined the fray and harassed his rear. The slicing of the very air by the swiftness of those famous flyers echoed from the trees. Inspired, the warband of King Hillwick thrust into Trottingham’s line with everything they had.

At the forefront the Ruler of Poneva chopped his alicorn blade upon the head of an enemy knight, cleaving it in two helm and all. He knew little war-magic, but he could channel the power within Snowdread, and used such power to blow back a band of five knights, allowing his heavy swordsponies to hack away as their foes lied on the ground overturned. Hillwick himself delivered a fatal drive into the heart of one.

So the battle for the river turned brutal and vicious quickly, the true color of war made visible to all. Corpses fell into the water, their bones and entrails fouling it up; very soon the river began to run red. The stench of battle mounted, but in his fury and heat, Hillwick paid no mind. He parried, and dodged, uppercutted and guarded, dispatching each foe who dared challenge the Northern King. Hillwick was forced to leave the illustrious Hussars all alone and deal with Noblesse, and Trottingham would pay dearly for this.

The enemy ponies, sadly loyal retainers to a faithless lord, could not push further. They were stopped at the ford, and as the Left Reserve unleashed themselves soon Trottingham would be back at the bank, and soon driven running into the woods. Bloodstained, Hillwick appeared a terrible force, routing several levy-ponies with his mere presence and crazed look in his eye.

A dark smile curled on the king’s face—almost there. But then, a flash. Bright green it was, and soon the places to his left and right were blasted apart by a supreme bolt of green magic. Dozens were thrown upwards, landing only to wrench their bones in ways that could not be mended here. Hillwick was saved only in the final moment before the hit, generating a shield around himself and his nearest housecarls.

The dust settled, and a single unicorn began advancing across the river, eyes aglow that sickly green color, shadowed by a violet miasma. To his side a mottled blade was hung in magic. The stallion was dull orange, his dark mane topped by a crystal diadem. Hillwick could see the iridean diamond set within; a mockery that somepony so fell should own such beauty.

Noblesse Oblige’s eyes met that of the king, and he grimaced. Clenching his teeth, perhaps at the sheer force of energy he wielded, the Prince of Trottingham approached Hillwick, crushing the chest of some brave but foolish squire who tried to strike at him. “Remove your soldiers, or they will all die. As will you,” the traitor commanded, his voice deep and dark.

Hillwick said nothing, and continued to stand his ground, charging his horn for another shield. “Your army will fail; you Lords will come to ruin.” As he spoke, vulnerable though he seemed, Noblesse brutally killed any that interrupted, either by his sword Deference or with his unnatural power. “Surrender, and you will live to swear fealty to your new King of Equestria. I vowed to rebuild this realm, and I intend to keep my word.”

“I’m sure,” Hillwick groaned, spitting at the Prince’s hooves. He raised Snowdread and challenged Noblesse to combat. First came a shot from the Prince’s horn, drawn and absorbed by the alicorn steel of the king. But the shock fatigued him slightly, and left him vulnerable to Noblesse’s move. A forceful strike came, and only barely did Hillwick deflect with a hanging guard.

A new tactic then; Noblesse ensnared the Ponevan in his magic, restraining his limbs. Thrashing and snarling like a trapped dog, Hillwick battled his own magic against the cosmic variety pouring from Noblesse, his strong alicorn blood resisting as best it could. But soon he felt the pressure on his bones as the Prince tried to crush him as he had others. Their two swords locked in combat, matching strike for strike, Hillwick was running out of options.

But a serene grace had remained for him. Seeing the mighty flash of Trottingham’s ruler, Princess Nephele took herself and several of her strongest bodyguards to the river. Raising Thundermaul, the elder pegasus aimed for Noblesse’s skull. The unicorn noticed just in time, blocking with Deference. But his concentration had been broken, and he lost control over the dark magic. As it threatened to burst from his horn and consume his body, he closed his access for the time. Angrily he roared and proceeded to unleash his sword prowess upon the two lordlings who stood in his way.

Parrying Nephele then blocking Hillwick’s strike, Noblesse leapt upwards and spun his sword thrice against the king, the third breaking the Ponevan’s guard and leaving him vulnerable. Thundermaul came to save Hillwick again, but was once again blocked by the Prince. Noblesse tired of this, and charged his horn, disappearing in a flash of magic. He teleported behind her, and was prepared to drive Deference through her chest. But the pegasus Princess flapped her great wings once and leapt fifteen feet in the air. Though old, her large and strong frame could still plummet onto the unicorn Prince, her hooves clanging on his armor.

Noblesse yelped, nursing his bruised side. Another teleport to a safer distance, one where he could reevaluate. Yet when he emerged, the soreness came, and through his pants he glowered at his foes, both ready for more fighting. But now the ache in his mind was gone, and he called upon the cosmic magic once again. Flaring green, the unicorn slammed his forehooves into the dirt, channeling magic into the rocks of the riverbed. The quake took many surrounding warriors off their feet, easy prey for Trottingham’s banner.

Another charge from Noblesse’s horn unleashed a green shock wave, directed at the Princess and the King. Nephele was thrown backwards some thirty feet before she caught herself in the air, but the king fell into the water. And when the Prince of Trottingham led a countercharge into the Equestrian ranks, his soldiers followed in a mad gallop. Poor Hillwick of Poneva was trampled.

For a time his armor kept him safe, but under each stomp he took in more water, and was unable to get his head above the surface of the river. Defiant to the end nonetheless, the King swung around his sword and tried to clear a way for him to rise up, but there were too many hooves. Soon each strike became weaker and less focused, his thrashing and struggling ever more in vain; dozens crossed that river where he had fallen, unable to stand to his hooves.

Princess Nephele, once she recaptured her bearings, rushed to save her comrade, but there were simply too many, and even dead a pony can still crush and stomp. Expelling her energy until her limbs grew sore and her vision blurry, the old mare finally managed to divert the crossing soldiers away from Hillwick.

But when she pulled him from the bed, it was too late. In her long life, Nephele had met healers who could save drowned ponies with magic. But she was no unicorn, and he had stopped breathing, his face bloody. She cursed and bellowed in rage, cutting down anypony she could find that wore colors of the enemy.

And more, she saw in the distance Noblesse Oblige firing off a great beam of his dark magic, burning alive a whole file of soldiers. Soon that flank began to break and flee, and when others saw the Princess cradling the limp body of the King of Poneva, the rest of the Left Reserve threw down their weapons and lost all hope.

The battle for the river had been lost, and now the entire left flank could collapse.

So Nephele did all she could, and rallied her pegasi above. They had done damage to Noblesse’s troops, and now they would pursue them all the way to the center, and crush them. Marshal Stellara was no doubt upset that the Princess had ignored her orders, and doubtlessly would be even less happy now. Nephele would deal with that later—all she cared about was putting a grisly well-deserved end to that damned orange Prince.

Princess Nephele ferried Hillwick’s body to a nearby tree in the wood and gently set him against it. There no was time now, but when the enemy was destroyed and the battle won, this stallion would be properly buried. She stuck Snowdread, Valedóreva in the Sea-Borne tongue of old, in the grass beside him. She sighed deeply—this was no proper end for a King. “Misha córlanilion, Cardún.(Rest now, my Friend.)”

She wanted to do more, spare more time; the Princess could not. Taking up Thundermaul again, she thrust herself towards her pegasi and grit her teeth for more bloody and gruesome deeds.

While the fight for the river was waged and ultimately lost, Princess Brynhilda and her Horsavish Hussars had to carry on alone against the southern mustang flank. When her support had left, the wild nomads were at a swift gallop, soon to close the distance. The small pink warrior did not know why her comrades had deserted them; perhaps something important had come up—Brynhilda didn’t believe it, and consigned them as cowards.

Several of her hussars began to stir, worrying at the loss of the soldiers behind. The Princess shut down all this dissent with a fierce and fiery glare. “Saddle lances!” she cried, the hundreds of spearpoints lowering in preparation for the charge. “Break them.”

The Princess was not one for speeches. She simply spotted an approaching mustang and singled him out as her target. Then, half the size of all her fully-grown hussars, Brynhilda bellowed and crashed her hooves upon the dirt, leading a trickle that soon became a raucous cascade. The thunder of the stampede mixed with the mustang herd, rumbling the earth.

And then the two made contact. The lances of the hussars gored through hundreds of mustangs, the splintering shafts spraying shards of wood at the less-armored ponies. Brynhilda’s lance hit true its mark, spearing the mustang straight through his body. He struggled and twitched for a moment before collapsing in a bloody mess. Without her lance, the Princess drew Rectitude her greatsword and began to hack and chop through the enemy ranks. Her fellow Hussars did the same, longswords clashing with the curved falchions of the nomads.

Brynhilda was small but quick, and with unnatural strength she could swing and draw back her sword with a blinding precision. The mustangs fought bravely and with a grueling tenacity, but ultimately their cloth armor and war-braids were no match for cold steel. Swaths were cut by the Horsavish, dozens falling to their blades. Brynhilda slew so many of these nomads that her armor was stained red, her hooves forced to wade through warm blood. It was a brutal slaughter, and the Princess nearly lost herself in a fury of bloodlust and madness.

But all the same, there were too many.

The horde was vast, and the mustangs numbered many thousands against their Horsavish foes of no more than four thousand. The mustangs could spread their line thin and threaten to encircle the Hussars, but so long as Brynhilda led her soldiers they would never break. And they never did, but it took time to drive through the enemy.

Several minor chiefs or heads of clans tried to challenge the ferocious Princess—ending no different from their lowly kinsponies. Perhaps one of them was leading the entire southern flank of mustangs, as upon their death the nomads began to waver. Crushing more and more of the enemy, Brynhilda at one point received a message coming from Marshal Stellara: to engage the center once she’d overwhelmed her flank.

And to the mustangs’ credit, it took longer than the Princess thought to finally convince them to rout. They were nearly every bit as fierce and steadfast as her own ponies. Their numbers dwindled, but only slightly did the mustangs give ground. Only once nearly three-quarters had been killed or wounded did this flank give up the fight and begin to flee. Brynhilda, ever the lover of a good brawl, allowed her Hussars to chase for a hundred yards or so, running down any mustangs more concerned with escaping than fighting back.

Once she’d had her fun, the Princess raised her signal horn and blew, reversing her Hussars’ formation towards the backs of the foes towards the center. From the looks, there minotaurs were assailing the side while dragons impaled themselves on Stellara’s pikes. Brynhilda caught notice of two small points periodically glowing hot and parrying away drakes. With a smirk she led her gallop to rescue the center from collapse.

Even without lances, this next charge would be devastating. Brynhilda had gotten her fill of mustangs—minotaurs now seemed more interesting. Off to her right, the Princess saw another group racing across the battlefield, pursued by flyers overhead. So that’s where her support had gone…

While the left flank had been vying for supremacy at the river and the fields, at the foot of the ridges northwards the right flank was hard pressed. Their pegasi support routed by the thestrals, the knights and reserves would soon be surrounded. The bat ponies darting around the formation, the northern mustangs were charging to crash at the knights.

Prince Rufus of Fillydelphia at its head, the noble warriors of Equestria saddled lances and mirrored the gallop of the Hussars. But the Horsavish soldiers were elite beyond compare, and this force of mustangs was led by the Great Warchief.

Jasicus was growing old, but in his day he was a great fighter. There was a reason the clans and tribes of the prairiefolk had chosen him. His personal presence was an electrifying factor, instilling deep morale and fervor in his kin. As the lances of the knights shattered and that first shock of the clash subsided, the mustangs gained the advantage. More numerous and mobile, the large cluster of them soon thinned to a line that threatened to swallow up the right flank.

And then the rear was attacked. The Thestrals, led by their own chieftain, served a similar purpose as Jasicus. The dark flyers then unleashed a vicious tactic: attacking in ranks, one would descend and harass Wealthford’s soldiers, fly away and then immediately be followed by another rank. The bat ponies, mountain barbarians though they seemed, had created a perpetual cycle of hit and run.

And with no help forthcoming from Nephele’s pegasi, the right flank was then completely surrounded, left with nothing but to fight to the death. “So be it,” as Sir Grimheim proclaimed.

His Free Knights of Canterlot bitterly held their ground, thrusting blades and swinging maces at the mustangs that tried to plow through their ranks. Grimheim and his band smashed heads and slit throats, claiming five warriors for every knight that was killed. Swords were notched, and Grimheim’s knights began to push forward, driving a wedge into the mustang line. The foe died back, overpowered by the nobles scorned and awakened. The Knight Commander and his soldiers cheered and yelled, terrifying the younger and greener mustangs.

But Canterlot’s knight had become too zealous and pushed too far. Soon that wedge that might have been able to break out and split the enemy line in two left their comrades behind, and the gap soon filled with the very ponies they were brushing aside. Surrounded, Grimheim sighed and raised his blade. He should have died at the Siege of Canterlot, defending his liege. It was great dishonor that Prince Peter should lie dead and buried while the Sir still drew breath.

Each fighting off three or four mustangs at once, the Free Knights began to fall, and soon perhaps only a dozen remained. The enemy closing fast, Grimheim smirked and recalled an ancient poem, “’For what death more sweet, what honor more sublime, can one call in the stead of his lord, for the tombs of his fathers, for the joy of his children?’” He rushed forwards and lopped off a pinto mustang’s head, parrying the retaliation from another. But a third caught him, a swordpoint piercing his mail.

Two more strikes; one hit. Grimheim grew weaker, but he continued: “’For if mortal kinds must tread so short a path, let it be paved in glory!’” And the great knight let loose his final slashes and cuts, taking a few more to where he was soon bound. Sir Grimheim died on that field, but only after succumbing to no less than eight mortal wounds.

The two Princes beset by mustangs and thestrals were not faring much better. Much of the reserve were not soldiers but levied peasants. Against certain death, they knew better than to stand and fight. Under the thestrals’ relentless attacks, the dead began to mount up. Losing hope and their nerve and growing ever fearful, some of the ponies surrendered and broke, trying to flee the field. Prince Wealthford tried to rally them, but his force was large and he could not race everywhere they were wavering.

A vicious chain-reaction followed, and more elements of the right reserve fled, breaking the cohesion that might have been able to hold off the foe. Soon only the professional and household Equestrian warriors remained in any great number, but they could not compare to the horde of mustangs and bat-ponies.

In the front, by the Equestrian knights, Prince Rufus did better, but in the face of a crumbling rear there was little hope. He saw the banner of Warchief Jasicus race through, the mustang’s greatest blood-warriors matching the knights for strength and ability. Soon the mustang leader broke through the throng of his bondswarriors. Tan and mane greying, Jasicus was one of the few nomads to wear iron armor—a mere coat of mail underneath the woolen shirt the prairiefolk wore.

The Warchief’s eyes met those Rufus. A silent pact was drawn, the honored duel to the death. Fillydelphia’s Prince advanced forward, the warriors around clearing a small ring while they continued to battle. Jasicus ordered his bodyguard to stand by before drawing his falchion with a curled hoof. Prince Rufus met the Warchief ten feet away, red beard adorned with beads and braids, a gilded crown riveted to his helmet. A unicorn, Rufus sparked his magic and took his blade.

Both craned their necks and then began. Rufus, his lines collapsing and the enemy closing in, had little to lose; he leapt and crashed his sword down on his opponent. Jasicus guarded and sidestepped, but he did not strike back. For Jasicus had a quiet wisdom, the patience to watch and listen; to read one’s adversary.

Crying out, Rufus swung upwards, again knocking steel as the two clashed. A thrust then, only to be parried by an old stallion that moved far quicker than appearance suggested. Prince Rufus was desperate, and soon resorted to pure aggression. Galloping ahead, he slashed and met the falchion, slid and withdrew. Three more times he attempted with more forceful and varied strikes, but each was caught. On the fifth charge, as Prince Rufus tried for a right uppercut, Jasicus made his move.

The Warchief swung down, knocking back the Prince’s blade by one simple fact: he was a strong and robust earth pony, while Rufus was a gracile unicorn. The mental shock to his opponent gave Jasicus that precious moment. A left uppercut into Rufus’ chest, his armor keeping the blade from slashing him open. But he was knocked upwards, allowing Jasicus to turn and buck with legs that had done little his whole life other than run.

Kicked onto his back, sword dropped, Rufus groaned in the dirt and realized he had been beaten. Jasicus knew not whether to slay his foe or take him captive as an honored opponent. His choice was made for him when another battle-cry came from the right.

Charging with a dark blue banner at his back came Prince Wealthford of Detrot. Broken in the rear, he tried to reinforce the failing knights, aiming to fight beside his comrade-in-arms Rufus. When he saw the fellow Prince lying in defeat, he could not allow a proud lord of Equestria to be killed in such a way.

So he galloped and cut down the one blood-rider that tried to stop him. Wealthford reached Jasicus and dealt his vengeance, swinging to severe a limb. He missed only barely, the Warchief jumping away. He suffered a small wound to his foreleg; nothing grievous but he could do no more heavy fighting for the rest of the day. Jasicus was furious, and called out to his blood-warriors and other kinsponies, “Kochadajırzagıl tsuvuduyaz! Nodzuyatsılayıt honayazıl!(They have dishonored the duel! Punish them!)”

Wealthford helped Rufus back to his hooves, but by then their fates were sealed. Raising blades, they spared a look of silent resolve. The two Princes bellowed and charged headlong into the mass of battle-mad mustangs.

They would slay some, but many remained, and it was not far into their charge, merely a few ranks deep, that those two noble and brave, but ultimately brash Princes of Equestria met their end.

They were butchered, hacked apart and made mere corpses lost amongst the thousands of others. They had thrown their lives away—if only on their terms. Truthfully the fight of the right flank had been lost some time ago, and most Equestrians paid no mind to the whereabouts of their commanders when they decided to break and flee. Some escaped, but many did not, and now the mustangs and thestrals were free to array themselves against the center.

Wealthford had dispatched a pegasus to tell Marshal Stellara, and offer a final goodbye. The alicorn received the message very poorly. No more flanks…she was now surrounded on three sides, perhaps soon four if the thestrals could take the hill behind and defeat the mages. A vicious rage, biting anxiety, and a primal urge to destroy and deal vengeance all boiled inside.

“Hold, damn you!” she shouted across the field with magic voice, surveying her pikes. So far they had held, and heaps of death minotaurs and smaller dragons stank before the Equestrian center. But they’d become tired, as she feared would have happened at Windhock Vale. Unfortunately, with no line to fold backwards, she could not repeat that maneuver.

She and her uncle had periodically flown forward to slay dragons trying to smash through and flown back to command and rally the troops. She was not tired, but she was running out of options—not even alicorns could carry the battle as it was going.

And now Trottingham’s force, victorious at the river, was rushing to join the left minotaurs. Arrows and javelins kept pelting the foe, large bursts of varied magicks throwing their rear into disarray. All this was buying time, but outnumbered there was still a limit.

All was not yet lost, however. Stellara could see the cloud of pegasi from the river chasing the sable banner of Trottingham; Noblesse Oblige would not be able to attack with impunity. And hovering above the battlefield, fresh from dispatching three dragons, the blue alicorn saw that daring and fierce Brynhilda had broken her mustang foes, and was now charging the southern minotaurs.

If, and only if the left were saved, the enemies there driven off, then Stellara could reform a line and maneuver it around to envelop the right. Her pikes had remained utterly steadfast, in far excess of expectation in the face of elephants and dragons, but now they were a shield that could not break. And to ensure that, Marshal Stellara would keep having to play double duty of commander and warrior—another pity that Wintermail were not here. A dark part of Stellara’s mind was beginning to think her sister had turned tail and fled, hiding from this battle that thousands of ponies had already perished in.

Stellara shook her head and growled—such vicious thoughts!

Henarion following, the midnight mare came back to the front and immediately was beset by the dwindling dragons of this Horde. A large violet drake, the skin between his wings a green color. He was unique, with a strange backwards-pointing crest and a thin bony build. This dragon’s preferred methods of attack seemed to be the spearing of his sharp tail at the pike lines and the lobbing of small bright fireballs.

Ailéránen bright with the nightly shroud and arcs of lightning, Stellara brought her magic up until her eyes glowed. She caught a fireball with the blade and threw it back like some sport, knocking the dragon backwards. He continued flying, screeching like some demonic bird, and tried to lash with his claws. A blast of the battle-mages then hit his chest, a mat of ice spreading. Breaking the frost from his taunt skin, the dragon lost focus long enough for Stellara to impale him through the heart, discharging the stored magic.

This purple fiend, quite like the rest who tried to challenge Nightwrath and Dragonsbane, fell dead onto the heap before Equestria’s line. Stellara’s rage faded a bit and she mused over the corpses scattered across the field; perhaps if the Horde did win it would be so drained of strength as to have been defeated. The alicorn then scoffed—that was the thinking of one who intended to lose!

But from her point in the air she could make out the racing mustangs in the north, positioning themselves to attack the rearwards pikes and ultimately her archers. And the bat-ponies were going to fly all the way around and wipe out the battle-mages. The loss of either, let alone both, was unacceptable. What to do? Options were few, as Stellara knew to take troops from one sector to another would risk leaving places exposed. She returned to her command post, barking out orders and trying to hold her soldiers together.

And then upon the north wind came a low bellow. It was a deep horn, strengthened by magic and of a sound she had heard before at the Vale. That was the Horn of Canterlot

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Utter haste. Wintermail had spent every minute as effectively as she could, rallying her alicorn kin and training them in the arts of battle. Most were used to a life of hardship, and rose to adulthood already familiar with fighting; strength, size, and instinct could then make up the rest. Yet the alicorns were a greatly regressed people, and few knew any magic more complex than simple levitation.

Most unicorns could only ever do this much, and a bit more for their talents, but the High-Borne race were predisposed to much more. A pity, but nothing could be done about it now.

When the last of the gathered bands returned, Wintermail left before she was to raise the sun, going by moon and starlight. The winged ponies flew when they could along strong winds, cantered when terrain permitted, and rested only when needed. The Downfallen made great time, and made it to the rendezvous site of Equestria’s banners by that evening.

The white alicorn, their leader, was confused and disheartened when she saw a wide field utterly devoid of any army she’d heard of. The grass had been stamped flat, and there were signs of fire pits and other marks of warcamps. Some began to lose hope—the battle had been missed, and lost.

But Wintermail was not deterred. Years of wandering had given her a skill for tracking. Prints in the dirt and refuse dropped by marching soldiers suggested a path trodden westwards. The nearby river ran that way, and an army of the size Wintermail understood would certainly have traveled along it for the running water and an easy landmark.

With a flare of her wings the Alicorn Queen led her host, numbering some two-thousand of the fittest warriors the dispossessed race could muster. It was truly something to behold, the largest concentration of alicorns since the days of the ancient kingdom. And hopefully it would not miss the chance to be used.

High above the ground, Wintermail’s sharp eyes could see for miles beyond. She was leading them along the north bank when the land gradually widened into a broad fertile plain, the outlines of farms planted in the spring shooting up for harvest in autumn. Small hamlets dotted the hills further up, in case of flood.

Eventually, ten miles or so the hills graded into more precipitous cliffs and ridges, rocky and often barren of trees. Periodically an alicorn was sent to check the grass; again it showed signs of trampling. Confident that she was on the right path, Wintermail increased her speed, anticipation and anxiety welling in her stomach.

And then in the distance she spotted a cluster of something. Wintermail narrowed her magenta eyes and saw broad shapes, long and slender like…serpents. Dragons. Closer and closer the alicorns came, and Wintermail directed them towards the crest of the northern ridges. During their descent, she spotted banners, and under the purported knowledge of who flew what colors, she figured the Equestrians were under duress.

Atop the hills, she could see the creatures themselves better, and now it was fact that minotaurs, dragons, mustangs, and zebras had surrounded the Equestrian army, and were threatening to defeat her comrades. Her warriors were standing at her back, patiently and ready for a fight. That minotaur flank just down the hills and across the field looked tender, and Wintermail immediately knew what she had to do. She could save this battle yet!

A yellow glow took the horn on her belt, and she licked her lips. The brass Horn of Canterlot; upon its silver banding intricate effigies of alicorns had been crafted for something precisely like this. A spell was cast on the instrument, and Wintermail blew.

The sound carried for miles around, heaviest over the thousands of warriors brutalizing one another. Eónadin was drawn, and two-thousand other blades and weapons joined in the silent chorus. Wings splayed open, Regent Wintermail turned to face her kin.

A magical charge was set in her voice, “Most of my life has been spent wandering. I did not have a true home for decades, and true friends were few. But then I wandered to Canterlot, and there I met her Prince. He believed in me, in what I could become, and so he gave me a place at his court and command of his soldiers.” She paused, catching her breath and watching the alicorns, “I did not see what he saw, but all the same I did my duty.” Wintermail then flew off the ground.

“All his life he had heard the tales of our race, of the glories lost to time. The myths, the legends all captured him so. And yet how could a mere peasant like myself ever hope to join those bygone heroes?” Wintermail asked, but then her face grew stern, “He died, to the last trying to emulate the warriors of old he so admired; of Ponykind’s Greatest Splendor. Petrafyrm of Canterlot believed in a better tomorrow, for all of us.” Some of the tall ponies began to nod.

“We alicorns are few, we are scattered, we are waned—but we are not broken,” Wintermail intoned, eliciting some shouts from her audience, “That ancient Cataclysm may have claimed our home, and left us exiles in a foreign land, but it did not change who we are! There still is strength in our bones, fire in our blood!” The hooves stamped and the assemblage of the Triple-Kin flapped up in a flush of wind.

“There our younger kin fight against this Horde; should we not join them? In their stories and myths, we are their heroes and gods! Should we not show them why we earned such honor?" The cheers came, and some in the back began to growl and snarl like rabid animals. Wintermail turned towards the battle, sword raised, “Our time has come to once again stand in the sun and sing! By Lórian, let us remind the world why it once trembled before the Alicorns!”

Battle-cries resounded from the alicorn host, waiting for just the single word. Wintermail stared at the Horde, adjusting her helmet one last time. “I will not let the dreams and sacrifices of so many come to naught; charge!” And the wave rose, the host of alicorn warriors soaring down the hill in a spearing wedge.

The flying swarm of these giant ponies came closer to the battle, the air behind them blowing like a hurricane. Halfway along Wintermail began to gallop in midair, and her warriors did the same, all gracefully transitioning from speedy flight to an equally-fast run.

The earth had shaken when the elephants first charged, and later when the Hussars charged their foe. But both paled beside two-thousand fully-grown alicorns, giants of a bygone age turned to wrath. Equestrians and foe alike took pause when the tremors increased. Those that had heard and recognized the Horn of Canterlot anticipated this, and many were struck with awe when they found the Triple-Kin in their antediluvian glory.

It was like something from a temple’s relief, the image of gods in their primordial wars made flesh. Such was the Last Charge of the Alicorns, the final show of grandeur from this once-mighty race. And at their head many recognized their tallest, the white alicorn. Whether they knew her as a lone wanderer or as a soldier of Canterlot, thousands cheered and called aloud her name. Strong as a mountain, fierce as a roaring fire, the Wintermail appeared a goddess with grand armor and giant sword, ready to smite her foes as those in heaven would by lightning.

When the alicorns rammed the minotaur band, the first rank of bulls was trampled. The second was crushed by rearing hooves and blades. Marshal Stellara could not have been more relieved: the coming of her sister coupled with Princess Brynhilda’s victory against the left minotaurs allowed the blue mare to believe all was not yet lost.

However, the surviving thestrals had flown around to the battle-mages, and given them quite a fight. They were talented casters, but poorly suited for anything besides long-ranged support. Prince Luminescent fought off several of the bat-ponies with Evenstar, but against their swift hit and run tactics, the fight was hopeless. The white unicorn wanted to stay and fight, but only more dead mages would be his reward. When he saw the alicorns come, Luminescent decided his part in the battle was over, and ordered a retreat to fight another day.

Below the cliff where the battle-mages had been, Stellara’s pike wall was compromised when the mustangs under Jasicus and Trottingham’s soldiers under Noblesse broke through the weakened and distant rearguard. Stellara expertly maneuvered some reserves and back-ranks to protect her pikes’ vulnerable rear, but not before the nomads and the traitors pushed into the archer maniple. The fight did not last long before the weakly-armored missile troops routed, some running through the gaps in the enemy or climbing up the cliff, only to be killed by the thestrals.

Marshal Stellara’s orders were furious and forceful, “Hold the line! Maintain! Maintain!” Other soldiers might waver and flee, but the pikes would stand, and only yield when no life remained to stand any longer. Protected on all sides but stretched dangerously thin, Stellara would not have been able to continue. But then the alicorns came.

Now the enemy was being pressured on three sides by Nephele’s pegasi on Trottingham, Brynhilda on the dragons and remaining zebras, and Wintermail against the remaining minotaurs on the right. A counter-encirclement—messy, yes, and not what Stellara would have preferred, but she was grateful all the same.

At the head of her people, Regent Wintermail let loose upon the poor minotaurs who stood in her way. The pelt of a pony-goddess was enticing, but the first who had not been turned around when Wintermail approached chose poorly when his target happened to be the strongest of them. A blazing sword cleaved off his head. Another minotaur, silver grey, charged with twin swords at Wintermail’s legs.

Her shin guards deflected the blow, and then the white alicorn slashed open his chest, leaving him for dead. A third she trampled and crushed the throat almost without notice, for her true point of interest was the large and manic blue bull at the head of the formation. The line of minotaurs was broad but not terribly deep; she pushed onwards, unleashing rings of fire and blasts of magic to clear the path.

The heat, the flashes, the sound must have alerted him, for King Aurýx looked back behind and met the far eyes of his foe. He grinned wide and cruel, and then trudged his own way towards her. Time slowed, her heart with it. Wintermail was not interested in letting him run away, and now there was no Discord to distract her from the final blow.

Aurýx shouted something in Minotaurican, something along the lines of “the white one is mine”. Wintermail grimaced; he was certainly confident, and she’d respect him if there were anything else admirable about him. The alicorn studied her opponent-to-be: he was clad in mail and a helmet, his glaive clenched in his fist. But he was still missing one of his horns from when Wintermail had wrenched it off.

She smirked, lightly tapping her own horn with a hoof, “That’s right, yours won’t grow back.”

In an instant his face went from haughty to furious, a loud snort from his nose. Roaring as from the wild, he rutted a hoof in the dirt and ran full speed, his glaive tilted forward to skewer his hated foe. But Wintermail was no longer that same filly who’d been beaten and bruised by this bull; she took stance and prepared for a low guard.

Aurýx then leapt upwards and spun his polearm before thrusting it downwards, aiming for her head. Wintermail glanced away the glaive, and then the two continued their dance from Mareposa. Both were incredibly skilled and incredibly fast. Aurýx was a master of keeping the edge of his opponent’s sword from hitting his weapon, lest the black steel cleave his in two. With his greater reach, the King was also able to avoid the fires of Eónadin.

An elegant parade of footwork and sword-forms followed from Wintermail, trying to break his guard. Unfortunately he was too strong for her aggressive style to overpower as she expected. So she delved into more tricks. Sparking her horn, Wintermail enveloped Aurýx in a yellow aura, mentally holding his limbs in place. The minotaur was very strong, and thrashed and snarled to break free.

The strain was great, but Wintermail finally managed to stall the bull, and raised her sword for the final strike. But Aurýx was not finished, and summoned his will and rage to shatter his magic bonds, catching Eónadin with his hands. He tried it in such a way that the blade would not immediately slice his arms like a piece of firewood, but even so the edges made gashes and the fire burned his palms.

Aurýx screamed and cried out in pain, but he kept holding to the pure astonishment of Wintermail. Moments he had, but he used them wisely and removed a hand from the sword to ball into a fist. Aurýx then slammed it into the alicorn’s helmet, and then again. Seeing red, Wintermail turned and bucked, kicking her hind legs and throwing the minotaur twenty feet backwards.

With a pulse of magic, Eónadin was thrown after him. When he rose to retaliate, the blade had pierced his side, just below the ribs, completely tearing through his mail shirt. Falling to his knees, Aurýx slammed his fist on the ground. Wintermail withdrew her sword, earning a deep cringe from the bull.

“How?” begged the minotaur, his hand growing warm with blood where he clenched his side, “I am a King!”

“And I slayed a god; what does that make me?” spoke the Queen. She readied for that longed-for blow, but Aurýx remained defiant to the end. He reached upwards with a hand to try anything to stop what was coming, but the sword evaded his grasp, and instead was swung upwards through his elbow. Before we could realize, a second swing came through his neck.

Wintermail had finally done it: Aurýx the Minotaur King was slain, her great shame avenged. The alicorns and the minotaurs they were fighting, as well as the pikeponies nearby who held the line all saw the glorious and giant white mare, her sword raised in triumph. She let out a yell, a war-cry of victory before sending her host for further blood. Charging through the disheartened and routing band of minotaurs, bereft of their leader, came Cardúnón and Rhílë, cheering alike while sparing glances at their Queen.

Before she joined them, Wintermail looked down at Aurýx’s corpse, sneered and then pulled up his necklace of “trophies”. The prized ornament on it was her previous horn, smaller and weaker than the one she had regrown. Wintermail chuckled and tied it around her belt.

And there the battle turned, for when the minotaurs lost their king, they lost their nerve. And when the zebras saw the minotaur flank begin to flee, their own morale wavered. Against the onslaught of Brynhilda’s invincible Hussars, the warriors from the far south realized they’d lost.

The dragons remained, but their largest and grandest had either been killed at Canterlot or in the beginning of the battle. Two alicorns, one blue the other orange, had been assaulting them furiously, weeding them out. The dragons had been falling on pikes, true, but most only feared the mythical and vanished alicorn race.

And then a host had come, more than any thought were left. The drakes and wyrms would by and large stand and fight, but fail all the same. Firebreath could not compete with flying ponies that often had blades powerful enough to cut their hide. The dragon forces were now disordered and became mere obstacles to clean up.

So now the pikes were no longer being pushed on by all sides; instead they were forcing themselves into the thestrals, the mustangs, and Trottingham’s banner that had tried to take their rear. Wintermail and her alicorns were pressing into the nomads of Jasicus, Nephele’s pegasi keeping up their harassment of Noblesse, and Marshal Stellara swatting at bat-ponies like flies.

Against ponies twice their height, the mustangs’ fierceness was mitigated and ultimately defeated. After dozens were killed, their pieces cleaved and crushed beneath large hooves, Jasicus looked at the situation and realized there was no longer any hope. Thousands would be surrounded and slain, just as he had done to the Equestrian right flank. Amidst the cries and gurgles of dying mustangs their Warchief dropped his blade and prostrated himself before the pikes.

He cried out an order for the rest to do the same. Some obeyed, while some fought on preferring death to dishonor. Wintermail restrained her sword when she saw the herd surrender, and eventually came to their leader. “Mercy I pray,” Jasicus requested, head low, “Spare my warriors, for all that fought today are the bulk of the mustang nation.”

Wintermail suspected a trick, but after a few seconds of thought ordered some nearby pikeponies to apprehend the mustangs’ dropped weapons and keep them under custody. Another band of the Horde had been dealt with. The mare knew it was not over though, and spotted the thestrals in the sky. Spreading her wings, the alicorn led the others high above to their next objective.

But there was not to be anymore great fighting in the air, as the Thestral chieftain saw their comrades throwing down arms and allowing themselves to be captured. The Chief had met Jasicus and respected his wisdom, so therefore the Thestrals too would exercise such restraint and prudence.

The bat-ponies fluttered to the ground and gave up whatever weapons they had. Their leader expected the same equitable treatment as the mustangs received, and Wintermail and Marshal Stellara were true to that expectation. Already elements of the surviving and remaining Equestrian forces were celebrating, cheering and stamping at the defeated Horde. And indeed the Horde was defeated, but not the entirety of the enemy.

Prince Noblesse Oblige saw his allies flee or surrender, and was soon surrounded. Alicorns, those hated relics of the past, had actually managed to assemble themselves into something that he could respect. The primal part of him, driven by rage and hate, wanted so badly to unleash his army on those ponies, but he knew it would be folly. They may have been deplorable, but admittedly they were large and powerful.

The Equestrian pikes were advancing, piercing his front line. Over the formation flew two more alicorns: that blue Lady Stellara and her orange associate he’d met at Mareposa. With green eyes and violet auras rising like smoke Noblesse was not difficult to find, and soon both alicorns were hovering above him.

Stellara spared no time for words or talk of parlay; she careened down towards him sword in front. Deference caught Ailéránen, but a lightning-quick swing from her axe nearly took his right foreleg. Rather than remain locked in some struggle, Stellara disappeared in a burst of blue magic, reappearing behind the unicorn prince. Channeling the power of the cosmic well, Noblesse countered and fired a beam from his horn.

Using her greater strength, Stellara broke the guard and absorbed Noblesse’s blast with her ancient sword. She then opened her own mind to the same power source as the Prince. What followed was a vicious onslaught of swings, thrusts, and chops that the Prince had more difficulty countering each time, until finally his mental hold on his sword gave up. Deference clanged to the ground, while Noblesse Oblige stood helpless against a roused alicorn.

And not since Discord had bullied the princeling did the orange unicorn look so frightened. “This is your one chance,” intoned Stellara, “Surrender yourself and your soldiers.”

His heartbeat quickened and he began to sweat. To his right appeared Wintermail at the head of her alicorns. She looked angry and ready to slay him on the spot, a courtesy for all the grief and death he’d had a part in. To his left Princess Nephele landed with her pegasi, still burning with vengeance for the death of King Hillwick. To Stellara’s side came her older companion, the orange alicorn. His face let Noblesse know that if he tried to attack the blue one, the Prince wouldn’t hit the ground before he was dead.

The Prince would not endure the shame of capture, and therefore had only one option. He levitated up his horn, confusing those leering at him. He then blew, and called “Retreat!” Before his potential captors could act he unleashed a giant green shield before cutting his connection to the dark magicks. Against magical swords the barrier did not last but a second, yet that was enough time for Noblesse to run.

At full gallop, he and his soldiers managed to break through the grounded pegasi, trampling some in the process. The chase began as alicorns and pegasi alike flew after them, but Noblesse charged magic into his legs to carry him ever faster. Without regard for anypony else, he tripped those beside him to slow down the chasers, firing bursts of magic to shoot them from the sky.

“Pursue and bring him to me!” cried Stellara to all who could hear; she would not let this criminal get away. The pursuit continued until the ponies involved grew to small points to eventually disappear over the hill. Marshal Stellara, still primed for battle, readied her sword and axe for the next application of force. Scowling, eyes narrow and fiery, the blue alicorn raised her high neck, only to find no banners of the enemy left standing.

The zebras, dragons, minotaurs, mustangs, and thestrals had either all fled or surrendered. “I believe this means we have won,” came the soft voice of Wintermail. Stellara stared at the calmer battlefield, calmed down herself, smiled and lowered her guard.

The white sister then removed her helmet, letting her mane once again breathe in the open air. Stellara cocked an eyebrow, “Did you…do something to your mane?”

“Hm? No, not that I recall. Why?”

“You have colors other than pink in it.” Wintermail gave a coy look, a cross between incredulity and humor. Polishing her helmet with a fetlock, she studied her reflection. Sure enough, she could see small streaks of green and two shades of blue.

Wintermail looked up stunned just as Stellara took off her own helmet. “You’re one to talk, Sister.” The elder alicorn gave the younger her helmet, and when Stellara saw the “addition”, her eyes bulged. A dark streak of blue accented her normally periwinkle mane.

"Where did these come from? We’re a bit old to be changing like this,” mused Stellara, still studying the reflection. Before Wintermail could voice any theory she had, cheers came from off to the side. The Royal Sisters turned and saw thousands of their fellow warriors. Parsed between different sections were the acclamations of each’s name, yelled loud and proud by a grateful host.

Neither felt worthy. Stellara had led the battle, and therefore shouldered the responsibility of all the reverses that occurred—and yet it was her victory. Wintermail had arrived late, after the worst had befallen—but her charge broke the enemy and turned everything back into Equestria’s favor. The two could have protested, and chastise those that were overcome with joy and relief.

But it was far more sensible to simply give uncomfortable smiles and waves; the sisters tried their best to hold the dignity they’d been given.

A few columns of pikes shifted, opening a pathway through the ranks. There two of the sovereign lords approached, bloodied from the battle but alive. Brynhilda of Horsava and Auburn Flare of Mareposa came to the hooves of the sisters, craning their necks downward. Behind the Wintermail, her squire Veroche came bearing the blade that Noblesse had dropped.

Wintermail took it in her magic and presented it to the Mareposan King, “This belongs to you; Hordebreaker isn’t it?” Auburn Flare was stunned, finally reunited with the sword torn from his father by those barbarians; now in his rightful possession.

The King smiled and accepted the gift from the alicorn. Then, beside her comrades, Princess Nephele touched down. “Apologies, Marshal Stellara,” the old pegasus began. By now her joints were sore and her breaths shallow; she’d pushed herself more than a nonagenarian ought to have, “Noblesse and his cohorts ran into the woods whence he came; our flyers lost him and our runners got caught in the underbrush.”

Stellara shared a wrathful look with her sister—perhaps they should have chased after that traitor themselves. Wintermail understood the frustration, but cooled her heart, “Tomorrow is the day for finding him; today we celebrate our victory!” Her last sentence was boomed across via magic, and the cheers were given with reckless abandon. Wintermail examined the lords, admiring the signs of battle, the signs of a good fight given. But then she frowned, “We are light; where is the rest of our command?”

Nephele of Cloudsdale started quiet, her face telling Wintermail quite clearly, “King Hillwick fell at the river.”

Wintermail’s eyes glossed over for a moment; she’d known his father and by all accounts the King of Poneva was a good stallion. “A proper burial, then, for a warrior-king. And the rest?”

“I can answer,” came the brooding voice of Warchief Jasicus, restrained by two unicorn pikeponies. They tightened their magic shackles on him for such insolence, but Stellara raised a hoof and commanded them to let him speak. The aging mustang cleared his throat, “Two leaders, Princes as you know them—both bearded, fought against my band. They won great honor and glory, but fell on the field.”

Igniting like tinder Wintermail’s eyes bored down on the captive earth pony, but he did not recoil in fear; instead Jasicus showed a dignified acceptance. “Such is the way of the Mustangs, be they warriors noble or common. If it is the way of the Equestrians to punish this…”

The white mare calmed herself, “No, not today.” She returned to the Lords; Rufus and Wealthford could now rest and enjoy their earned deeds in the Halls of Allfather, in the Host of Lionheart as Tulicë myth dictated. “And the last one? Luminescent, yes?”

“If he was not killed by thestrals,” Stellara said, “Then he must had fled; do not begrudge him too hard, Sister, for he was left little choice; the battle had become desperate.”

“Indeed, but it was won in the end,” Princess Nephele declared, “And I think you two deserve great credit. For it was you, Dame Wintermail, who inspired the late Prince Peter to gather us.”

“And it was you two who journeyed west to Mareposa for proof, a mission of peerless danger,” Auburn Flare announced, a slight twinge of shame on his face. Henarion scoffed from behind with the alicorns—they must have forgotten his name.

“And you, Wintermail, convinced us to raise our banners!” Brynhilda said, always eager for a fight.

Nephele smiled in her grandmotherly fashion, “You found the long-lost Elements of Harmony, defeated Discord, and led us on this day. The Royal bloodline has remained true after a thousand years, and now there is nopony on this field that I would rather call ‘My Queen’.” The old pegasus, long living in a world without a kingdom, and long thinking she’d die in a world without a kingdom, was now seeing a dream fulfilled. “The Age of Princes has passed, a time of heroes, and now follows a new age of kings, a time of Goddesses!” And then she bent down her long neck, a homage not seen in nearly a millennium.

The other lords followed, even the petty-king. The bows were slight and dignified, but enough that these sovereign lords long free of a liege found a special humility. Their soldiers followed, and then the alicorns behind, their new Queen found.

Stellara spotted Cardúnón and couldn’t help smile, then laugh, and then cry. When circumstance and dignity allowed, she’d spend some time with him, perhaps go for a nice flight. Rhílë noticed their looks and grinned, rolling her eyes—Wintermail mimicked the action.

And then both sisters found their uncle, neck lowest of all and a tear trailing from his good eye. Under his breath, he muttered a solemn whisper to his deceased father, “I did it.”

Almost moved to tears, the two sisters broke their gazes from their uncle and then looked at one another. Trembling, full of nerves but also joy and accomplishment, they slung their hooves around each other and embraced as only sisters could.

“Our parents would be proud, huh?” Stellara asked, wiping her nose.

Wintermail sniffled, “At this point they’d think we were showing off!” Stellara knocked her sister’s shoulder with a hoof.

Time had slowed down, but when they broke from their embrace only a few seconds had actually passed. Accomplished, proud, and triumphant the alicorns stood tall, their manes gently waving in the breeze. Wintermail’s imperious gaze surveyed the field; the dead were to be buried and the soldiers given their due plunder.

And so it was done. The Lords each broke to their respective forces and led the search and proper care for their felled comrades. Great grave-pits were dug and the deceased piled up as respectfully as could be done. The rites were read, the songs of praise sung.

Stellara tended to Canterlot’s forces, her vassal commanders—those that survived, collecting the discarded weapons and armor of the Horde. A traditional tithe was given to their liege, but as he was only a colt, and Regent Wintermail had invested command in Stellara, she received that portion.

Wintermail had leaned into her sister and whispered coyly, “A commander can become very wealthy on plunder alone.” Stellara smirked and set aside some nicer items before dispensing the rest to the bloodied and wounded soldiers who’d held fast against elephants and dragons.

The hours waned, and soon the battlefield had been cleared of Equestrians. The thestral and mustang chiefs had petitioned that even in their peoples’ captive state they too be allowed to tend to their dead. Wintermail and Stellara allowed it only under the close supervision of armed soldiers, with explicit permission to run down and kill any fugitives.

There were only a few; most were earnest and dutiful, carrying on their solemn work without a word. Amongst the mustang corpses the armors of two fallen Princes were found and granted to their respective banners to be returned to their realms for entombment. King Hillwick, resting lifeless yet peacefully against a tree in the wood, was carried by weeping Ponevans for embalmment—a northern King belonged in the North.

Wintermail, Cardúnón, Rhílë and the rest of the Triple-Kin looked for their fallen brethren. Some two-thousand alicorns had charged that day; perhaps a third had been killed by all manner of foes. Indeed, perhaps as many as half of Equestria’s host had either died or been wounded in the fighting.

The Sun was low when the work was finished. The army broke apart into varied pieces and each set back to the camp a mile or so eastwards. Here, with the stores of rations and provisions the true celebration could begin. Kegs of ale and beer were opened; pastries of all flavors and styles were cut and feasted upon. Songs for heroes living and dead were sung, the most cheerful of ponies dancing while their friends laughed and made merry.

At the massive tent in the center where the Lords gathered and discussed business the remaining Princes and King sat and drank, holding their own form of festivities. But one matter remained before Wintermail and Stellara could lose themselves to the field of mirth in the Equestrian camp: what to do with the defeated?

Jasicus and the Thestral Chieftain were called before the Lords’ table, hung in shackles and worse for wear. Wintermail told them quite simply, “I do not intend to play a wet nurse to both your nations. Enemies remain: those that have escaped or gone elsewhere before we met in battle.” The white alicorn had thought about the best method to defeating these tribes…perhaps not by mere shows of force or violence. “What reason did your peoples fight for Discord?”

“For a home, a place where the mustangs could settle and not fear the wild,” confessed old Jasicus, his eyes heavy with a deep tiredness, “Does not an alicorn understand?” Wintermail shifted her wings and felt her heart soften. She then turned her magenta eyes to the thestral.

Its golden cat-like eyes darted back and forth, a naturally suspicious and paranoid creature. Finally it sighed and spoke, “We too wish a home.” The voice was female, speaking in heavily-accented Equestrian. Stellara in particular looked at this bat-mare with a growing curiosity.

“There is much empty land in our country; Muska lözhekijiketsilek röjüpetsilben midenezil ghunabırayıshı forajımıl.(A piece will be yours when you’ve helped us vanquish the last of the enemy,)” the blue alicorn said in the Warchief’s language.

Jasicus smiled and grew less guarded, “We followed a vicious serpent who made promises he would not keep; I believe I can trust you Equestrians however.”

“And what guarantee do you offer us?” asked the Wintermail, growing comfortable with her looming and regal presence.

The mustang knelt and held his head low, “Only the full faith and honor of the mustang nation; our word is our bond.” Wintermail gave a slight nod.

“We mountain-folk stand by our friends until death,” the Thestral boasted, pounding her chest. Stellara grinned and looked at her sister. A little mercy would go a long way; indeed it yielded fruits very quickly.

Jasicus revealed that at the now-abandoned Horde camp he had stowed a very special weapon given to him by Noblesse. When couriers found and returned with it, Wintermail was shocked to find that it had been in fact the Southern Keen, the sword stolen when Prince Peter fell at Canterlot.

Wintermail was greatly impressed by such a show of good faith; a measure of her apprehensions faded.

So the first test was given: the two chiefs’ irons were loosened and they were free to join in the party to stretch deep into the night until perhaps dawn. When they behaved well enough for a time their compatriots could also be relaxed from their holding pens.

Wintermail for her part had a tall mug of ale poured, her first real drink in a long damn time. She knocked cups with her Uncle and the other lords; it was likely that some form of contest would ensue before the festivities were done. And of course there would be no question she’d have her fill of a warm, delicious, moist cake.

But the white mare noticed the long shadows from the openings in the tent, the growing oranges and purples of the sky. She grinned and turned to Stellara, “Oh Taby, I do believe that nightfall fast approaches. Perhaps the light of something else might help everypony better enjoy themselves.”

Stellara giggled and stood up, making her way towards the entrance. A few of her retainers followed, along with a number of lords and of course her beloved family. Outside, the cool air rustling through her changing mane, Stellara spread her wings and closed her eyes. The gentle nudge of the Moon came, like a dog wanting its owner’s attention, and soon the midnight mare ignited her horn and caught the silver body in magic.

Wintermail retired the Sun while its gentler sibling rose above the horizon, bathing the black sky in a cool blue glow. Soon tiny points of light emerged, the dark field of the firmament decorated by thousands of stars. Stellara had only begun to understand the canvas that lay before her; perhaps one day she could paint great pictures with the multitude of stars as had not been done in a very long time.

Everypony around took a time to admire the haunting beauty of the clear night sky above. Henarion looked so proud seeing his nieces grown and already bending the heavens to their will. Cardúnón though was awestruck, captured both by the glory of the night and the beauty of its mistress.

Her white sister noticed the curious look in that green stallion’s eyes and made a note to assign a guard to watch him, lest anything regrettable transpire. But those feelings quickly faded and she returned inside beside Stellara.

The lot of them, dozens or more, drank and feasted as though the battle were the next morning. And indeed, soon enough they’d all have to return to the field and fight the remaining enemies as well as the ones who’d escaped. But with the Horde broken, the bulk destroyed, their most vicious of leaders and banners slain, and with hopefully two new allies in tow, Equestria’s future was now brighter than it had been in many, many years.

Two alicorn sisters had striven past limits and accomplished feats worthy of myth, and by these they had rallied thousands and pulled Equestria from her darkest days into a new light. For won upon that field some journey west of Hoofington in the greatest battle of the age the Kingdom had risen again, her Queen returned.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

He grit his teeth, panted and seethed. Noblesse Oblige, beaten and forced to lick his wounds, stood on a lone rock in a distant forest. He and his retainers had run as far and as quickly as they could. Losing the runners and the flyers in the woods had been tricky, but with no small help from vicious black magic their pursuers had been stopped.

But the terrible fact remained: Noblesse could no longer draw from his realm. His allies were vanquished and he could not return—the whole of Equestria would be arrayed against him.

“My Liege,” asked one of his personal guards, a light blue unicorn mare, “The ponies worry we’ve run out of places to hide. Where shall we go that we will not face capture or death?”

Noblesse’s face contorted into a hateful sneer. The alicorns, all those alicorns had frustrated his designs, his ambitions; all his goals come to naught. He snorted and stamped a hoof, but then calmed slightly; there was a way. No more honor was left to lose in fleeing, no more realm to fear abandoning. He had vowed to restore his kind’s ancient glory, cleansed of that exiled and debased race.

“Far away, far beyond their knowledge,” the Prince finally answered. He recalled what he had read in old books: a land of crystal and strange magic. “We shall let them search, all in vain, while we rebuild our strength in safety and secret. North, past the wilds; there we shall survive.” He levitated off his crown-helm, the bright iridean diamond staring back.

“Our patience will be reward; in time we shall return and bathe all Equestria in that cleansing fire they managed to douse today. All of them, the weak, the foolish, the traitors—all of them will cry for mercy, but they had their chance. The forest burns to ash, but only then do new trees grow; we shall be the Sword of Reckoning. The past shall be swept aside, utterly.”

The armored mare beside him began to smile darkly, “Then, my Prince, should we leave at first light?”

Noblesse Oblige’s red eyes watched the changing colors of his crown’s diamond. “Indeed. But,” and soon that green flash came to his sclera, the violet shroud rising like the smoke from a pyre. He moved his crown back over his mane. “I am now a King, and one day I shall reclaim my throne.”

The unicorn placed the helmet atop his head, and a shudder of magic traveled from his head to his hooves, leaving a stallion whose fur was darker and more fell than before. “When the time comes that we strike, Equestria left decayed and decadent by the same poison that destroyed the alicorns, our people will stand in awe at the ones who come to save them from their own iniquities. Then they will know the name of their savior.”

The unicorn’s grin was wide, and it almost appeared like his teeth were growing sharper and more like that of a beast, “Noblesse Oblige has served his purpose, but I rise anew. I…am Sombra."