“Hard is it in the world… an axe age, a sword age,
Shields shall be cloven. A wind age, a wolf age,
Ere the world sinks.”
-Saemund Sigfusson, The Elder Eddas

The springtime sun was warm and bright over the Canterlot Hills on that particular day, with a gentle breeze stirring the tall grass and rustling the leaves of the trees, filtering the light to create a myriad of dancing, flickering shafts which illuminated the pale grey smoke that wafted in the wind. The cows contentedly grazes in their fields, and the hustle and bustle of the nearby city of Canterlot was not to be found in the village of Hummingbirdton, though the hamlet was not without its own sounds of civilization. The sawing of lumber near the forest's edge proclaimed that the local lumberjack and carpenter were hard at work fulfilling orders, the calling of mothers for their children announced that filly and colt alike were up to their usual mischief, the bells from the nearby abbey evangelized to ponies of the love and kindness of the alicorn rulers of Equestria, the Goddess-Princesses Celestia and Luna, their prayers ready to be heard, and the clanging of iron upon steel tolled the need for nails, axe heads, saw blades, horseshoes, and pots for cooking.

The roar of frustration that interrupted the tolling of the smith's shop, however, announced that all was not well in the town's usual smithing industry.

"No, no, no!" Coalfire the smith groaned, trotting up with the exasperated look of a parent who did not want to be angry with their child, but was growing thin on patience. "Ye can't just keep hammering on a nail after it gets too cool! The nail will be brittle and useless if you do; you have to heat it back up, lad!"

"Aahfoologeesh," came the voice of the 'lad' in question, talking around the mouthful of blacksmith's hammer because the leather loop, meant to slip over the hoof and attatch to the forleg of earth ponies and pegasi, had broken. The white-pelted earth pony was the largest pony in all of the village of Hummingbirdton, tall, strong, and muscled like a minotaur. His mane was a bright yellow like the color of springtime buttercups, and his eyes were blue like an early morning sky in summer. Being careful, he lowered his head and spat out the smith's hammer, freeing his lips and tongue to form words properly. "I was in a hurry, and..."

"Laddie, ye can't rush good work. Even something as common and coarse as a nail has to be made properly. Imagine if this was used to build a house, and the nail snapped because it couldn't live up to the strain. Somepony could get hurt."

"Your right, Coalfire," the large stallion said to the older stallion, lowering his head. "I'm sorry."

Coalfire just regarded the larger white colt before him, and, at last sighing, he slowly reached a hoof out and patted the yellow-maned head gently, shaking his own head. "Blazing, you're a good lad. You always try your best to help everypony in the village as much as you can. But-"

"No!" Blazing suddenly said, shaking his head and backing away, "I've told everypony, I know what it is I want to do. I want to help ponies."

"And we all love ye for it, lad," Coalfire said, waving his hoof calmingly. "But we don't know how we can best use ye. You won't even let anypony see your cutie mark."

"My cutie mark is not a good mark... it's certainly not 'cute'," the white colt grumbled, then sighed, turning toward the door. Like the old stallion had said, Blazing did not let anyone see his cutie mark, wearing the kilts that were so common among the town’s residents, as well as a common, brown woolen shirt and a leather thong of a necklace, though, like his cutie mark, he always kept the pendant tucked away inside of his shirt. The townsfolk of Humminbirdton, however, were less interested in a necklace as they were in a cutie mark that its owner supposedly did not want anypony to see.

"Good day to you, Coalfire,” he said as he approached the door.

“Whoa now, laddie!” the smith protested, trotting quickly to block the larger stallions’ exit toward the door, “Ye might not think it, and I know ye’ll disagree with me, but ye did help out around the forge today. Here, your payment,” the highland buck said, holding his hoof out to display a single silver penny.

“Oh, Colafire, this really isn’t-”

“No, lad, it is, and I insist,” The buck interrupted, holding it out closer toward the white pony, “Can’t let ponies think I don’t pay for good, honest work now, can we? Go on, take it.”

The sunshine-maned stallion blinked his sky blue eyes, tucked the coin into his satchel with a sigh, and trotted around the blacksmith with a curt nod.

Outside, the village of Hummingbirdton was alive with its usual cheer. Colts and fillies ran back and forth through the village center playing their little pony games, and the locals all smiled and greeted Blazing cheerfully as they passed. Cheddar Wheel, the cheese maker, was leading a cow towards his shop, and Bag Pipes was taking her signature instrument home. Just a hill or two away sat the majesty of Canterlot on its mountain, a stark contrast to the homely humbleness of Hummingbirdton and its population, whose entire population was almost exclusively Earth ponies. It had grown, but not by much, and it farmed the surrounding lands to Canterlot’s south-west for untold centuries, since the first stones had been laid in the glorious city, to the days when the two Princesses, Luna and Celestia, had descended from the skies in grace over that fair city. Hummingbirdton had seen it all, rarely changing, a sign of the old ways, the old times, of Earth pony hard work, but of acceptance, love, and tolerance of the other pony kinds with the few unicorn and pegasi residents that lent their own skills to the close-knit community.

Then Blazing had come along, and he felt like the spare wheel on a noblecolt’s carriage; useless and only needed when something had gone wrong for something else, and he was needed to temporarily fill their role. But not for lack of effort on his part. So far, the stranger had tried his hoof at every task available in the town; farming, fletching, smithing, tanning, foresting, shepherd, carpentry, dairy stallion, baker, porting, tavern keeping. The only thing he seemed to be decent at was general labor, but he seemed determined to find a trade skill which he could use to make himself at home. There was but only one profession Blazing had never considered…

“Another day of hard work, Blazing?” came a stern voice that was hardly concealed in the guise of kindness and concern. The white stallion almost groaned aloud, and was tempted to continue trotting along as though he had not heard. But, of course, he could not help himself but to stop, and, suppressing a sigh, turned.

“A good day to you, Mother Sunbeam,” Blazing said with hardly contained annoyance, turning his bright blue eyes upon the pale-yellow and white-maned unicorn mare. Mother Sunbeam was one of the nearby abbey’s priestesses, born in nearby Canterlot to a noble family, but had felt the call of the faith, and so had joined, and now that she found herself living just outside of the village, she had taken it upon herself to make Hummingbirdton her flock, and to preach of the Princess’ glories.

“You do not look well, child,” she said, and Blazing could hear the slight condescending tone in that last word. Mother Sunbeam took it upon herself to ensure that all members of the village came to the abbey regularly to hear sermons, and apart from perhaps three ponies in town, every pony went regularly. None missed more than a service or two if times were busy or rough, but Blazing was the only pony who never attended, not once in the entire seven years he had lived among the ponies of Hummingbirdton, a point Sunbeam noticed, and for that reason alone, she had made it her mission to talk to Blazing every day. Blazing personally thought she was a stuck-up, overly-pious, overbearing bitch, the kind of pony who did not like anypony who did not go along with the status quo, and who probably only cared about her ‘flock’ so that they would shower her abbey with a generous and steady stream of bits donated by their congregation.

“I’ll be better once I’m alone,” Blazing said dismissively, knowing very well she would not, not before she recommended he bring himself to the abbey, confess his sins, and swear to become a loyal worshipper.

“But you need never be alone ever, my child,” she said, and gave a thin, knowing grin, “not with the Godesses, if you let them into your heart. Their kindness and love can console all woes, heal all injuries, solve all dilemmas, and fill your soul with joy and contentment. I know! If you need work, then why not come to work at the abbey! We could always use a worker around the abbey to help with the chores. And perhaps the time will also help you to clear your soul, to realize the blessings of the Godesses, and-“

She was abruptly cut off by Blazing, who had had enough of her nonsense. It was not the first time she had made the suggestion, and he frankly did not like the idea of working at an abbey simply so he would have to listen to the residents incessant praying, chanting, and preaching. He did not need the constant reminder that he was a sinner and a heathen every day when and while he worked.

“I’d rather shovel shit.” Blazing said in a tone of finality, and then turned to leave, disappointed that he had not upset the religious mare, who merely tutted, shook her head, and turned to go about her business. Good, Blazing thought, just so long as she left him alone. Besides, he saw Equestria’s alicorn princesses as good rulers, for sure, but that was about it. But they had allowed a church to build up around their very existence, a cult of ponies who saw their ability to raise and lower the sun and moon as symbols of their divinity. As a foreigner, he found it all so strange, and even a little silly.

Within a few minutes, Blazing had made his way back home, a simple hut of wood wattle and thatch, though it did stand out from most of Hummingbirdton’s homes. For one thing, it was longer than most houses, and comprised of a single large room, where most houses had several rooms for different functions. To keep the place warm, instead of stacked stones forming a chimney, there was instead a stone-lined hole in the floor which made a hearth, the smoke from its embers escaping through small holes in the walls near the far ends of the roof. Several floor rushes covered the ground, and various tools lined the walls on racks, or else were proped up of their own weight in the corner. Several weavings and tapestries lining the walls gave it all a bit of color, and a bed off to one side of the house, close to the hearth, lay welcoming and waiting, calling out to the tired pony. Blazing did not care that it was still the middle of the day. He went to it like it was a lover, and fell into her warm embrace.

He needed to think, and these days there was only two ways that he got a lot of thinking done; curled up in his bed, waiting for the embrace of sleep, or after a good long night of drinking, singing, and perhaps even a tavern-brawl at Hummingbirdton’s only tavern, then to find himself curled up in bed feeling the trob of the hoofblows, the alcohol’s vengeance, or both.

“So blacksmithing failed again…” he said quietly to himself. It wasn’t the first time he had tried to work at Coalfire’s forge, and the old buck was ever so patient with him, knowing he meant well. Why he continued to let Blazing work there was a mystery to the white stallion. Or anypony else in the village. Because that’s what a good Equestrian does, he concluded, now lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, watching the smoke swirl about in the rafters as it made its way to the ventilation holes. Help your neighbor, be kind, be a good pony.

“They’d think these ponies strange for being so patient with me back home…”

Home… no. Blazing did not want to think about it. It was no home to him. Not anymore. Not with what he did. Not with what his family was like. Not with what they did.

Just lying around wasn’t helping him organize his thoughts. Guess there was only one thing to do. Rolling out of bed, Blazing made his way to a corner of the house, where he moves aside a heavy barrel, and began to dig with a small spade that had been resting atop of it. After a minute, he found what he was looking for; an iron strongbox which Blazing opened up with a key he had hidden cleverly buried underneath a hearthstone that Blazing had to lift up and move aside in order to dig.
Inside the iron box was Blazing’s hoard. It was full to the brim with the golden and silver coins the Equestrians called Bits, and Blazing had had to sell much of the things he owned when he settled down in Hummingbirdton. He kept it hidden away because he did not want to attract the attention of thieves, and also to keep it out of the sight of Penny Pinch, the tax collector that the lands owner, Lady Titanium, would hire to collect money from the villages residents so that she could take her share from which she would live off of in her home in Canterlot before sending the rest to the royal treasury. As well as it should be, Blazing thought. Nobility and taxes still worked the same here as they did in his own homeland, if everything else was different. But the tax collectors were a little easier to fool here; after all, if she had asked anypony else, she would have quickly caught on that Blazing had more gold than he made helping around town.

Plucking up one of thesmall leather pouches from inside it, Blazing tied the pouch to his waist, closed the box, locked it, buried it, buried the key, covered it back up with a hearth stone, and made his way down the slight hill toward the tavern.

~*~*~*~

The Lucky Bit was the name of Hummingbirdton’s only tavern, a small place that looked more like a two-story house than a tavern, though once inside, it was impossible to mistake the place for anything else. The air was uncommonly clean and clear since it was still only mid-day, and no rushlights had been lit or the fireplace given any fresh logs. An old, long trestle table had been converted into a bar by way of only allowing a long bench on the side opposite of the wall, and keeping a space between the wall and it where a golden earth-pony mare cleaned a horn mug. The whole building smelled like ale and cooking food, and Blazing stopped to take in a deep breath when he entered.

“I see you’re having another bad day, love,” came a calming, gentle voice off to the side. Blazing turned to see Whispering Winds, the tavern’s owner and lovers with the golden tavern keeper, Cider Splash. She was a black coated unicorn with a long, two-toned mane of silvery white and a gentle midnight blue that reached down toward her knees, where it curled up ever so slightly till it pointed back upward. Her eyes were of that same shade of midnight blue as her mane, so shining and beautiful that Blazing had almost been heartbroken when he found out that she had no interest in the company of other stallions. Almost. It had only been a crush on the beautiful mare, but when he confessed a romantic interest in her, she had been gentle and kind in letting him down. Still, she was a great pony to talk to, and one of the few that the foreigner was happy to call a friend in Hummingbirdton.

“Are you sure you’re cutie mark doesn’t mean you have an eye for a pony’s mood when they walk in your tavern?” Blazing said with a strained grin, offering a quick hug to the mare, which she graciously accepted. The mark in question was of a wide, unblinking eye with a crescent moon where the iris should have been.

“Aye, and it doesn’t mean I have great flanks made for staring at, even though I do.” They both shared a laugh at that, and they sat down at the bar, where the golden mare simply chuckled and shook her head. She did not have to wait for any orders or request from them, but instead quickly filled up two mugs of ale which she placed in front of the two ponies. Afterwards she went to go check up on the taverns only other occupant, Ale Quaff, another general laborer around town who spent most of his days getting drunk. Unlike Blazing, though, he was at least competent enough to perform his role as a hired hoof well enough. When he was sober, that is.

“Poor Ale Quaff,” Whispering Winds said, sounding genuinely heartbroken for the red stallion, “he wasn’t always like that. He’s been drinking away his sorrows ever since his herd and foals died in that fire ten years ago.”

So I’ve heard,” Blazing said. It was a sad tale, and even he had spoken to Ale Quaff. But the stallion was inconsolable, and wanted to drink his sorrows away until he joined them in the afterlife. “But, if a stallion chooses to live his life in mourning, that is his choice to make.”

“Aye,” she said, then turned an eye toward the large stallion beside her, “So, blacksmithing didn’t work… I think that marks every profession around town that you’ve tried, hon.”

Blazing groaned, shaking his head as he raised the mug up. He was using the soft, flexible area under the hoof to grip the mug’s handle, an old practice habit of his that had earned him a few raised eyebrows, but no one said anything. Most ponies just slid their hooves through the loops attached to mugs, but none thought it too strange for a pony to want to keep the area under their hooves nimble.

“Don’t remind me,” he said after he had taken a long draught, “Mother Sunbeam had to put her two bits in on the way home. She offered me a job at the abbey, so long as I became one of the faithful.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told her I’d rather shovel shit,” Blazing said honestly, and started to chuckle along with Whispering Winds as she failed to contain her mirth at the idea. Like Blazing, she was not a very faithful pony, and the two often shared their mutual dislike of the pious mare.

“Blazing, it’s a shame you’re a stallion, because you’re a pony after my own heart, I swear,” she said after, and leaned in to give the large white stallion a kiss on the cheek.

“So, any news from any travelers lately, or is all quiet in the Kingdom of Equestria?” Whispering Winds, like all good tavern keepers, was also a source of news and gossip from across equestrian, hearing from travelers and strangers and merchants who passed through from town to town. Being so close to Canterlot was both a boon and a curse, as many ponies would skip over the little settlement to get to their final destination early, but often times many ponies would stop there anyway, and when they did, they usually had big news. The last he had heard had been that there had been some sort of argument between the princesses, and quite the argument it had been. It had escalated to a shouting match, from what Blazing had heard from Whispering Winds, though that had been weeks ago, and it had passed from most ponies’ minds, as it had happened behind closed doors, and so nopony knew what the argument had been about, and with time, like most rumors, it had faded away.

“Oh, not much… but there have been some strange reports coming from the north eastern borders of Equestria,” she said, taking a sip of her ale. “Something about a village apparently burning to the ground in the night along the coastline, but nopony was found, and most of their belongings were gone. It’s as if they just all gathered their belongings, set their own homes on fire, and disappeared into the forests to the north. What’s more, there’s also reports of both strange sea beasts in the horizon off of the coastlines, and tales of odd ships going up and down the rivers.”

Blazing’s heart froze. If he did not have a snow-white coat, he would have turned even more pale. His expression betrayed nothing, though. It couldn’t be, he thought. It has to be a coincidence. No, he did not want to think about it. He emptied his cup, took a deep breath, and forced a smile on his muzzle as he shrugged nonchalantly.

“The north?” he asked, as if he had never heard of such a place, “surely people on the road have something more important to talk about than a village disappearing or two?”

Whispering Wind was not fooled, nor would she be so easily dissuaded. Her brow furrowed as she leaned forward so she could look at Blazing’s face more straight on.

“What is it? Do you know something?”

“It is nothing,” Blazing said, his tone level and calm, but the speed with which he had said it betraying that he did, indeed, know something. Whispering Winds could see it in his eyes, but said nothing, instead reaching over to pat the much larger pony on the shoulder.

“Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, love. The Lucky Bit’s doors are always open to you.

“Thank you,” he said, “you are too kind.”

~*~*~*~

It wasn’t until some time after the sun had gone down and the full moon had risen to it’s peak height before Blazing stumbled out of The Lucky Bit, grinning broadly with the day’s troubles forgotten. He had simply visited and spoken with Whispering Winds until the evening, then, as the day grew old and the night was born, he had started to drink and eat with the rest of the tavern’s patrons. He had had his fill of mead, ale, cider and wine, and had slowly throughout the night eaten bread, cheese, vegetable stew and oat cakes, won several hoof wrestling matches (and a fair number of bits to go with it), sang some songs from his homeland in his foreign tongue to the amusement of most of the ponies gathered, then had decided to call it a night before he drank so much he would regret it in the morning. Nonetheless, he still had a slight stagger in his trot as he passed through the village square, and, seeing the well in the center, made a beeline for it.

“’Water keeps the hangover at bay’,” he muttered to himself, a little nugget of wisdom he had heard from a pony when he was younger, and that nugget had turned out to be an absolute jewel. Blazing did not know why, but finishing the night with a healthy amount of water always kept hangovers away, or else lessened it. And so Blazing began to turn the crank to lift the bucket of water from the well, using his mouth this time.

“Blazing!” He heard a voice call from behind him, and he turned to see Whispering Winds trotting up after him. He grinned as he slid the bucket of water up onto the ledge of the well, giving her a sly, joking grin.

“So, finally decided you like stallions after all?”

She laughed at that, knowing he was teasing her, “No dice, I’m afraid. Actually, I wanted to have a serious discussion with you. But, um, not here in the open. Could we go to your house for a bit.”

Blazing blinked at that, and despite wanting to make another joking comment about her flirting with him, but there was something in her tone that suggested she wanted to discuss something serious. So he nodded, and led her across the town and up the hill. He politely opened the door to his home, and offered her some carrots, which she graciously accepted, set a new log on the hearth, and gestured for her to sit.

“So, what’s on your mind? You listen to my troubles, I figure I might as well return the favor?”

Whispering Winds was silent for a moment, staring into the fire. The light reflected off of her deep eyes, distant, staring into nothingness. At last, as though prompted by some unheard command, she turned to the white stallion sat next to her.
“You know about what’s happening in the north, don’t you?”

Blazing paused, his eyes wide. Eventually, though, he sighed, shoulders sagging as he lifted a hoof to rub at his eyes.
“I think I’ve figured out your cutie mark…” he said, speaking into his hoof. “You’re good at reading body language.”

“Close…” she said with a slight grin, “It means I’m good at gathering information. Whether I see it in a pony’s body, read it on a letter not meant for my eyes, hear it in a conversation across a room, observe it from the shadows… I’ve always been good at learning things. It’s why I opened up a tavern. Merchants and travelers are great sources of information, even if they themselves don’t know it. And, truth be told, I was not entirely sure at the tavern… but your actions now confirm my suspicions. You know something.”

Blazing was silent, and it was now his turn to stare into the hearths embers, glowing malevolently black and red like the fires of Tartarus. Perhaps it was the ale and wine he had drunk earlier that loosened his tongue, or perhaps because he had decided that less harm would be done by telling his friend the truth than to hide from it, for then he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and told her what he knew.

“I’m from the north,” he admitted shaking his head gently. “I don’t know who the ships are, or why they came. I left them a long time ago. So all I know is that that village that went silent, it’s not because the people abandoned it. It was raided.”
“Raided?” She said, leaning back as if the word has been a slap across her face. Her eyes were wide in confusion. After all, Equestria was a peaceful, gentle kingdom, protected by its benevolent princesses. It was not like the old days, before Celestia and Luna were born. There had been violence then, and intolerance. The bond that bound the unicorns, earth ponies, and pegasi was fragile in those days, and barely held together. It was also a time when stallions had practically no rights, when they were seen in the eyes of mares as being only useful for hard labor and for breeding.

“Vikings. That’s what we call ponies who have taken to such tasks as raiding, fighting and plundering. In Equestrian, the word is ‘pirate’, but regardless, Vikings are warriors, thieves, and slavers. If no one was found at all, not even a corpse, then that is a little surprising.”

“Why?”

“Because the viking way is to attack a settlement, steal all of their gold, silver, fine tools, weapons, furs, cloths, and food. Those that fight back, or those that are too old or sickly, are usually killed, but the young and the defenseless are taken away as slaves. If they took an entire settlement, it’s because all of them were good for slaves, or for being made into the raiders’ whores.”

Again, Whispering Winds recoiled, but it wasn’t the sheer brutality of the truth. It was the cold, calculated manner which Blazing had said it all. He had admitted to his people performing unspeakable acts of savagery, and he had explained it as simply and matter-of-factly as if he were telling her that it was as normal as the Goddesses raising the sun and moon. His blue eyes were half-lidded, stern, hard. They seemed less like the warm blue of a summer’s day, and more like the cold blue of ice.

“There… there really are ponies like that?”

Blazing did not answer. Instead he picked up an iron poker from beside the fire, gave the flames a few prods, and watched as the fresh log, which had merely smoked and shouldered, now caught flame.

“We can be peaceable… when times are good,” he explained. “We love the sea, and our ships can go across the seas and down rivers. These shapes allow us to trade with distant lands most of the time, but our land is often cold and harsh. Often times, we get what we need by sailing into other lands, take plunder and slaves, and trade those things for other supplies we need, or for items that make our lives easier. We farm what we can, and collect fish many times as well; perhaps one of the few lands where earth ponies and unicorns eat fish as regularly as a pegasus, rare as those latter two types are in those lands.”

Then he let the hammer fall.

“If the north ponies are coming to Equestria, then it is because they have come in search of easy plunder. Equestria is not as used to war as the northern kingdoms. They will come, kill whoever imposes them, enslave whoever they can, and, if the can, they will take Equestrian lands and rule over them.”

There was silence for the longest time. They stared at the fire, neither daring to look at the other, Whispering Winds perhaps fearing that if she looked at Blazing’s face, so normally full of chair and carefree, suddenly burdened by grim seriousness, then she would know that the great peace of Equestria was finally coming to an end. Blazing did not know why… shame, perhaps. Or perhaps he regretted coming out about his secret, for now he knew there was no turning back.

“But you’re not like that, Blazing!” She had said it suddenly and brightly, flashing the large white colt a warm, friendly smile. “You aren’t like them, eh? You’re kind and gentle, and you love to help other ponies, and… and…”

Her voice had faltered because the large, muscled colt next to her was shaking. His head was hung low, so that his sun-yellow hair, now burning bright orange like a furnace in the hearth’s light, hang over his eyes. He shook again, and then Whispering Winds heard the last sound she ever expected to hear from the large, strong pony. A sob. It was so quiet, so faint, that she at first did not recognize what it was. But then she knew.

Without a word, he moved his hooves to the belt that held his kilt to his waist. He stood so that he could slide the cloth down his rear legs, and then kicked it away before he sat down on the ground.

His cutie mark showed. For the first time ever, Whispering Winds, the one pony who had never known it, never asked, and who had accepted Blazing despite his reluctance to show it, saw his cutie mark.

It was a sword. A black silhouette of a sword, it’s point facing so that, had Blazing been standing, it would point straight down toward the ground. Behind the sword, wreathing the entire blade, was a great flame, a pyre that seemed to seethe and flicker in the firelight, as though it were a real live flame that licked eternally at Blazing’s flanks. Blazing kept his head lowered, but he began to speak.

“My name is Blazing Sword,” he began softly, and as he spoke, he felt the tale slip out, as though it were someone else who spoke. The truth, it seemed, would no longer keep it’s head tucked in its shell.

“My name is Blazing Sword,” he began again, his voice rising, “and I was born in the north. And ever since I was a foal old enough to speak my first words, I wanted nothing more than to be a warrior. I was given my first sword when I was nine years old, and was taught the ways of the sword and the spear ever since. I learned how to fight in a shield wall, how to steer a ship, and how to lead ponies into battle. I was privileged, you see, for my father was a pony of power in the north, an Earl, like a lord, but with more power than a typical lord here in Equestria has. He was practically a king in his own right.

“One year, my father went to war, and I went with him and my brother and sister. We sailed across the seas into the lands of another northern chieftain with whom my father was enemies. It did not take our army long to spread long across her lands, taking food and plunder and supplies; but the main jewel of the land was a town, Nordheim, with its stone walls and rich city within. It was the strongest city in all of the north, and my father wanted it for himself. If he took it, then he would become the most powerful pony in the north.

“We lay siege to that city our armies surrounding the north and western gates to cut off supplies to their roads, while our ships also cut off any supporting reinforcements they may have had from sea,” he said, his sobbing gone, and he had not realized it, but he had shifted where he sat to turn and face Whispering Winds, looking into her eyes as he spoke. “We could not starve Nordheim into surrender, for our spies reported that their food supplies were vast. It would have taken us at least a year to starve them out, but by then the warriors under my father’s command would have grown died of plague, starvation, and the cold, for such is the fate of armies that engage in prolonged sieges, and those that did not die in the winter would grow bored, restless, and come to miss their families, and so would desert in droves. My people may be fierce, but we do care for our families, and the main reason we follow a leader into war is for the promise of plunder. Offer a year of starvation, cold, disease and homesickness, and suddenly you will find even the most loyal of oathponies hesitant to follow you.

So our plan was to make a siege. To the north, we were led by a trusted warrior sworn to my father, a fierce unicorn mare named Shield Splitter. Our job was to attack from the north and serve as a distraction while my father, leading the larger main force, would make good his plan to the west. We would use ladders to try to scale the walls while my father would lead a small group of ponies to sneak to their gates with tender and kindling, and set fire to the gate.

“We climbed the hills, spears and throwing axes and arrows raining down upon us the whole time we trudged up that slope of grass made slippery by the morning dew. I was the fisrt to lead, carrying a ladder with another of the stallions in our group and Shield Splitter. Our ladder was the first to be placed, and as I turned to shout encouragement at the other ponies, my companions began to climb. As I placed my first hoof onto the ladder's first rung, an axepony cut the ladder, and it fell. The other stallion was stunned, but well. Shield Splitter had broken her neck in the fall.

”So we stayed down there at the walls, throwing back the very spears and axes that they themselves had sent to kill us, as ponies placed their ladders and climbed. I ran to one, and, scrabbling up the rungs swift as an arrow, reached the top, only to discover I was the only pony up there, all the others that had gone before me had been killed by thrusting spears and slashing swords and hacking axes, but I still charged into them. I led with my shield, ducking low, forcing one young mare off of the ramparts, but I did not bother to see whether he died from the fall or not. I turned to my right, slashed another pony's throat, blocked an axe swing meant to go into my skull from the left, and placed my back to the wall. I hacked and parried and blocked, and I roared in defiance. And then..."

He paused for a moment, and then slowly took a shaking breath. When he continued again, his voice was much softer, lower, almost reverent. "And then the Battle Joy came. That mark of a warrior, where all is right with the world, and there is only you, your sword, and your next opponent, and they seem so slow and you so fast, and you know that this is truly where you are meant to be, enjoying the thrill of a fight. The world goes quiet, and there is only the quick, rhythmic pounding of what seems to be war drums in your ears, but then you realize it is your own heart, your life's blood pounding in your ears. The world seems so much brighter, the colors so much fuller. And all the while you are calm and placid... So help me, but I loved that feeling. My father once said that only one in four ponies are true warriors, but only one in ten ponies ever feel the Battle Joy. Such ponies are to be feared, for the gods themselves have given their blessings to such a warrior.”

“I was such a warrior. I laughed as I fought, as I killed... they were armed and trained ponies come to kill me, warrior ponies, some seasoned veterans with scars on their faces, some new recruits who only just found their cutie marks... and just laughed as I sent them all to Trotengard, to await me in the Hall of the Dead, where they would greet me as a friend! I felt the blood run down the blade and down my forleg, into my mail's sleeve, but I just gripped the leather-bound hilt harder, and hacked and slashed and stabbed and parried and blocked. Another mare came for me, huge and red, with her mane spiked by mud and her face painted in a red, wild pattern to make herself appear as a fearsome beast. She tried to slam me off of the edge with a huge hammer that she held in hoof and mouth, but I angled the shield so that it rolled over my head harmlessly, and before she could recover from her swing, I drove my sword into her throat, feeling the blade scrape against her spine, the blood spurting onto my face. But I just grinned.”

As if to emphasize his story, he grinned broadly. His voice had risen in volume and intensity, speaking excitedly. His hooves shot to the sides and gestured emphatically. Had he been among other north ponies, many ponies would have gathered around to hear the tale of his first battle in wonder. As it was, Whispering Winds watched him with a shocked, stunned expression on her muzzle, but Blazing Sword did not notice. He was too wrapped up in telling his story.

“I was like a god among those ponies,” he continued, “ like a son of the Wise One, and I did not realize it but other ponies from below had come to join me, and we formed a shield wall on the ramparts, and pushed and stabbed and killed. It was a good, proper shield wall, a strong shield wall, that place of death, a charnel house where glory is found and reputation is made. It helps to be drunk in a battle. Death can come for you in an instant, and all ponies fear the chill touch of fear clawing at their hearts. And, I admit, I was a little drunk. But it did not matter, for soon I was crushed by the weight of the ponies at my back pushing me into my shield, which was pressed against the shield of the enemy pony before me. In the shield wall, there is no room to swing a weapon properly, and so I lifted my shield up and stabbed beneath with my short sword, tearing into the thigh of one stallion, who's dying cry rent the air as I lifted the blade up, sawing through veins and sinew and leather, lifting up the mail that he wore. And as he fell, I shoved myself forward, breaking the ranks, hacking and stabbing and throwing my weight around, but I was hauled back into line by a pony from behind before I could be killed by my own brazen, joy-fueled madness," by now his voice has risen up again, and his gaze was distant as he once again saw the battle in his own mind. "And suddenly, we WERE the main force, for we had managed to turn a mere distraction into a serious threat to their walls. We were down the ramparts, and into their streets, and their shield wall broke... and there was such joy in the breaking of that wall that I cried out in victory to kill them all, to show no mercy!"

He paused for a moment... his face had been almost happy as he told the war story before. But now it sank... and his voice got low, and dark, and once more the sad look came to his face. There was a glisten in his sky-blue eyes, no longer seeing Whispering Winds, but staring off into the void, into his own past. "I screamed for blood, for glory, and for plunder. I do not remember the next few minutes clearly. When a shield wall breaks, it becomes a time of chaos, a time of slaughter, and we killed those ponies that broke, giving glorious deaths to those who stood and fought to the bitter end... while hunting down the cowards who ran like wild game through the huts and houses. But that was not enough. To ponies who are overcome by the madness of battle, it is never enough until the madness passes, and one can hardly scream or fight anymore. I remember nothing but... pure, unbridled lust for battle. I wanted more; more death, more fighting, more enemies to send to their graves, more lives to boast that I had ended, and when I finally came around, I was standing among the burning huts and houses that were the homes of not the warriors... but the innocent. The old, the sick, the young. I woke from a dream of glorious battle to a nightmare of rape and slavery and fire. The ponies who I had just fought side-by-side with in the wall, and who I thought of as my brothers and sisters in battle only a few moments ago, were sating their madness on those who could not fight to defend themselves. I saw two mares dragging a stallion who was wild-eyed in terror into a house, lustful grins on their faces, while three stallions had tied a filly, too young to have even earned her cutie mark, had been tied down to a barrel while they took turns to rape her. Those ponies I had fought beside were beating captured warriors who had fled and throwing them into a house, pushing a heavy cart in the way of the door, then setting the house on fire. Food was being robbed from granaries; bodies were being looted for their mail or their jewelry or their money. Foals were being ripped from their mothers’ and fathers’ arms and taken as slaves. I saw the ground become slick with blood, and smelt the smoke of burning wood, thatch, and flesh. And I stood there, horrified. I remember dropping my sword in shock at it all before my knees gave out, and I fell to the wet, cold ground. I looked to my left, then, and saw my flank reflected in the iron boss of a dropped shield... and I saw my mark... the sword, and the fire... And knew that I had ordered this horror... And, the gods help me... but I wept like a foal..."

He went silent then, and there were tears streaming down the white colt's face. He looked tired, so tired. His shoulders slumped heavily at his sides, and his while body shook, and he turned his head downward toward the earth. He still faced Whispering Winds, but his eyes were on the ground between them. He could not look at her. He could not stand to look into those judging midnight eyes. "So that is why I ran..." he said, his voice now little more than a whisper.

"I ran. There was a great argument in my family about my leaving. My father called me a coward, and my sister said I was weak. My brother, never a clever one, seemed confused by why I would leave, but just accepted it because he did not understand. But I could not stay. If I did, I would become like my father: a scourge on ponykind, a bringer of death and fire. I... am a monster. My talent, my destiny in life, is to bring chaos and death, and to thrive in that chaos. And so help me, but I am terrified of it, because I loved that Battle Joy, but was devastated by what it had led me to do. And I ran. I ran because I want to help ponies, to make others happy and safe, so that all whose lives I touch are made better by my having been there.”

Blazing Sword expected a long, tense silence as everything he said settled. He expected Whispering Winds to simply get up and rush out of the house in a hurry. He expected her to perhaps strike him, after all, he deserved it, he knew he did. Simply packing his bags and leaving home was not enough to make up for the hundreds of lives he had brought suffering upon, the dozen or so lives he had ended in that blood-crazed orgy of violence and burning and looting. He expected her to scream, he expected her to shout, he expected her to tell him he was a monster, a cruel, savage, evil thing, a thing not a pony.

What he got instead was a hug. She had practically thrown herself at him, wrapping her forlegs around his shoulders, buried her face against his chest, and simply held him. There was silence, broken only by the occasional sniff from the mare that held onto him.

“You are not a monster!” She said at last, her voice slightly muffled in his chest as she spoke. “You are a kind, decent pony! You may not be the best smith, or carpenter, or farmer. But you always go out of your way to help everypony who needs you. You helped those foals last year build their small wooden castle in the forest! You offer advice and an open ear to anypony who is troubled.”

She stopped, lifting her head up and grasping his shoulders with her hooves. There were tears in her eyes, but her face was both warm and stern, so motherly and strong. “So I’m going to help you now, Blazing Sword, by reminding you right here and now that you are a good stallion. You are not an evil pony! You are a good person in your heart. Don’t ever let anypony else, not even yourself, tell you otherwise.”

Blazing Sword felt his heart swell, filled with the kindness of his friend’s words. For the briefest of moments, he once again found himself wishing that she had some sort of an interest in stallions, but he shoved the thought aside, and just lay his head on her shoulder, holding her close.

“Thank you,” he said. And they stayed like that, comforter and the comforted, close friends and confidants, for a long time as the hearth’s fire cracked and flickered and danced.

And to the north, unknown to wither Blazing Sword or Whispering Winds far away across forests and vales, rivers and grasslands, at the sleepy little town of Seashoreham, the Vikings came.

Author's Note

Hello, and welcome to Chapter One of Dark Age of Canterlot! The idea for this story came to me one day when I was at work, selling tools and lawn mowers at the little Sears store I work in, when I was reminiscing about my favorite MMORPG of all time, Dark Age of Camelot, an MMO that was one of the first to have a huge focus on player vs player gameplay, and changed the rules by adding realm vs. realm, in which players could choose between one of not two, but three different teams (or Realms). The game released roughly thirteen years ago, and as I sat thinking about it, a little voice in my head said "Heh heh, hey dude, you know what would be funny? An MLP rendition of DAoC." Thus the pun 'Dark Age of Canterlot' sprung to mind, and for months I could not shake the idea out of my head.

So I began to write, and plot, and erase my current work and think up new ideas, new stories, new characters, and, I finally decided to pour more energy than usual into a simple fanfic, and voila! Chapter One was completed and posted for your reading pleasure. I do sincerely hope you have as much fun reading this story as I am coming up with ideas for it, and I look forward to writing many more chapters for your reading delight.

As always, creative criticism, comments, and praise are welcome.