Heart Of Light And Sorrow

Chapters

A Boy And His Dreams (Prolouge)
4 Years Later
The Boy On The Battlefield
Meet With Grim, Melt With Love
Good Nights And Goodbyes
Plight Of The Father
I Will Not Harm Thee
Diplomacy: White Flag
Diplomacy: Legends
Destiny: Turn The White To Red
Destiny: And From The Red To Rise
Carry My Word
Epilogue: Light and Sorrow

A Boy And His Dreams (Prolouge)

Clang went the swords as they rammed against each other, the ponies wielding them drenched in sweat, despite the bitter tug of oncoming winter at their fur. It was high noon in the training court, and the sun glared on the armor of the dueling knights. Around the two ponies fighting, other knights watched the battle. Each knight bore an insignia of their fiefdom, a concept lost as time went on in the land of Equestria. However, time was not moving on at the moment, and the moment was now a duel.

Slashing down with his sword, the lead knight fought against the rookie mercilessly, using every trick he knew. If the new recruit failed this test, then he would be sent back home with his sword broke in two, a sign of loss of valor and honor to most in this kingdom. If a man could not wield a sword, then he was not a man.

The rookie blocked the strike, his hooves beginning to buckle from the amazing strength of the pony he fought. His armor was dented in places from where the knight had succeeded in striking him. However, the pony had to grin, seeing a few dents on the knight as well. Despite being many years younger than the lead knight, this colt was strong enough to blow back his sword. Having memorized the movements in his head of exactly the correct parries and thrusts, cuts and slashes, the rookie attacked, taking the offensive.

The knight, surprised by the young ones courage, quickly switched to defensive, blocking as many attacks as he could. This boy is a worthy match for your like, he thought to himself. Bringing up his sword to block an attack, he gasped as he felt tremendous weight behind the attack. He nearly collapsed to the ground in surprise. Such power…

The colt took this surprise to his advantage. Flaring out his wings, he rose up into the air slightly and stabbed downwards. The knight beneath him could not dodge, as he was still stunned from the last attack. Carefully angling his sword, the colt slammed it into the field beneath them. On one side of the sword was the knight’s startled face. On the other side was his sword. With a simple flick of his sword, the knight was disarmed. “Point,” the colt said in a voice befitting him, somewhat prideful and full of courage, though still wavering between a boyish tenor and a strong baritone.

The knight nodded. “Yield.” He began to stand when the colt offered his hoof. The knight took it gratefully, hoisting himself up. He slid off his helmet, his mane slick with sweat. His eyes shone with amazement. “Methinks thou art far worthy of this battle, young one. Come. Show your face and revel in your victory.”

The colt slid off his helmet slowly, also sweating. His face was young and roguish, yet there was still the hope and yearning for something greater in his silver – blue eyes. His mane was two tone grey, spiked even as it glistened with sweat. He panted slightly from the noonday heat, flapping his wings lightly to try and cool off. “T’was certainly an honor to fight with formidableness such as yours, Sir Knight.”

The knight laughed, a deep, booming laugh. “Call me Cedar, young one. Cedar Shield. What shall we call thou?”

The colt smiled. “My name is Morrigan, Sir Cedar.”

Cedar raised his eyebrow, smiling still. “Morrigan? The Goddess of Strife? How unfortunate a name for a man as yourself.”

Morrigan laughed, albeit a tad ruefully. “Tis only a name, Sir Knight. My mother saw fit to name me as such, and thus, it shall be my name. She is fond of tales of Gods and Myths.”

The knight nodded. “Very well, young Morrigan.” He glanced over the colt before him, his face growing more serious. “Just how old art thou, colt?”

“I shall come of drafting age next harvest moon, Sir Cedar.”

Cedar nodded. He seems young for 16… “Very well, Morrigan. If thou art interested in fighting for thine right to live and thy right to serve your fiefdom when thou come of age, then seek me out. Methinks we may make thou a knight yet.”

Morrigan smiled brightly, his eyes shining with a childish abandon. Long ago, he had watched the knights ride out, knives and blades wielded with magic and hoof. He had always dreamed of being a knight. “Many thanks, Sir Cedar.”

The knight laughed another booming laugh, reaching down and tussling the boy’s mane. Morrigan shook his head, getting his hair situated again. While he may be 15, he was still a child at heart. “Go on, Morrigan. Rejoin thine comrades in thine own quests.” With that, Sir Cedar trotted off with the rest of his men.

Morrigan watched them go until they had passed out of his sight. He sighed in relief at having beaten the knight. If he had not, then he would have gone home and broken his sword further over the table, vowing to take up some womanly hobby, such as cooking or sewing. He would be forever humiliated by his failure on this field. Yes, Morrigan was VERY pleased to have passed. “Thank the Gods,” he whispered under his breath, muttering a small prayer of thanks.

“Gods have nothing to do with it, Morr!”

Morrigan’s head shot up as he jumped and turned, beaming. “Fiery!” Behind him, galloping this way, was a colt his age. His fur was a brighter blue than Morrigan’s, more like a sky blue than anything. His eyes were a bright orange, and his wings were a bit more sturdy and larger than a normal pegasus usually had. His mane was dark, almost black, but with a dark blue tint. He flew on over, and Morrigan could feel the gust of wind his wings kicked up. He grinned as his closest friend landed nest to him. “Did thou stay to watch that battle?”

“Um, Morr. Duh. Why else would I come to this smelly old battleground?” Morrigan always had noticed Fiery had chosen to speak in his own way. He was far more relaxed than Morrigan, but Morrigan had never minded. After all, they were friends. “You totally kicked that knight guy's as-“

“Fiery!”

“What?” his friend asked innocently, a grin on his face.

Morrigan facehoofed, groaning. “Try to keep thine foul mouth at bay, my friend.”

“No promises~” Both ponies laughed in unison, quite the pair. Fiery glanced around the now abandoned field, but for a few stray ponies who were making their ways home for noonday meal. He smirked as he saw a pale orange mare wake past, a small distance away. “Hey, Morr. There’s Katrina~”

Morrigan blushed slightly, realizing he was soaked in sweat, and his armor smelled like a rusty pot, and his mane… He’d rather not think about what he smelled or looked like right now. “Thinkest thou that my image is not to terribly horrendous?”

Fiery rolled his eyes. “Morr. Bud. You look horrible. You’ve been fighting knights all day, what do you expect?”

Morrigan groaned, his confidence from the fight suddenly evaporating in the sun. “Please, Gods, don’t let her see me.”

Fiery laughed. “Don’t worry about it. She’s walking away.” Morrigan sighed in relief as Fiery kept laughing. “You have got it bad, Morrigan.”

Morrigan looked at his friend, eyes wide with fear. “I have ‘got it’ bad? Pray tell, what is this illness that I have contracted? Is it terminal?”

Fiery laughed harder. “It’s called puppy love, Morr, and let me tell you – you’ve got it REALLY bad.”

Morrigan gasped. “Please, Fiery, tell me kind words… How long dost thou think I have?”

Fiery looked at him in amazement. “You’ve never heard of puppy love?”

“I’m afraid I’ve never been in a circumstance to have heard the term…”

Fiery groaned. “Morrigan, you SERIOUSLY need to learn more about the world. Puppy love just means that you really really like Katrina, much like a puppy loves their owner.”

“So… Katrina owns me?”

Fiery burst out laughing harder than ever at that one, nearly falling over. The image of Morrigan wearing a collar was too much for him. “I-In a way,” he finally managed to reply, still laughing.

Morrigan wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. He wasn’t sure he enjoyed the prospect of being owned by a woman. He opened his mouth to try and say something, until he heard a shout from across the field. “Icarus Fiery Gale!!”

Both colts turned to look at a pegasus mare trotting their way. Fiery groaned, seeing it was his mother. He stood, sighing.“Great, it’s mom…”

“Do not say ‘it’s mom’ to me, thou ungrateful...,” she said in a huff as she came closer. “This is where thou hast been all day?! I told thee to stay in the house!” Both boys glanced at each other as she said this, one asking for sympathy with his eyes, and the other mouthing his inability to act back. “Thou come right along with me!” Fiery winced as his mother grabbed him by his ear.

“Come on, Mom, it’s not like I’m gonna get ran through by a sword or something! This is a safe village!”

“Thou knowest not of all thou says.” Fiery rolled his eyes to Morrigan. “Come on, shoo! Come on!”

Fiery sighed as his mother dragged him by his ear. “S-see you later, Morrigan!” He shouted, wincing slightly at a particularly hard tug at his ear. Morrigan chuckled, watching the two squabble. He had never quite understood his friend’s mother, but then again, his friend’s mother was not his own mother.

Morrigan started home, his helmet tucked away under his wing. He said hello to the various ponies around town that he knew, always kind. All of them smiled back – A few waved in greeting, smiled, or even came in close for a hug. Many stood at a further distance than normal – and preferably upwind. Methinks I should bathe when I arrive at my home, Morrigan thought with a slight blush. While bathing was certainly an out of place idea this close to winter, he quickly realized he did not wish to smell of armor all night.

He stopped and backed against a nearby building as he saw Katrina in the distance. She stood, her back to him, running her hoof over the bark of a tree. He smiled lightly, watching her. She always liked trees, he thought. He took in her image, realizing dimly that his friend had been right - He had it bad. Her fur was pale with red tinted spots, not uncommon in these parts. The way she moved made her body sway in the light of the sun, making her fur dance like the rising sun on the cloudy morn. Her green mane shone in his eyes like a dark emerald, coiling into a braid and lying next to her neck. Her eyes shown with a beauty unimaginable, specks of purple light among a dark world. She was beauty incarnate to him, the rarest jewel in the entire kingdom. He sighed, watching her, warmth growing in his chest. What he wouldn’t give to see her beside him… to hold her close… whispering in her ear... feeling her breath on his cheek as she-

Morrigan flushed red, quickly dismissing such thoughts and continuing to walk away. He realized quite quickly how improper such thoughts were. While he felt a burning in his heart for the mare, he could not go to her. Things were already tense in the village without a pegasus going after an earth pony.

Morrigan sighed, thinking about the circumstances, the warmth from seeing Katrina and the battle both beginning to fade, leaving the cool Autumn air to nip at his fur. While none openly said it, seeing who Morrigan’s father was, there was animosity between the three races that lived in this village. Pegasi were uncommon in this place, preferring their mysterious sky homes. However, since Morrigan’s father, Fury Strike, had married an earth pony, they were forced to settle on the ground. The village had been distrusting at first, and even once, some unlucky soul had thrown a stone at Morrigan’s mother, yelling at her to leave this village with, as Morrigan remembered, ‘that pompous oaf thou name husband ’.

The stallion had only been confined to bed rest for 3 months as his rib cage and hoof healed. Fury had quite swiftly taken his gauntlet and threw it down on the ground, challenging the man to a trial of lances. It had ended as Morrigan assumed it would – The stallion who had insulted his father and threw a stone at his mother had ended up begging for mercy. Fury had only just spared his life.

After that, Fury Strike had been renowned for his fighting abilities – It seemed the stallion who had insulted them was none other than the Elder’s son, who was well known for his strength. Fury rose in popularity, and when the Elder passed away, he became the newly elected leader of their small town. Morrigan, by default, was then living in his father’s shadow – and none would insult the Fury family, nor any other race. Fury would not stand for it.

Morrigan realized with a start that he had arrived home. He had been so caught up with thoughts of the past, he hadn’t realized he had come home already. In his mental absence, the sun had begun it’s decent. He smiled at it softly, appreciating the unicorns for their magic prowess, despite their elitism about it. Few unicorn were in the village here, but those who were kept to themselves.

He opened the door softly, smiling as the smell of his mother’s familiar cooking reached his nose. “Mother, I’ve returned,” he said, calling to the kitchen.

“Welcome home, my son,” he heard a voice call back. He trotted into the kitchen, seeing his mother hard at work at the stove. She turned to him, raising her eyebrows. “Leave thy sword at the door, son. I dislike weapons at my table.”

“Very well, mother.”

“And wash up – Thou smell of a rusted pot.”

Morrigan winced and went to the wash room at once, discarding his armor. After a bitterly cold soak in the water, he brought his armor to his room and left it in his closet. He then returned to the kitchen to find supper on the table, and all was well with the world.

Author's Note

Finished the prolouge, April 19th
BTW, Supper was, back then, a sort of meal before dinner. ^^

4 Years Later

Morrigan laughed as he ran the dummy through with his lance, his eyes burning with delight at the thought of another slain foe. Another battle won. Around him, knights stared or fought their own particular practice dummies. Though, why Morrigan was there, they had no idea. The young colt had grown into a man at an alarming rate, with the strength to boot. He had risen in their ranks quite quickly over these past 4 years, and was already right hoof to their captain, Cedar Shield. With his natural power and strength, he of all ponies did not need to practice.

Morrigan slipped off his helmet, wiping the sweat from his brow. His heart was pounding from the adrenaline surging through him. The thrill of the battle, of winning – It burned in his soul. In this instant, he could do anything. He could kill anypony, protect anyone he loved. Nothing could defeat him when he felt like this.

He turned as he felt a hoof on his back. “Practicing again, I see?” Morrigan smiled at the Cedar Shield. In the 4 years since Morrigan has first sparred with him, he had visibly aged. His mane now shone with silver, and his eyes with a wisdom that comes only from experience. The captain of the guard nodded. “'Tis always good to keep thy skills honed for the battles to come.”

Morrigan nodded, the grin on his face stuck there. “Methinks mine skills are honed to a sharper edge than my blade, Sir.”

Cedar looked at him seriously. “Morrigan, would’st thou join me in my tent?” Morrigan sensed the gravity of the moment and nodded. Together they walked across the training fields to the captain’s tent.

Inside, there was nothing unnecessary. No needless decorations adorned the wooden table in the middle of the tent. The canvas surrounding them was barren as well, thin enough to let dim light in. There were two chairs, and Cedar motioned for Morrigan to sit in one. Both ponies sat down, and Morrigan couldn’t help but feel the uneasiness of this moment. His captain looked… Tired. More tired than Morrigan had ever seen him. “Is thy health in good fortune, Sir? Methinks thou look as over-exhausted as a widow with child.”

Cedar massaged his temples, sighing. “Thou art right, Morrigan. I am exhausted. More exhausted than thou hast ever seen me.”

“Whatever is the problem, Cedar,” Morrigan said, genuinely concerned for his leading officer.

“I thank thee for thy concern, Morrigan… but, I am afraid that this tiredness is not brought on by any sickness. Instead, it is brought on by a monster that plagues these lands…” Cedar sighed, resting his head against his hooves on the desk. “Mayhaps, hast thou heard tales of Changelings?”

Morrigan’s eyes widened. Nostalgia passed over his eyes as he remembered the fantasies his mother had spun in his mind at a younger age. Tales of changeling beings, switching place with small children whom had gone where they weren’t supposed to. Changelings, who took their exact shape and form, and stole the love of those around them. “Dost thou mean to tell me such beasts are truly real?”

“They have been real for eons, Morrigan. They have hidden themselves, kept themselves secret. Now, they have begun to rise once more. It is our sacred duty to our kingdom to rid the lands of this horror…” Cedar sighed. “I am afraid, Morrigan. These beings hath shattered mine heart, soul and will with their idleness, lulled me into a foalish peace… I find myself ill-prepared for the tasks ahead.”

Morrigan stood, his eyes glimmering as the thoughts of battle swarmed in his mind. “Is there to be battle, Sir? I assure thee, with all mine heart, I shall be thy best knight.”

“Sit down, Morrigan!” Startled by the anger in his commander’s voice, Morrigan hastily sat. “Methinks thine strength betrays thine mind, Morrigan. These… things take the shape, form, everything of anypony. Thine eyes betray thee in this war…” Shield sighed, standing. Morrigan watched as he began to pace. “Thou art too willing for this fight, Morrigan.”

“What do you mean, Sir? Dost thou think mine strength lacking? Mine heart to falter on the field?”

“Neigh, Morrigan.” Cedar sighed once again. “Morrigan, allow me to be blunt – Methinks thou should join me in battle, my right side.”

Morrigan’s first reaction was one of glory – Until he thought a moment. “Sir, if I am to be next to thee in the battle, then my blade shall taste little blood. We are near the back of the lines in formation, and thus be unable to fight properly.”

“Morrigan, allow me to rephrase… I order thee to my right side. Thou shall witness this battle from afar.”

Morrigan knew he could have stood up against the captain. He could’ve protested for hours, even drawn his sword. But he also knew his place. He knew his commanding officer was just that – His commanding. He had to follow his orders – That was his place. He hung his head. “As thou command, Sir. May I return to my home now, Sir?”

“Please, Morrigan, do so.” Morrigan stood and saluted stiffly. As he turned to walk out, he heard Cedar turn. “Oh, and Morrigan? About the blood thy sword wishes to taste… Methinks these beasts do not shed it. Terribly sorry.”

Morrigan nodded and turned, unnerved by his captain’s words. He walked out, thinking over his orders. To follow behind the charge had never been in his fantasies of war and battle. He had always led the charge, slaying foes left and right. The smell of blood was in the air, always the enemy’s. The thought of it sent chills down his spine.

He walked past the training fields, his mind wandering with him. Perhaps the captain wanted him near him for safety? No, that didn’t make sense. The captain’s strength was almost equal to his own. He would not fear for his own protection…

Right?

“What manner of beasts are these that he may question his own strength,” Morrigan asked himself. He thought hard to the tales he had heard as a child of the changelings. They were hideous monsters, disguised as those you loved. They historically took the form of the love of your life, feeding from the love you had to that pony. They would go so far as to enchant you into loving the pony in question.

Morrigan was so deep in thought; he did not see the mare before it was too late. In a clatter of armor, he stumbled back from the mare he had run into. To his surprise, the pale mare with red spots stood in front of him, just as surprised as he. “K-Katrina,” he said, his eyes wide.

Her beauty had merely grown in the 4 years he had watched her from afar. Her mane only darkened in the glare of the sun, highlighted by the rays. Each movement she made shifted the emerald strands, like leaves dancing. In her braids rested flowers, almost reminding him of the vines of a tree, blossoms resting in its grasp. Her eyes were the most lovely, however. He had never gotten the chance to see the softness, the gentleness of those eyes. They sparkled with curiosity and kindness, as blue as the sky above. “G-Good morrow, Sir,” she said, sending electric shocks through his heart. Her voice was like a bell, chiming its beautiful song.

“I-I am sorry to have bumped into thee,” he said, cursing the blush rising to his cheeks silently.

“Thine apology is unneeded. I’m fine.” she said with a small smile. He smiled back, a bit shyly. “Hast thou been training all morn?”

Morrigan nodded. “’Tis always good to be prepared for a battle.”

Katrina sighed softly. “All this talk of battle… I truly wish no wars need be fought at any point in time.”

“’Tis sadly something which has happened through all our history. Methinks, however, thine sentiment a pure one. Whilst battle can bring glory, it is still dangerous.” Morrigan felt his heart flutter as she blushed. All of the courage and strength on the training fields were nothing compared to the strength needed not to ask her hoof in marriage at this exact moment.

Katrina turned her head away softly, trying to conceal her blush. “I am glad thou thinkest so, Sir Knight.”

“Please,” he said, smiling. “Mine name is no curse. I am called Morrigan by many, and I wish for thee to be no exception.”

Katrina looked him right in the eyes, taking in his features. “As thou wish… Morrigan.”

Morrigan felt his heart skip a beat as she said his name. Katrina felt hers do the same. Both knew the name held meaning to both of them – Especially when spoken by her. Morrigan opened his mouth. “Katrina, would’st thou do me the honor of joining me for supper tomorrow?” The words tumbled out of his mouth faster than his mind could process them.

Her pale face turned rosy with her increasing blush as she nodded, never once loosing contact with his eyes. “I-I… It would be my delight, Sir Morrigan.”

Morrigan beamed. “R-right after the evening bell toll.” Katrina nodded. Her simple nod made him feel stronger than a full army of changelings. He could do anything from her simple nod. Glancing around, he saw nopony near. He saw his chance.

Morrigan took it.

With a small movement, he kissed the lady’s cheek.

Katrina gasped at the sentiment, smiling despite herself. She knew if anypony had seen, the rumors of horror would begin around the village. A Pegasus and an earth pony were not meant to be – But, after all, perhaps old prejudices were to be forgotten. Morrigan’s father certainly did not care for them. Why should she? “M-Morrigan…”

“I shall see thee then,” he said softly, blushing and smiling at the mare whom he knew was the love of his life. Glancing at the sun, he quickly galloped away, eager to get home.

He had to tell somepony. He knew. His father might not understand – After all, Katrina was 17. She was in the prime marrying age, and Morrigan would have to fight for her to remain by her side. His mother, on the other hoof…

He didn’t knock before entering his home. “Mother! I have great news this eve.” He smiled to himself and quickly discarded his armor and weapon. This would be a day to remember.

Author's Note

I know, I know, bit fast this chapter. Been raring to go, and this ship is one of my favorites~

) For reasons you all will see later.

The Boy On The Battlefield

Morrigan stood next to his captain, as he had been commanded. What he saw was indescribable.

An army stood with him. 50 ponies stood, all clad in shining armor. The entirety of the barracks from the village where Morrigan lived was now together, ready to fight for their home. All held weapons and defenses. “Reinforcements are to come upon the right flank, from the direction of the King’s Palace,” Morrigan heard Cedar say. “Another 100 able stallions to join our knights.”

Morrigan grinned. “This should prove to be a hearty battle, Sir.”

“Be not so eager for battle, Morrigan. Especially with these beasts…”

Morrigan nodded, though he could not make his grin disappear. He took a deep breath of the cold air, feeling its chill on his bones. The walk here had been a bit longer than he expected – 5 days. His hooves ached, but he could ignore that for the feeling of victory he knew would soon be in his grasp. They were right on the edge of the Outer Lands, a dark place where all manner of creature stayed – Including, supposedly, the changelings.

“Sir,” Morrigan asked, suddenly curious. “How do we lure the changelings from their lands? Methinks it troublesome to drive ourselves further into their territory.”

“Thou art correct, Morrigan. We shall lure them as we lure any beast – With temptation. The amount of ponies here holds enough of a feast for these creatures that they cannot resist us.” Cedar looked on, beyond the army, towards the Outer Lands. “We must be wary, Morrigan. Methinks their attack shall come as a surprise…” To all of us, he added mentally.

Morrigan nodded and continued looking on. While being able to see the actions of the entirety of the army, Morrigan could not help but feel as though he were missing out on the real battle, all the way out here. Here, he would not battle anypony, or any creature at the sounds of it. They would never be able to break through the front lines.

“Sir!” Both Morrigan and Cedar Shield turned as a cadet came running up to them. “Sir, the changelings have been seen.”

“Art thou absolutely sure? What of the kings men, have they been seen as of yet?”

“Neigh, sir…”

Cedar nodded, his face grim. “How many?”

“The scouts… They count at least 60, sir.”

Cedar sighed. “Return to thine post, boy.” The young colt nodded and ran back to his post. Morrigan guessed his age to be right around 16, the bare minimum for being drafted. “’Tis to be a dark battle, Morrigan…”

“How so, Sir? 60 beasts are no match for our 50. We art the best trained in the lands.”

“Thou shalt see, Morrigan. May the gods have mercy on us today and make our casualties few.”

Morrigan couldn’t help but straighten himself up a bit. His sword rose higher, his shield closer, and his armor shifted as he stood at attention. Cedar nodded approvingly. Morrigan felt a small, coltish streak of pride at his better approving of him, but it quickly disappeared as a strange feeling began to overtake him.

Fear. He knew it instantly. He had felt fear before – A child in his bed after a scary story, worried that a monster was right around the bend. A colt, in his real first fight between a true knight. A young stallion, kissing the cheek of the mare that had captivated his heart for so long. All of those were minor, compared to this. These beasts are new to me… I know not their weaknesses, their triumphs, their powers… N’er have I been so terrified.

“Archers!” Morrigan practically jumped out of his fur as his captain called out. The line of ponies in the middle of the ranks, nearly forgotten, all stood at attention. “Ready thy aim for the enemy, Bowmen.” In unison, the archers lifted their bows, aiming for the edge of the Outer Lands, the borders between the kingdom and theirs. “Upon thy leader’s mark…”

Morrigan watched in anticipation. Time seemed to freeze, as if it were an hourglass set on its side, letting the sand rest still for what felt as eternity. The entire army held a collective breath as they awaited the archer’s call, that signal which would follow the first sight of their enemies. They stood. They waited.

And together they saw, for the first time in eons, the first changelings upon the valley. They appeared in bursts of green light, teleporting here and there before them. 10, 20, 40. They all looked the same – And each shook Morrigan to the bone. Their black leathery skin, their torn, holey wings; These beasts terrified him.

“Release!”

10 arrows were loosed on the closest ranks of changelings, soon followed by another volley. Morrigan watched the battle closely, glad for the higher vantage point he had on the rise of the incline leading to the valley. The arrows soared; They fell. Some of the changelings managed to doge them or raise defenses with magic. A total of 6 changelings died before the battle truly began.

“Charge,” Cedar called out, raising his blade high. One unified shout rang out from the 50 gathered. The archers became knights as they readied their swords. Together they charged. The changelings followed their charge, and the battle truly began.
*~*~*~

Morrigan grunted as he blocked against the changeling with the edge of his sword. He was against the ground, his armor dented from attacks. Slain changelings lay around his hooves, their blood mingling with that of his fallen comrades. He shouted, pushing back the changeling. It shrieked at him, ready to charge right back. With a twirl of his blade, Morrigan lunged toward the changeling.

More shrieking. More blood, that hideous emerald blood. The changeling fell limp against his sword. He pushed off it with his hoof, panting as he glanced around him. His eyesight swirled, the world tipping and turning. Changelings changed in bursts of green into his comrades, those who were already slain, those he had killed countless times this battle. Tears stung his eyes.

All thoughts he had of his blade to taste no blood had been shattered quickly. Cedar charged soon after the main ranks, commanding Morrigan to give them hell. By that time, countless of their own had already fallen. Morrigan witnessed the first true deaths, the first murders he would in his long life; and it shook him to the core. His old friends fell by his side, fighting the same enemies he did, yet getting the bad end of the sword. He felt exhausted, angry, confused. He panted as he looked around, trying to see if any changelings remained.

He heard somepony shout. He spun to see Cedar, waving for him to come. He was limping, but a tired grin rested on his face. “The changelings are retreating! We are the victors!”

Morrigan slowly walked up to him, swaying. “Cedar…”

He looked concerned. “Art thou alright? Come, the medical tent’s be not far-“

“Cedar... Wouldn’t trust me… that easily…”

Cedar’s eyes widened. “W-what art thou-“

Slash.

His eyes widened. Morrigan watched Cedar calmly, panting. “I…” Cedar laughed, his eyes flashing a dark green. “Y-You figured me out…”

Morrigan tugged on his sword, watching the changeling change as it crashed to the ground. He flicked his sword lightly, dripping the changeling’s green life on the ground. He didn’t give the changeling the benefit of hearing his response. He turned, wincing in pain as his armor shifted against another hidden wound.

“Y-you’re delicious, y-you know.” Morrigan glared at the changeling. It grinned back at him, trying to lift itself off the ground. “Y-You and… that earth pony…”

His eyes widened. “What…”

In a green flash, Katrina was before his eyes, green blood staining her lips. “I could never… love a pony like you,” it said, her voice echoing in his mind. Morrigan was frozen as the changeling coughed more blood, simply grinning. “You… you would’ve made… a good… cruel changeling…”

“And thou shalt make a fair corpse.” Eyes wide with anger, he brought the sword down on the changeling. It cried out in Katrina’s voice, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stand this… THING, taking her image, pretending to be her. She didn’t deserve its taunting, its costume wearing. In one slice, the changeling’s head separated from its body. Morrigan turned coldly, sheathing his sword.

Around him stood only soldiers. The changelings retreated. Suspicion laced the air, however. Old friends watched each other through untrusting eyes, unsure who was real. Soldiers looked long at fallen comrades, checking to see who had lived and who had died. 2 more changelings were slain, even after the battle had truly ended.

Morrigan slowly walked among the corpses, looking this way and that. In all his dreams of battles and wars, he had never seen this. Fellow knights, dead on the ground. Hardly any survivors. This scent, this rotten scent of the corpses of ponies and changelings, wafting through the air. It mingled with the scent of blood, sweat and fear.

“Cedar!” Morrigan shook his head, huffing as he kept walking. “Cedar, where are you!?”

“Here.”

Morrigan heard him before he saw him. He looked just as any of the corpses around them did. Bloody armor. Deadened eyes. He walked over to Cedar slowly, exhausted. “Cedar… The battle is done. Let us return to camp… We have many wounded, and we much count these casualties…”

“Just… One moment, Please…” Morrigan glanced at what Cedar was looking at. The sight made his heart stop a moment.

The colt had only been 16. He was meant to be a courier, simply a messenger to the rest of the ranks. He was not meant to battle so young. He had known the king’s knights had not come. He had known they were soon out-flanked by the changelings – He had known more than 60 changelings attacked. In the midst of battle, he did what any colt would do. He ran.

He did not run fast enough.

Morrigan felt tears rise to his eyes. He couldn’t stop them, as hard as he tried. He tried to turn his head to mask his sorrow. “Don’t bother hiding it, Morrigan. Cry freely.” He turned and was surprised to see Cedar crying as well. “He is far too young… Far far too young to have witnessed this bloodshed… May his soul rest in peace, and may it find the home of the gods.”

Morrigan cried openly, no longer feeling as though he were a man of 20 years. He was now a colt, scared and terrified of the world, unsure as to what to do or what had been done. He had witnessed the sunny day on a glorious battle become the rainfall of emerald and ruby life. He had watched that life spilt, pooled upon the ground as though it were simply water. His tears mingled with the young colt’s blood.

“Come, Morrigan.” Cedar laid a hoof on his shoulder, averting his gaze from the body. “We must… We must return to camp… We…” With a small shudder, he went almost limp against Morrigan.

Morrigan gasped and quickly helped support him. “Sir!” No response came from him – He was unconscious. Morrigan’s eyes hardened. In one swift movement, he picked up his captain, lying him on his back. He galloped as quickly as he could without hurting Cedar.

The bodies in the battlefield were left there – There were too many to return to their homes, to their families. They were left to rot in the sun. As the day went on, the crows and the ravens came.

The bodies of ponies and the bodies of changelings quickly became the feast of fowl.

Meet With Grim, Melt With Love

Home always seems far from the battlefield. Every soldier will agree. 5 days felt like 5 weeks for Morrigan. He was surprised they managed the same pace – Of course, with the sudden decrease in numbers, he supposed it made some sort of morbid sense. Less mouths to feed at meal, less hooves to tire out; There seemed to be less of everything in the ‘army’.

50 men weren’t much of an army. They had been strong, so very strong… Morrigan had labeled them an army when, truly, they were simply stallions, lined up like dominos to fall. 50 stallions, who had all gone to battle. 50 stallions who had hoped to win. 50 stallions who walked to possible death.

41 who faced death and lost.

Morrigan felt numb. It was a strange feeling. His face was grim the entire march home. He did no talk to anypony – He simply listened to facts. He listened as Cedar and those remaining discussed all that went wrong. The cavalry from the king never came. The changelings had gone a long way around, hidden by the rock structures surrounding the borders. They outflanked the ‘army’ on both sides, effectively surrounding the knights.

The other knights were not the most experienced. They were not the strongest, or the most cunning. Morrigan analyzed them all over those 5 days of returning bitterly to their home. They all had but one thing in common. They all got lucky. A lucky blow here, a chance slip up by the enemy there – That was the only thing that truly saved them in the end. They had faced death in the face, but at the last moment, somepony else rang his bell. Somepony else took the fall.

The men were quiet throughout the journey. Morrigan supposed that was just how it was. On the way to the battle, there had been morale. Singing in the barracks, tales of women and mead and a good life awaiting them upon their return. Now, none could delude themselves. All that awaited them upon their return were widows and half – orphaned children. Tears and pain awaited them. If they got lucky, relieved family and friends expected them, had anxiously sat and toiled and simply wished they returned safely.

The journey was a long one. But the return was longer.

The village was the same as it had always been. Upon their return, Morrigan could see the smoke curling away from the chimneys on the rooftops. He saw children laughing as they played, their innocence safe and secure in their peaceful little village. That is, until they saw the knights, bruised and bandaged, tired and numb from the journey and battle.

Word spread through town that the knights had returned – That only nine had returned. Ponies slowly gathered round the square as the soldiers slowly marched. Morrigan watched with tired deadness as newly made widows cried as the realization that their husbands were gone. He watched mothers sob and be held by somepony, anypony who cared. He watched relief mix with sorrow on others faces – Relief their soldier made it; Sorrow that their friends didn’t.

Morrigan saw his mother and father. He smiled weakly, but that grimness that had set in from battle quickly returned. He walked to them and bowed his head lightly. His mother latched onto him, sobbing openly – Women were always more emotional. “Oh, son of mine…” She just held him, crying tears of joy at her son returning home.

Morrigan glanced at his father. Strike simply nodded, but Morrigan could see a small smile on his father’s face. That was a glowing sign of approval from him, as well as a tight embrace. He closed his eyes slightly and hugged his mother. “I’m home, Mother. I’ve returned.”

His mother sighed, looking him in the eyes. He couldn’t help but smile softly, wiping away a few of her stray tears. She chuckled lightly, smiling through it all. “Thank thee, son… Thank thee for thy return.”

“Always.”

This same situation played out throughout those gathered. 9 groups who still had hope, still held meaning in the term ‘family’. They embraced, relished in the feeling of relief upon their return home. Cedar came to stand in the middle of the square, his face ragged and eyes tired. “Lend me thy ears,” he said softly, yet firmly. As the words left his lips, the crowd that had formed became silent.

“Family. Friends. Thou hath come to know that these two things today hath been lost to us. Our enemies have been beaten back, but for how long, we cannot know. We shall rise to stop them, and we will best them each time… But I tell thee this now. If fail we do, every stallion, mare and foal must be prepared. We will fight for thee till the bitter end, yet that end could be closer than we realize.” A resounding silence followed his little speech, a few ponies nodding in agreement. “Yet, for now, we shall morn those who shed their blood and gave their lives for their fief and kingdom today.”

Morrigan moved aside from the groups as mourning families who had lost more than he could know came to Cedar to talk. He felt… sickened. Mortified. He had once thought of battle as glory and wonder, of something to practically laugh at. If he tried to laugh now, he was almost certain he could vomit at the cruelty of it all, of the distaste of it all. There was nothing to laugh at anymore. There was only death in his dreams of victory.

He kept his head down. He did not wish for the ponies gathered to see his grimness. They were used to his jovial smile, not his downhearted gaze. However, his head could not remain as low as he heard a soft voice, questioning. “Morrigan?”

He looked up as he saw Katrina. Her eyes were full of worry. Those beautiful, sky blue eyes. They seemed, at least for the moment, to wash away the emerald blood. The waves in her hair melted the grimness that had held his heart. He stood a bit taller. “Katrina…”

He didn’t care anymore. In one swift movement, he embraced her, feeling tears roll down his face. He didn’t care who saw. He didn’t care what ponies might say. As he saw her, he realized he could never live without her. What the changeling had said was right. He and ‘that earth pony’… Her and he, they were meant for love.

Katrina blushed, but did not protest. She gently held him as she rested her small form against his chest. She nudged her head under his, breathing softly. “Morrigan… I-I was so scared… I thought I had lost thee to those beasts…”

“For some time there, I had thought the same… But I kept fighting, if only to say one thing, Katrina.”

“Morrigan…”

“I love thee.” Katrina looked up at him, shock on her face. It was not shock at the fact that he did love her. It was something many ponies already knew. It was shock that he had admitted it, now, and the way he had said it. It was true, pure and innocent. “I love thee,” he repeated, smiling for what felt like the first time in years to him. “I love thee, and I always will, my Katrina.”

“M-Morrigan…” Katrina felt tears rolling down her face. “W-what will ponies say, w-we”

“I don’t care what they say. I love thee, and their words can n’er tear us apart.” Katrina blushed, looking scared, yet smiling. To prove his point, he smiled further. Leaning down, he kissed her, fair on the lips. She gasped behind the kiss, but did not deny it. They held the kiss a few moments, to separate and simply gaze into each other’s eyes.

“… I love thee as well, Morrigan.” With that, the sorrow that filled him was burned away. It might return, but their love would stay and fight it. They would fight anything that came in their way. He would always love her, and she him.

Morrigan made a vow to himself. He would do anything he needed to do to protect her from anything else. She would always be safe. No matter what.

Author's Note

*whew* This one took awhile. Morrigan, ouch, tough feels. Yet, Katrina and He are finally together!
But, for how long?

Good Nights And Goodbyes

This never got easier.

Morrigan groaned, pushing the changeling off of his sword. So many battles. So much blood. He felt like one fight mirrored the last, and those before that. He was forever in a loop of killing. Forever seeing emerald mix with red, like holly on a holly tree. Yet, there was nothing festive or joyous about the scent of death in the air.

Groaning further, he thrust his sword through the changeling’s heart, panting. This battle had been a long one, but they were victorious. Again. He allowed himself a meek smile. They had survived another round. Lived to fight another day.

He turned, looking at his men. There were 20 around him. Strange, he thought. There were so many now. He was certain more had fallen in the battle. “Cedar,” he called out. “We’re done here. Let us away for home once more.”

Home. He smiled softly at the word. Home was where Katrina was. Where his family, where Fiery was. He longed to return.

“I’m afraid we can’t, Morrigan.”

Morrigan turned to see Cedar there, his men behind him. All of them watched Morrigan with distrusting eyes. Morrigan backed up slightly, watching them all. They walked forward with him. “Cedar?...”

“Or, should I say, Changeling Scum?” Cedar charged.

“C-ceda-?!” Morrigan made no sound as the sword ran him through, slicing cleanly through his armor. He watched his blood fall to the ground, emerald. Watched his skin turn black in a green flame. He screamed in agony, not from the sword, but from what he had become. He was no better than the foes he had been killing all this time.

He was a monster.

“AH!” He sat up in bed, panting, his eyes wide. Beside him, his wife awoke, startled. Morrigan glanced at her. That’s right… He was home. It was just another nightmare. It wasn’t real. “K-Katrina…”

She sat up softly, her hair tumbling off her shoulder. “Morri… Changelings again?”

He nodded softly as she nuzzled him, taking a deep breath. “I’m afraid so… Accursed beings… They have no right to haunt my sleep like this…”

“Morri, it’ll be alright…” She gently kissed his cheek, smiling. “In the battles against them, thou hath served well.”

“Thou art correct… Yet those beasts still drive me to wake from my slumbers…” He groaned softly, rubbing his face.

Katrina hummed softly, rubbing his shoulders. He couldn’t help but smile at her. It hadn’t taken them long to get married. A year. A single year had passed, and here they were, together at last. Ponies had been surprised, and a little enraged in some cases, but a quick glare from Morrigan’s father stifled any signs of hatred towards the couple.

Morrigan kissed her, savoring it as he did each time. “Have I told thee just how much I love thee?”

Katrina chuckled softly, smiling. “How many times today, alone? Thou profess your love to me so oft’, one begins to wonder if a stallion could love a mare in any meaning other than our love.”

Morrigan’s smile grew. “Then allow me one more time today. I love thee, Katrina.”

“And I thou, Morrigan.” She giggled, blushing lightly.

Morrigan raised a soft eyebrow. She was blushing quite a bit lately – Almost as though she had caught a fever. “Art thou in good health, dear? Thine face is flushed crimson as of late…”

Katrina’s eyes widened and Morrigan could swear her cheeks became a far worse shade. “I-I…” She cleared her throat a tad bit timidly. “I’ll not lie to my husband…” She leaned forward softly, whispering into his ear.

The blush seemed to be contagious. Morrigan felt his own face flush red, and his heart beat a tad faster as he looked at her. “Katrina…”

She giggled again, blushing terribly bad. “I-It’s a tad bit embarrassing…”

Morrigan grinned. “Yet easily fixed~”

She gasped lightly. “Morrigan!” She hid her face in her mane slightly, her ears folding down in her embarrassment.

“I’ll not force that upon thee… But we are married, dear. It’s not like that would be a crime.” Morrigan chuckled softly, kissing her. She kissed him back, perhaps a tad more passionately than normal. He held the kiss, unconsciously moving himself atop her small frame.

T’was to be a good night.
*~*~*~

Morrigan hummed to himself the next morning, trotting through the village. Last night was still fresh in his mind. He couldn’t help but smile, sighing happily. He looked around at the village, glancing at the little fillies and colts running around.

While the children were enjoying themselves, Morrigan could still see sorrow in the town. A year was hardly enough time to get over such a great loss. Here and there, lonely women sat, talking. More often than not, they would talk with others who had lost their loved ones, seeking some comfort from those who had felt this before or were experiencing it now.

He kept walking, only realizing as he arrived where he had been headed – Fiery’s house. His old friend. They hadn’t truly spent time together in a few years. Last he had seen of the pegasus had been at he and Katrina’s wedding. He smiled and trotted up to the door.

However, as he went to knock on the door, it opened. Before him stood his friend… but not as he had known him.

Fiery had lost his flame.

His amber eyes no longer held spirit in them. They were deadened, as though he had seen more than someone his age needed. He was 20 now, yet his eyes looked older than time itself. He wore a dark grey cloak over his wing. He looked a tad bit surprised to see Morrigan there. “W-what…”

“Fiery?” Morrigan looked him over. He raised an eyebrow as he saw a suitcase by his hooves. “Art thou going on a trip?”

“Morrigan…” He sighed softly. “Yes, I’ll be leaving.”

“For how long?”

“Until…” He turned his head, sighing again. “Until forever, Morr. I’m not coming back.”

“W-what?” Morrigan took a step back as Fiery walked out with the suitcase. “What dost thou mean? Why?”

“I must leave. You’ll n’er see me again, Morrigan.” Morrigan noted that his speech had changed with his eyes. Fiery sighed, listing the suitcase onto his back.

“But, why Fiery? Why art thou leaving? We’ve lived here all our lives! Why now, of all times?” His friend didn’t respond. He simply kept walking down the road. Morrigan followed him, grabbing his hoof. “Fiery, ple-“

“MY NAME IS ICARUS.” Morrigan recoiled as his friend turned. Morrigan’s eyes widened as he didn’t see his friend in those eyes anymore. He saw blood. He saw the changelings and their evil tactics, he saw weeping mares and children, he saw Icarus with flaming wings, falling from the sun – He saw his friend, lost and alone, and him being nowhere to save him. The knight had failed to save the innocent.

“Icarus… I…”

His friend sighed, turning his head away. Morrigan could tell he was crying. “You know my powers, Morrigan? How trails of fire follow my flight paths, how my wings almost seem to burn?” Morrigan nodded. Fiery moved his cloak aside, revealing his burnt wings. “Seems the flames caught up with me. Anytime I try and fly now, if I try to fly too high…” He shut his eyes tightly, letting his cloak flutter back into place.

Morrigan watched his friend, sighing. “Thou…” He shut his eyes tightly. “YOU’VE not answered me yet.” His friend looked up as he changed his speech pattern. Morrigan sighed. “I’ve stolen thy attention at last… Fiery, Icarus, whoever thou hast chosen to be – Listen to me. Thou hath and shall always be my friend. Please, tell me why thou art leaving. Tell me why thou must away…”

“You would never understand, Morr…” Sighing, Icarus turned to the road ahead. “I’m sorry, Morr… But, my mother was right, all those times. This village isn’t safe. Not for anypony. We’re on the brink of a war with beasts from the Outer lands. We’ve lost a lot of good men… The kingdom has stopped providing for us…” He hanged his head lightly, shutting his eyes. “I’m sorry, Morrigan. But I’m not safe here. Not anymore.”

“Icarus, please. I swear to thee, I alone will stand and protect this village to my dying breath!”

“That won’t be enough, Morrigan!” Icarus shook his head, tears falling from his face. “Don’t you get it!? You’d be DEAD. You would leave Katrina on her own. What if she got pregnant?” Morrigan tensed up lightly. “What if she got pregnant, and you died because you were slain in battle? What do you think, Morrigan? Could you be me, watching her cry? Watching her foal cry for their father? Knowing I would never see my best friend again, only because he died?” Icarus shook his head, ignoring his tears. “I prefer this to be my choice. My way to go, y’know?”

“I…”

“Don’t say anything more, Morr. Just… Just take care of your family. I…” He turned back. He grinned through his tears. “Hope to see you again. Right, Morr?”

Morrigan nodded, his own tears rising to his eyes. “Right, Fiery.”

Icarus smiled and turned back to the road. He trotted along with his suitcase. As he reached the hill, he turned back only once to see his friend there. They waved to each other, for the last time.

“Goodbye…”

Plight Of The Father

Morrigan kissed his wife, holding her close. “T’is but one more battle, Katrina… Not even that…”

His wife cried against his chest plate, her tears rolling down its sleek surface. “I cannot help myself, my love. Whilst thou art away, my mind dwells only on thine return. Whilst thou fight, my heart aches for thy touch…” She sniffed softly, kissing him.

“Katrina, I swear to thee, I will not leave thee a widow.”

“Morrigan…” She took a deep breath. “Please, I have something to tell thee.”

Morrigan tilted his head lightly as he heard his fellow knights call for him. “Please, darling, I shall be fine. Do not waste thy time saying farewells and goodbyes. Spare those for when the time truly comes.”

“M-Morrigan, t’is not that…”

“What is it?”

“I-I…”

“Morrigan, come!” Morrigan turned to his fellow knights to see them beckoning him. “We must away by sundown!”

“In one moment!” He turned back to his wife, his face full of concern. “Katrina, I must leave, my knights, they need-“

“M-Morrigan, I’m with child.”

“Need… my…” Morrigan slowly stopped speaking, his wife’s words being processed by his mind. His wife, Katrina, and he… They… He… “Thou art…”

“… Thou art to be a father, my love.”

Morrigan’s face lit up. “M-My Katrina… My love!” He laughed, kissing her deeply. “W-we’re to be parents…”

Katrina giggled softly, blushing. “Morrigan, please… Please, return to me… To us.”

“I will always return to thee, Katrina. Always.” Softly, he laid his hoof on her belly. “I will return to both of thee…”

They nuzzled each other and kissed once more before he headed on his way. They were going out for a standard changeling hunt. It was common, now, to find changelings straggling around the border. It was now their duty to find those few and end them quickly.

Morrigan couldn’t help but smile the entire trip. He boasted to his friends – What father wouldn’t? While the fresh thoughts of the battle to come was still fresh in their minds, they could not help but congratulate the new father. They laughed and carried on, despite the grimness that had settled in the heart of each warrior in turn.

Morrigan beamed with happiness as he thought of his past. How he had grown from a small colt, dreaming, to the man he was now. He had faced many a hardship – Training to be as strong as he is, losing his friends on the battlefield along with that coltish abandon that had always claimed his heart… More recently, having lost his best friend of many years. He had faced many a hardship – And yet, now, he could smile. His love would always be fresh in his mind, through thick and thin, through any foul times, until death did them part – And for years thereafter, for he would always remember her… And he refused to die before she did.

Yes, he would always protect her.

That was his vow, his bond. He would save her from any danger, protect her from anything that would harm her.

No matter the price.

“Enemy spotted.”

*~*~*~

Morrigan twirled his sword expertly, blocking the Changeling’s magic and deflecting it. He huffed and panted, sweat dripping down his face. One changeling had become many – Just as his first battle with them had gone. Once or twice, the scouting trips had revealed more than one changeling, but never this many. One for each soldier.

Morrigan deflected another blast, stumbling back. The changeling before him growled softly, laughing. They are unlike the ones we faced before… These beasts are far more cunning… Flapping his wings, Morrigan rose to attack from above. The changeling, seeing this, rolled out of the way.

Morrigan stopped his dive, lifting his sword. Looking around, he saw the changeling change in a flash of green light. His eyes widened.

Before him stood… himself.

The changeling laughed in a stolen voice, licking its lips. “The playing field has been leveled now, it seems. Come!” In a burst of green light from his eyes, a sword materialized as a green crystal blade, matching Morrigan’s own. “Face me! Face yourself!”

Morrigan’s eyes burned with an unholy fire. Shouting in rage, he charged at the abomination, the being that dared pretend himself good enough to be… To be Morrigan. To be him. This beast had no knowledge of the times Morrigan had gone through, of the pain and suffering or the tears or the joy. It wore him like a mask, false and untrue.

Morrigan couldn’t stand it.

His charge was blocked by the changeling’s blade. Sparks flew as the metal grated against the crystal. Morrigan caught himself practically snarling at the changeling as it grinned at him, chuckling. “Powerful, aren’t we,” the changeling said, flapping his wings and jumping back.

“Power thou hath stolen,” Morrigan shouted, slashing at him from the side, stepping over his hooves sideways.

“Stolen? Please,” the changeling said, easily blocking the slash. “We’ve earned this power, Knight!” Suddenly, the changeling went on the offensive, slashing quickly. Morrigan gasped and tried to keep up with them. He deflected them as well as he could. All the while, the changeling kept talking. “You’ve fought hard to get where you are – I am no different! I have trained, fought, battled and survived! I’ve lost! I’ve won! But you know what the difference between us is, pony,” his copy spat out as though the term ‘pony’ was acid on his tongue.

Morrigan gasped as he fell back, nearly losing grip on his sword. His eyes widened in fear as the changeling smirked, as his image smirked, cold green eyes staring back at him. “The difference is, I can use your love… And love is sharper than iron.”

Morrigan couldn’t block it in time.

He made not a sound as the changeling’s blade sliced through his armor, straight into his chest. He possibly coughed lightly, gasping for breath as he felt coldness grip his heart. Yet he never screamed. His mind flashed back to the nightmare he kept having, of his blood rolling down the blade of his commander. Never once had he thought he would see himself wielding the sword.

He started panting. The world around him began to spin lightly. This… I… I’ve been stabbed… Is this the end, then?

..........

No. Morrigan opened his eyes wide. Suddenly, the changeling before him began to quake in fear. Morrigan reached out and grabbed the changeling by the neck, ignoring the sword buried inside his chest. He felt stronger than ever, could practically feel the adrenaline bursting through his veins. He stood on his own two hooves, ignoring the pain, ignoring the changeling’s startled growls as it shifted form to its natural state. Only one thing rested on his mind.

I promised her I’d not leave her a widow. I’m not dying today.

He raised his sword, holding the changeling tightly. It squirmed, but could not escape.

Slash.

Morrigan finally gasped in pain as the changeling died, its sword fading with its life. As the crystal blade vanished, Morrigan held his chest. He could feel his blood soaking into his fur. He felt… suddenly quite weak…

He collapsed slightly, struggling to help himself up. Not… dying… today…

“Morrigan?!” He turned softly to see one of his fellow knights galloping towards him. He could only assume this meant the battle was over.

Good… That means I can see Katrina soon… Morrigan smiled softly as he passed out to that thought.

Author's Note

'Nother chapter. *yawns* yay =u=

I Will Not Harm Thee

Morrigan gasped as he opened his eyes. He awoke in what he quickly realized was the medical barracks. What on earth was he doing there? He attempted to sit up, but quickly stopped as he groaned in pain. His chest burned like somepony had struck a match on his fur. Looking down, he saw a deep gash, sewn together. When had…

His eyes widened as he remembered the battle. A single thought burst into his head – Katrina. She must be so worried. He had to get to her, see her, make sure she knew he was perfectly –

Morrigan gasped as he shifted again. Quickly, he laid back down, the fire under his skin settling to soft coals. “Fantastic,” he said softly, his voice rough. He must have been here for some time.

“Morrigan!” He turned to see a fellow knight trot in, beaming. “Thank the gods…”

“Iron Clad…” Morrigan sat up once again, far more carefully this time. Now, it simply felt like he was lying in a small bonfire, instead of already being burnt alive. Wincing, he forced himself a small smile. No sense showing weakness. “How long hath I been here?”

“Long enough. Thou collapsed after the battle. We carried thee on a litter back home… Thou hast been in recovery for 3 days, at least.”

“3 days!?” Morrigan groaned, not from pain in his chest this time. “Tell me, where is my wife? When can I escape this medical cell?”

“Another week at most, Sir… And, well…” The knight cleared his throat, blushing lightly. “Thy wife is outside as we speak…”

“She’s outside?” Morrigan smiled suddenly, his spirits somehow lifted. “Please, let her in. I need to see her…”

The knight nodded and trotted out. In a moment’s time, he returned. Katrina followed him. Morrigan took her in as he had the first he had ever seen her. Now, however, her face was tear streaked. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and she looked tired. Sick, even. But she smiled as she saw him, a smile of relief. That smile was like water to the blazing pain in his body, soothing him. “Katrina…”

Smack!

Morrigan blinked once or twice as he began to feel a sting in his cheek. His head was now facing the other direction. Yes, he was quite certain – His wife had just smacked him.

“What happened,” she screeched, loud enough that Morrigan was nearly positive changelings in the Outer Lands had heard her. He turned his head back to her. That smile was gone now. Replacing it was a burning anger – And worry. Concern. He sighed softly. “W-what happened,” she asked again, tears in her eyes.

“I… I was hurt,” he said lamely, unsure what else to say.

Katrina trotted up quickly and embraced him as tightly as she could. He held back a soft groan of pain, hugging her back gently. “I-I thought I lost thee,” she sobbed into his shoulder. “Never make me think that again, Morrigan!”

“Shh…” Gently, he stroked her mane, intent on calming her down. It seemed to have the desired effect as her tears slowly lessened. “I told thee, my love… I’ll not leave thee a widow.”

Katrina looked up at him, a few tears still falling on her face. Morrigan reached up and wiped them away softly. She nudged her head under his, simply resting on his chest. Morrigan continued holding her, never wanting to let her go.

The knight in the corner, nearly forgotten, cleared his throat. Morrigan glanced at him. “What is it?”

“Well… Sir, the captain..”

Morrigan’s eyes widened. Oh no… “Is he… Did he…” Morrigan sighed, knowing somehow what the answer to his question would be. He shook his head lightly before speaking. “Did he die in battle?”

The knight nodded softly. “A clean kill. He took many a changeling to Tartarus.”

Morrigan sighed as he remembered Cedar. He had always been a good knight, but furthermore, a good man. “He will be missed by all,” Morrigan said softly, his heart aching as much as his chest. He shut his eyes as he sighed and leaned back against the pillows. They brought him little comfort. However, he did not cry. He knew Cedar would not want him to cry.

“Well… Sir, he… He left instructions.”

“What were they?”

“… He… Thou art to be the new captain.” He opened his eyes once more, sitting up – a tad too quickly, his chest protested. “He wrote it down, kept it in his desk… Just the instructions to make thee our new captain.”

“Captain…” Morrigan sighed. As a child, he had always cherished and longed for the position of captain. He just wished it had been bestowed to him under more… peaceful circumstances. Under such circumstances that his close friend, and mentor, did not have to die. Yet die he had. And now… Now life still trudged on, even after yet another death of yet another soldier.

Morrigan glanced out the window. It was raining. I suppose life does shed tears for the fallen.

“Sir… What art thy orders, Captain?”

Morrigan turned to the stallion. “Well, Iron, thou seem strong enough. It seems I shall need time to recover… Thou shalt act in mine stead until I am well.”

Iron Clad’s eyes widened. “S-sir, me?”

“Well, I did address thee, did I not?” He could not help but smirk softly, despite his sorrow. “Go and tell the men they may visit me anytime. Until such time as I am recovered, thou shalt act as Captain. Is this understood?”

“Y-Yes sir,” Iron said, smiling. “I-I’ll leave thee and thy wife now, sir.” Quickly, Iron trotted out, so he could tell the other knights, Morrigan assumed.

Now, he glances at his wife. Her tears had all dried, yet weariness still clung to her every aspect. She looked up at him once before simply nudging her head under his once more. “Shh, darling,” he said softly as he ran his hoof through her mane.

“I… I thought thou had left our child fatherless…”

Morrigan gently lifted her head up by her chin. “Yet I did not…”

“B-But thou still could’ve…” Katrina sighed tiredly. “I wish I did not fear for thy life so… That I could trust thee and love thee without these worries and doubts plaguing my mind…”

"Katrina.” She looked him deep in the eyes, seeing honesty and truthfulness reflected there - True love. “I shall always be by thy side, even when we are apart. I shall love thee until the end of all time, and well beyond even then. If I should perish -”

"No, please, I -”

“If I should perish, Katrina,” he insisted, “and leave thee a widow, then blame me as I should be blamed. For, no wife should have to suffer such a punishment for her husbands mistakes in battle… and I do not plan for thee to suffer that fate.” He pulled her close, kissing her deeply. Together they held that position, resting in the peace that was the other’s softness.

Yet separate their lips did, eventually. The kiss left it’s mark on the weak mare. She rested her head on his chest, sighing softly. “I love thee, husband mine… Please, never leave me. Never betray me, never hurt me as I thought thou had…”

“I promise thee. I shall never harm thee again.”

Together they rested in their love, in each other’s hooves.

Author's Note

Uuuugh, this one is taking too looong. *hunkers down in my writing den and works hard

Diplomacy: White Flag

Morrigan sighed, his bones frozen under his fur. This land had always been so forsakenly cold, but never had the frigid air clung to him as it did now. He had heard tales of times of green and gold, of times where everything flourished. Now, there was but cold and ice. Not the best, he thought to himself, for marching towards a possible battle.
He had been captain for 9 months now, not to mention his month of recovery from his injury. His wife was very pregnant, and here he was, stuck with his men. It was for a very important cause - one that he knew needed to happen - and while he intended to see it through, he wished it over quickly. The sooner the diplomatics and formalities were done, the sooner he could be home to his wife and soon to be born child. At least, he hoped there would be such things as diplomacy now.

“Captain!” Morrigan turned, ignoring the slight pain that showed it’s face as he did so. His chest never had truly healed after that battle. He still had a scar that displayed the wound for all to see, at least when his armor was off. “Sir, we’re nearing the castle.”

He nodded slightly. “Thank you, Iron.” Morrigan turned again to where he could see the spires looming over the horizon. He wasn’t quite sure why his men always found the need to state the obvious. Better cautious than dead, however. He supposed that would be a powerful trait to have in the battlefield.

The castle soon came into view, though it was still a ways far. Tall, frosty spires loomed over the horizon, the tower windows dark. The ponies who lived within would still be nestled in their beds, fast asleep. Time trudged slowly on, however. Morrigan knew, soon, the dawn would come and cast the castle in a golden glow.

Morrigan sighed softly. He despised what they were about to do. It reeked of rebellion and anarchy, and he knew that an assault on the castle could only end in casualties on both sides. But, this was a necessity. Morrigan simply hoped that battle was not necessary as well.

"Captain," another knight said. Morrigan remembered him, a new recruit, called Solid Shield. He was as young as Morrigan had been when he had his first real battle. "When will the battle commence?"

"For a man of a defensive type name, thou art quite eager for bloodshed," Morrigan said dryly. Thinking back, Morrigan realized that he had only been in small skirmishes as of yet. He was in for a bitter treat, then.

The young knight looked... Well, Morrigan struggled to find a better word than indignant. "Sir, battle will still occur. Diplomacy will fail. I think it better we waste not our time."

"But thou art not the Captain, Shield. I suggest thou follow mine lead - unless thine tongue wishes to be the one to order these men to the possibilities of death?"

Solid glared at Morrigan, but nodded as he acknowledged his superior. "Yes, sir."

Morrigan turned back to the castle that was steadily growing closer, letting the sounds of marching hooves and clattering armor fade away. He thought on the circumstances that had led him here - led him to the kings front lawns, his castles front gates. He sighed softly. This wasn't why he had become a knight, all those years ago - had it really been that long, or did battle just drain the life of a soldier? He recalled that he had dreamed of glory and untold power. And, while he had gained both, he did not realize the price of his choice.

Yet, he had to admit to himself - he had done good things in this world. He had protected his village from the changelings, a horrible foe he wished no pony to have to face. He had worked hard and had grown strong. Most of all, he was happy for his wife and child. He had a loving family, and that was better than anything.

That's why he did this. That was why he was now going to possibly battle with the most powerful man in the kingdom - the one who ruled over it all. He was going to protect his family and friends. This was his bitter duty - to send his trusting friends who had volunteered to join the knights into Deaths lethal embrace.

“Raise the white flag,” Morrigan commanded softly. As the sun rose, a captain and his men stood at the ready for the king.

As Morrigan would always remember, this was the beginning of the end. The day none ever wanted to happen, yet was inevitable. This was the day he truly died.
*~*~*~

Morrigan groaned as the courier left his tent that had been set up. The day had drawn on, the sun reaching it's blazing peak, and no word from the king had be sent. Finally, Morrigan had sent one of the young couriers to the front gates to request an audience. Only now had word returned - 10 minutes and a noble pony would speak with him on behalf of the king. All he could do now was wait.

He looked around his tent, surprised to see it just as bare as Cedar's had been. A sturdy table for diplomatic papers rested against the frost covered grass. Other than that, the room was as stark as the barren land outside it. He had never really noticed it before. He supposed that was military life, however - your possessions were few and your hardships doubled.

He sighed as he waited. Is this how Cedar had always felt, he wondered. Always thinking, always wondering if there's going to be another way to get through the current problem? Always wishing to know he had made the right choice? Softly, Morrigan massaged his temples, fighting a losing battle against his headache. Is that who I am now?

"Sir?"

Morrigan jumped lightly as the courier entered the tent. The boy cleared his throat, his voice wavering between a coltish tenor and a deeper baritone. "Sir, the diplomat hath arrived."

"Thank thee, boy," Morrigan said. "Thou canst relieve thine self of thine post, courier. Go and enjoy lunch." The boy smiled and nodded, making his leave.

A moment later, a pony, dressed in the most frivolous outfit Morrigan had ever had the misfortune to see, trotted in. Morrigan resisted the urge to laugh at the rather silly looking display. Was this what ponies in the castle wore? How cold the pony looked - armor chilled one, but it was nothing compared to the thinness of the stallions clothing. "Would I be addressing the captain of this rag - tag bunch of toy soldiers," the man said, his scathingness wittled to nothing by the clattering of his teeth.

Morrigan stood. "Whilst I am the captain of these men, I feel the need to assure thee of the fact that these men are, in fact, not toys. Furthermore," he continued, cutting off the noble's next remarks, "I must confirm that they have taken lives, and will do so again for the good of ponykind. Might it trouble thee to sit? I believe thou shalt find it more comfortable."

The stallion sputtered, his face flushing a light crimson. When he finally worked up enough breath to speak, Morrigan could tell he was angry. "I do not need thee to act a noble, Commoner. Thou art a peasant," he said, spitting out the words, "and I ask thee not to deceive thyself - especially with thy delusions of grandeur - in front of me."

"Anything thou wish, o' noble stallion," Morrigan said with a mocking bow. "I simply ask thou keep thy elitism and snobbery at the entrance of my tent, and treat me as thy equal." Before the nobleman could speak, Morrigan pointedly pulled out his sword. "Now," he said to the stunned stallion, "perhaps thou wouldst like to converse as civilized ponies?"
*~*~*~*

"It simply won't do," the royal delegate repeated. "The king, long may he reign, has lost his mind."

Morrigan shook his head. "These conversations have taken their toll for an hour now, and all we have gathered as yet is that simple proclamation?" Softly, he massaged his temples, an action he was beginning to grow used to. "All we ask is that the king, the lord that governs these kingdoms, actually lives up to that role! Instead, he hath left us cold and unshielded by his callousness. Thusly, we have come here today, battle ready, ready to face the king himself if needs be. We wish only for an audience with him, yet if peaceful negotiations cannot succeed, we will see him by force. He hath abandoned us for far too long."

"I tell thee, he'll not have this!" The delegate stood, shivering slightly from the cold. "The king sits alone on his throne, and no word from anypony, peasant or noble, will sway his majesty!"

"Yet sway he must!" Morrigan groaned, slamming his hoof on the table. "Can thy eyes truly be so blind as to not see the corruption that resides on the throne?"

"Of course I see it!" Morrigan's eyes widened. "We hath all seen how the kings eyes hath glazed over, how his heart trembles in shadow with his every breath! Yet if a single being dares stand to him, it always results in the same outcome: the king shall strike them down, all of them."

Morrigan stood quickly as the man began to leave. "This is not over, sir! If thou will not allow us an audience with the king, then we will make our way there by force!"

"Be my guest," the man said scathingly, bowing lightly. "But on thine own heads be it!" With a flourish of his outfit, the man spun towards the door and galloped away.

Morrigan sank into his chair, his head falling into his upright hooves. This was not the way it was supposed to happen. "Sir," a courier soon said, having entered the tent. "Sir, what word do I give the soldiers?"

"Diplomacy hath failed, boy..."

"Sir?"

Morrigan sighed, looking at the boy with weary eyes and a heavier heart. "Tell them diplomacy hath failed. We go to battle in the hour."

Author's Note

Separated into a few parts here. :33 I'll try and update, but I'm a little lost for time lately.
Note - I wrote this on my phone, mostly, so hopefully the typos aren't hideous.

Diplomacy: Legends

The squire galloped through the halls, hurriedly passing by others of far nobler positions than he. They turned their muzzles up at him, but he could care less - he knew his duty was far nobler than them who treated him as such. He kept running until he reached the throne room. Quickly as he could, he pushed open the doors, knowing full well the clear instructions not to bother the king. This was a matter of too great importance to follow protocol. The oaken doors creaked open, and the squire hurried in.

Guards stood along the sides of the room, their visors down and bodies motionless. The room was large, filled with a vast nothingness, a great expanse of sheer oblivion. The only thing filling the throne room was the power of he who sat on the throne - indeed, perhaps the most powerful man alive.

"What," wheezed the olden king, "art thou... doing here?..." Lightly, the frail stallion coughed, his crown slipping down the side of his head.

"S-sir, an army waits at the front gates! They demand to talk to thee, or they will bring battle into the castle walls!"

The king sat up taller, his eyes drooping lower. "Has... Has the time come... so soon... the crown of the ice king... to fall..."

The squire shook his head, confused. What was the king rambling about? "Your Majesty, please, the army is going to ride in less than an hour! We must prepare the defenses! What is thy command?"

Silence seemed to fall in the throne room. Slowly, however, the king lifted his pale blue hoof, letting the turquoise light from the stained glass windows wrap around his hoof. "S-sir," the squire said hesitantly, confused.

The king coughed again, a racking cough that shuddered throughout his entire body. He rested his back against the throne, closing his eyes. "The time for battle has come," he said, his voice clearer than it had been in countless years. "Send out the Invincibles..."

The squires eyes widened, trembling in fear. "S-sir, the Invincibles hath remained chained since -"

"Silence!" The king stood quickly, the room practically shaking alongside the powerful weakness of his voice. What should have silenced others with fear now evoked such emotion as sympathy to meet its ends. "Do as I... command..." Slowly, calculating, he sat again, his bones sighing as they rested. He shut his eyes.

"Y-yes, my king..."

The king sighed as he heard the tired trotting of the squire lead away from his throne. "So the time has come... for the king of ice to fall..." He felt gentle tears rolling down his face, chilling his skin. From fear, sorrow or relief, he could not tell. "It seems so soon..."

He opened his eyes, and before him rested not the throne room, but an ice laden land, filled with cold and tired ponies. He saw them always, for it was his curse. His curse as the stallion who had failed them. He heard the strum of a bards lute, mournful and minor. He heard the song he had heard of legends past, and the tale that would follow him to his death. His tale. His legend. His curse.

In the lands of frost and snow

Lands of changelings, windeogos,

A story told is told once more

Protectors of earth, going to war...

His eyes strayed to the stained glass adorning the walls around him. None could make sense of them - he struggled himself sometimes. Yet they told a story that grew clearer the more he forgot - a story older than time.

Once a great flame burned,

so brilliant it’s blazing,

gave birth to the lands that we know

That flame is still burning,

and if it should waver

the land turn to ice and to snow

He turned to the next, two ponies, hoof in hoof in a blazing land that was still warming itself. He began to remember more of the song, and more of the past.

Born to the planet,

a pair of protectors

Their destinies both intertwined

One born of fire

and one born of light

Their friendship to the other would bind

"Lulay, Protectors," he sang along softly, his voice shaking.

Oh please do not sigh

Thy duty weighs heavy on thee

Immortal in spirit,

we bow to thy power

Lulay, Protectors, Lu-Lee

The Fire Protector

contained the life flame,

Kept the embers alive

The brilliant protector

would wield a great light

And slay what shadows survived.

But ages did pass,

and son the of the light

Grew greedy, corrupt and blind

He formed a great kingdom,

Forged in his great power

Then, one day, the flaming did die…

His sorrow was muted

as shadows did grow

filling his soul with their curse…

Until of his friend,

he could not recall

nor his duty as light of the earth…

Lulay, O’ Light king

Thy follies will haunt thee

Until the end of thy days

May flame be reborn

And may he smite thee

Lulay, O’ Ice King, we pray

His gaze turned again to the stained glass, now to the right. The glass was cracked with frost, right through the heart of both ponies immortalized in its picture.

Look out on his kingdom,

now laden with ice

One day, his shadow he'll see...

Wielding a great and mighty sword

The knight will set the lands free...

The king blinked, the throne room empty as it always was. The guards were motionless as always. He was solitary in his throne room, for the guards made not a sound. He stood, perhaps a tad slower than he normally did, and crept to the window - not in the sense of a predator stalking it's prey, but of the hunted, peeking out of its hiding place.

There, almost as though on cue, standing on the frozen grass outside, he met the kings eyes. That blue pegasus, his eyes as icy as the land, saw the king in all his weakness, power, greed and glory.

And the king was scared.

The images of his tired lands had faded, but the story did not. The stained glass had become his home, the only thing to help his sanity. When he left this room, his mind would wander, and in his sanity's absence, he would rule the kingdom without sanity as well. If he ruled from his throne room, however, he would keep his ponies safe. He would save them by absenting himself...

"The time has come for me to fall," he whispered, sitting on his throne once more. "And finally... I welcome the grip of death."

Destiny: Turn The White To Red

Morrigan heard the trumpet call. He himself had ordered it. But as he saw his men standing, their armor shining despite the cloudy skies above, he couldn't stop himself from memorizing their unscarred faces before they had to fight: unscarred by physical or mental blows. He felt paralyzed in his knowledge - for it was something his was sure of, without a doubt - that these men would be wounded by what was to come. Some would come home bandaged and bruised. Some would come with their minds as battered as their body.

Some wouldn't come home.

"Sir!" Morrigan turned to the side. The courier boy was practically trembling in his fright. "Sir, l-look..." Gently, the boy rose a shaking hoof, pointing, not towards the oaken gates of the castle, but towards the side fields.

Morrigan looked to the fields and his blood ran cold. The monsters did not run - what reason would they have to rush? This was the time for a seasonal stroll on the eve of a feast, to them. Their skulls - for that's all they were - contained no true sight, but for an icy hot, brazen blue flame. Yet, their sightless eyes seemed to peer deep into the very souls of the living, secrets and the essence of their being being read out like words on paper.

Morrigan saw the swords by the skeletons' sides. Saw the normal kings knights shifting around the monsters with dark sneers. They were confident. Those.. Things were strong.

"Hold," Morrigan said, sensing the unease rippling through the men. They shifted around, tense. Morrigan trotted to the front of his men, watching as the monsters flanking the castle stopped for their orders. Now was his only chance to make them confident.

He turned to them, eyes narrowing. "Men! Lend me thy ears, thy eyes, thy very souls!" The knights watched him as ordered, their eyes filled with discord, uncertainty. "These monsters are what the king sends to end us... He chooses to sit on his throne and abandon even the glory of battling off the mutiny that knocks on his front gates! What king bows to his people, bows and bends to those he should help thrive?"

Nopony answered, but Morrigan saw their tension relax a moment. It was working. “All of thou believe thyself weak. Am I correct?” His words stirred through the crowd as they turned and looked around, confused. A few stood prouder while a few seemed to shrink. “Good. For we all are weak inside.” Morrigan turned towards the monsters. “Yet look at them. They are bone - They are something we all have within, something strong. If such a thing rests in our very bodies, then we must be stronger than we know.”

Morrigan closed his eyes softly. "Art thou scared, men?" He heard his men mutter behind him, picking out the affirmations. "Any who deny their fear art either braver than I, or far more idiotic." Morrigan chuckled dryly. "I am quite afraid, men, of these monsters, these creatures that are so confident, they allow me to talk to thee now... They are foals. Not for the time they give me... But because fear has helped us survive. They have none... And they will not survive us!"

“Aye,” he heard one brave knight shout behind him. He smiled.

“The king is weakened, his strength grown soft by his age and tiredness. He has faded into the throne he rests on. It is not only our right, but our duty to see this battle through.” Morrigan turned his back on the monsters to see his men battle ready, wielding their weapons with a fire in their hearts. He raised his sword high, the sun peeking through the clouds, silhouetting his figure against a stormy battlefield. “Who here will do their duty, for king and fief?!”

A unified shout came from those gathered, full of spirit and bravery. “For our lives, and for all others, we charge!” Spinning around, Morrigan charged straight to the monsters. He heard his men ride behind him. The monsters raised their weapons, their orders given. They charged.

Morrigan felt his heart pounding in his ears. Felt his blood rushing. Felt a grin rise to his face. They would win. They would return home, glorified, a new king on the throne. The lands would flourish as in tales of old, lives would be saved.

He would do good.

That’s when the first screams began.
*~*~*~

Unspeakable pain. Torrid, searing fire made every movement ache. His armor was stained with the blood of those few enemies whose bodies still contained true life - strange, he realized, how welcome ruby was to emerald.

Morrigan galloped, crying out as he dealt yet another blow to his enemies, grinning darkly as the head of the nearby skeleton rolled to the ground. The things body still moved, but Morrigan was determined to end that.

He slashed wildly, decapitating many an enemy around him. The world was a blur around him - There was only him and his enemies. None in his way, no pain to stop his quest. He tasted blood on his tongue; whether his own or others, he supposed it didn't matter now. All blood tasted similar.

His rage was dimmed as well. Inside, he felt... Content. Calm. He felt alive.

He had read about this, once. Olden tales of knights, pushed through trauma and pain, enough to make them go Berserk... So mindless in their killing, nothing would stop them. Was that all he was now? A Berserker?

He dodged yet another attack, only to feel a sword go through his battle weakened armor. His blood ran freely from the wound. Snarling, as primitive as an ice wolf, Morrigan spun, breaking the sword away from the stallion before him. The kings knight backed away as Morrigan charged toward him, roaring in madness.

“P-Please,” screamed the knight as he tried to flee, tripping over his own hooves. “Please, I’m only following orders!”

Morrigan grinned a bloody grin, his teeth stained from the splattering blood of all those who fell to his hooves. “Good,” he roared, slashing at the man’s exposed neck. The man rolled to the side, instead receiving the blow against his dented hoof armor. Morrigan kept him in his sights, laughing. “Stand and fight, coward! Stand and accept thy death!” Spreading his wings, which had already lost many feathers and had been badly injured, he charged forward.

The stallion screamed, limping. The blow to his armor had done enough to damage his hoof. Stumbling, he barely managed to dodge the blade, falling to the ground. He gazed up in fear at the pony above him, now silhouetted by the somewhat setting sun. Darkness clung to his features, and all the pony could see perfectly was his hideous grin of red.

“Enjoy hell.”

Killing the stallion took but a moment. His screams were silenced as soon as they came.

Morrigan turned, the stallions death stirring nothing in his heart. He was filled with darkness, Morrigan justified. He was shadowed by his orders... It is my duty to smite those shadows...

Morrigan held his head, groaning. Shouts called out from various sects of the battlefield. Swords clattered against armor. Ponies screamed as they were slain. Screaming. Yelling. Clashing, light and dark. Why did it all hurt so much?

Morrigan opened his eyes, only to feel blinded by the glistening ruby snow around him. He felt cold. All too cold, paralyzed by the ice trying to worm it's way into his bones, to still him into hibernation. He groaned as he dropped his sword, trying to fight his mutinous mind and body. "I-I will not yield," he panted out as he stumbled forward. "I WILL NOT YIELD!"

He opened his eyes wide, screaming as warmth overtook him, a flaming cold warmth that stung and burned all at the same time. The screaming was drowned by his own as eternity latched onto him, surrounding him in timeless agony. Time stole him away from the fight.

He saw nothing but whiteness and light - then, even that left him as consciousness fled.

The battlefield was silent but for a small breeze. That same breath of the earth swayed the solitary white flag, causing it to detach from it's weakened bow. Fluttering to the blood stained snow, the white flag turned a crimson shade of red, melting into the gory scene and blending in with the bodies, like sacrificial sheep.

Author's Note

Finally close to the end~

Destiny: And From The Red To Rise

"Awaken, son of the light, and rise."

Morrigan gasped as he startled awake. Pain... There was none. He glanced down, surprised to see armor was gone. But a single scar remained on his bare chest, thin and hardly visible. It was an old wound to him, now. Any weariness was gone, all fatigue wiped away by some unknown healer. "W-what..."

"Ah... Awake at last, I see." Morrigan stood quickly, alarmed to see where he was - the throne room. He had been on the throne, feeling chilled by the cold metal. And, yet, a strange, foreign warmth filled him. He looked toward the voice that had spoken and received another shock.

The king stood at the frost covered window, his hoof supporting him against the wall. His mane was as white as the icy snow that flurried to the earth. His eyes were tired, aged to the soul. He was a frail old man. Morrigan felt a brief surge of sympathy for the king.

"Why hath thou brought me here?"

"Because the day hath finally come," the king rasped, "for my throne to topple... That is why thou art here, why blood colors the castle fields..."

Morrigan walked up behind the king. "Yes, it is. Thou hath left thy people abandoned. A new ruler must rise."

The king was silent for a long while. He sighed, his breath forming a cloud of exhaustion in the frigid air. "What know thee... of legends and myths, Sir Knight?"

Morrigan's eyes narrowed. If he had not been stripped of his weapon, the man before him would be dead at his hooves now. All this battling would finally be over. A true and honorable king would take the throne. Yet now he had to play along wih the fool. "My mother was found of legends... My very name derives from such a fiction."

"I see... Tell me. Hath thy mother perhaps told thee of the ancients? The protectors of that... which created this earth?"

Morrigan turned his head slightly, glancing at the pictures depicted by the stained glass around him. Two stallions, both young and foolish. One the color of fire. One the embodiment of light and ice. "I think I've a faint idea..."

“Yet the full tale remains a mystery… Many ponies know not of the true story of our kingdom, and how all of this has come to be... How all of this has always been set in stone.” The king sighed softly, gently shifting his hoof to the floor. “In the past, 2 protectors were created by the world to protect the flame that burned the world into existence... That flame created all beings of magic in this land…”

Morrigan watched the stained glass as the king told his tale. “As time passed, the light protector... created to destroy shadows that threatened the flames... grew tired of his thankless job. He had power, and thought himself righteous... enough to be lord of the lands where he stayed. In his greed, he saw not the shadows that clung to his own heart."

Morrigan glanced at the king. "But one day, the protector of the flame died. The light protector snapped out of his madness, but for seeming moments in his long life time... Yet shadows tried to make him forget. To remember his friend, the light protector shielded himself away in his throne room, surrounding himself in memories of the stallion he called brother."

“And so… I left my ponies abandoned,” the king whispered, before a racking cough took it’s toll on him.

“Thou… Thou art the Light protector?”

Clearing his throat weakly, the king nodded. “Though not for much longer… The tale does not end with me, for the world still clings to the flame…”

“How? The protector of the Flame died.”

“Yet another was born in his place.” Morrigan’s eyes widened. “Another born to carry the burden… I have yet to find that pony…” The king turned softly, slowly, drifting tiredly around. “But the universe knows when my time has come - and I believe it came long ago…”

Morrigan took a step back, suddenly his bravado having faded. “Dost thou welcome death… Light Protector?”

“I do… But for thy sake, hear the rest of my tale….”

“What more is there to say?” Morrigan glared at him, his heart welling up with rage. “Thou hath abandoned not only thy duty as king, but of a child of the earth! Untold power, and thou wished for more?”

“I was a greedy fool, knight! Thou must understand!”

“All I understand is that thou were correct - Thy reign comes to an end, today.”

The king sighed, exhausted. He whispered, just loud enough for Morrigan to hear, “he is so headstrong - how can he be the one?”

“How can I be what?”

The king looked up at him. Closed his eyes lightly. Like an ember of the flame he had half forgotten, the king’s horn sparked to life, however weak the aura seemed. Slowly, the sword by his side rose from its scabbard. Morrigan’s eyes widened as he saw the orb that adorned the grip - Purely white, splendid in it’s glory. “Ready to become the protector.”

“W-what?” Morrigan stepped back further, his eyes stuck on the light orb. “Thou art the protector. To live this long, thou must be immortal.”

“Not to the one blade that defeats shadow.” Morrigan turned to look quickly at the king, his mind starting to work too fast for his comprehension. "Take up the sword and fulfill thy birthright."

"I-I do not understand," Morrigan stated, shaking his head.

"Then pay attention," the king said angrily. "Thou canst deny thy duty to the world as I have; the world cannot survive another life time of ice and darkness!"

"W-why is this my duty?! Why must I sacrifice the rest of my life for the cause thou abandoned?!"

"Because thou art better than I! Relieve thyself of thy earthly teather and rise, son of the light."

Morrigan shut his eyes tightly. Everything in his life couldn't be meant for such great a task. He was just another warrior, just another stallion. Why him? Why had the universe chosen his life to ruin for eternity?! "No," he shouted, slamming his hoof against the crystal floor. "I'll not be slave to destiny!"

"Thou can not shirk this du -" Suddenly, the king began to cough, his aura faultering with his lungs. Morrigan started slightly as the king collapsed to one hoof, blood staining his pale lips. The sword he had held clattered to the floor as the kings magic fled him.

Morrigan watched as the king struggled, trying to rise again. He was in pain; that much was obvious. He felt yet another surge of sympathy, nearly leaning down to help him. But...

"Thou art dying, art thou not?"

The king looked up at him with tear filled eyes from the painful coughs. "Thou.. Would do me a kindness... To take this burden from my back..."

"But to kill the king... Kill the very creation of the earth and gods..."

"That hath n'er... Stopped thee... Before..." The king chuckled softly. "So much... Hatred... Take up the sword, child... For my sake… as well as yours.."

Morrigan shut his eyes, sighing. He could leave. He could just let this poor fool rot away on his icy throne. Return to his wife, his soon to be born child. Just forget about this madness.

And forget all those who died?...

...Or he could kill him himself, and take up a Hero's burden…

Morrigan opened his eyes, stone cold hardness filling them. Slowly, yet confident in his decision, he moved toward the sword. The orb’s ivory glow only strengthened as he neared. It was almost as though it were excited to see him. He picked up the sword and was instantly surprised: it was light as a feather and perfectly balanced.

He heard another cough behind him. He turned to see the king, crippled on the floor, gazing up at him with weary, timeless eyes. “Please,” he whispered, begged as though he were another casualty pleading for his life - yet now he pleaded for death - as Morrigan stepped closer. The king smiled thinly as he bent his head down, kneeling before Morrigan. “Do it, knight… Purge the shadow in me… and let me rest at last…”

Morrigan raised the strange sword with ease, yet still he felt the need to raise it with both hooves, standing on his back two. Time seemed to freeze for a moment more, burning that memory into his mind as one he would n’er forget - the ruler of them all bowing to him as he prepared to deal the final blow. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to ignore it. Yet he still needed to do something. Anything.

And he saw only one option now.

“I give thee mercy, light protector… N’er will I forgive thee… Yet I hope thou rest peacefully in the arms of the gods.”

Swiftly, cleanly, the sword went down. No screaming was heard, no painful howls of a man who was slain; all there was in the throne room was silence.

Morrigan turned quickly away from the body, his head returning to that now familiar dizziness that had claimed him on the battlefield. He gasped in pain as the throne room swelled with sound - or was it only him, was he only going mad? He felt tears rise to his eyes as some sort of power or dream took him over. He heard… music. Some sort of song, a hurrah of the people, yet with sorrow….

Lulay, o sir knight

Our sorrow for thee

Can n'er be matched as your own...

For flame be reborn

But Light be as well...

Lulay, good knight, take the throne..

He stumbled toward the throne, gasping in pain at his every movement. Something was changing. Why? Why him? Why had the universe chosen him for this burden?!

Opening his eyes, he saw only white. Only the light of the protector, filling him, making him the man he had been born to be. In a fitful cry, he collapsed on the throne, unconsciousness claiming him for the second time that day.

Carry My Word

He was air. Light. He was nothing. He soared high above the earth, before the dawn of time, before time itself truly began; the earth was nothing more than stone and dust, resting in space for it’s time to come. All was peaceful. All was well.

WOOSH.

The universe shifted as, suddenly, without any warning, flames burst forth in space. Physics had no meaning; warmth attacked the chill of the non-existent air. The flame drew the dust and rock around it closer, until it seemed as though a moving golem had suddenly been born into space.

He watched the earth’s creation.

Flames spread throughout the world. Icy stone melted to pebbles and streams. Volcanos erupted from the sheer heat, creating land. The flame itself split, forming the sun, creating heat and life. Plants grew. Life forms developed. Then, the flame split once more. Fire became flesh; heat became the cracking and forming of bones. Then again. The process repeated.

Thus was born the first two ponies, The two ponies, one with magic and one with flight. What remained of the flame, now hardly an ember, was soon taken hold of by the stallion with the power of flight; as he wielded the flame, it marked him. He would be the Fire protector. The other turned away, shadows crossing over his own. Fearful of them, he took a hardened, cooled rock and lashed at the base of his hooves; as the world was new and magic thrived, his shadow severed away. The stone was sharpened into a blade by the shadow’s sharp edge. Thus, the other became the protector of the Light, who would slay those shadows that threatened the life flame.

Both were created with the knowledge in mind that, were the flame to die, or were they to falter in their duties, the world would fall to chaos, ruin, and anarchy. As such, they vowed to the other that they would be united for all time. Together, they would stand united, from then on, forever. Thus the pact of the brothers was made; brothers in spirit and in creation.

Time swept past in the turning of a page, in the blink of an eye. Ages passed and the son of the light and the son of the flame grew. But while one grew stronger and greater, the other grew corrupt and blind as he fought against the shadows; for that was the curse of their role. As set in stone, as would always be the case, one would lose control. One would fall.

The son of the light grew greedy, and came to power over the ponies who had been brought forth by the flames magic. He ruled the kingdom, but forever he longed for me. He began to kill, seeking territory. As he grew in power, his kingdom weakened: strange creatures began to grow from the shadow. Horses made of wind and ice grew from the coldness in his heart, racing overhead and shrouding the land in snow. Beings made of shadow grew, unthwarted, leeching off of the life force, the love of ponies. The king did nought to end them; he had grown mad.

The Flame Protector, without his brother, attempted to protect the flame, as was his duty. Yet, he knew that he could not live long. He could n’er survive long enough to protect the flame. As such, a group was made; The Hearth’s Light. The flame was passed to them for protection. One day, a terrible battle with shadowy beasts ended the life of the Flame protector.

The cult, knowing not what to do, called upon the flame. As they did so, the flame displayed in it’s embers the story now known: when one protector ends, another will begin, no matter what. It might take time, but the protector would be sought out and found. The monks of this group, those who worshipped the flame in all it’s glory, claimed the role of Seekers of the Flame, those that would care for and raise it to remain pure and uncorrupted. Thus the 3 sects were formed; The Flame, The Light, and The Wicks.

The king realized, after his brother died, that he had caused the death through his failures. His kingdom suffered because of him. In a moment of clarity, he created memories, shaped in window panes, of his story and his failures. He then locked himself in his throne room, refusing to leave; for, if he did, then he would throw the lands into further chaos. He knew his people suffered; yet, they were still so lucky as to be able to survive and fight. The king became a coward and hid; this became the last straw.

His powers were lost.

The son of the light was reborn, now with the power of flight. The son of the flame was sought out by the Wicks. Together they were raised, growing as the closest of friends, just as those who came before had. But, as they grew, the prophecy took hold once again; however, this time, it was learned too soon.

The Son of the Flame was told of it, as a warning; he must protect the son of the life from corruption. The flame protector watched as his friend became overzealous in his fighting; watched his blood lust grow. He refused to listen: surely, this was all the universes sick joke. The Flaming refused to be the others watch dog; without the Wicks knowing, he left with the flame, to seek his destiny elsewhere. He abandoned the way, the prophecy ringing true again. One protected the world from the shadowy beasts that plagued it. The other abandoned his way, taking his own path, corrupting the order.

The light protector did his duty well. He brought war upon the most deadly thing to the flame of all - that which caused the freezing cold. Thus, the chain of power was handed down, from Corrupt Leader to Sorrowful Knight.

He saw nothing. Yet he saw all.

Morrigan awoke.

*~*~*~

Chaos filled the castle as word spread that the king was dead. Bets were placed on who would rise next. Celebrations filled the air, as well as screams of terror at the bodies that littered the fields of the castle. Morrigan stumbled through the crowds, armorless. All he had was his new sword with its heavenly glow.

He held his head softly, hearing… something. A whispering, nagging sound, just in the back of his head. What was that?

Shadows… Kill Shadows…

Morrigan groaned, shutting his eyes tightly. It was that orb, that cursed jewel that filled his thoughts. He opened his eyes and saw two worlds before him. Lines of shadow fluxed in and out, luring him ever closer. The sword at his side seemed to tug him towards those lines, tried to move him to end those shadows once and for all. He shook his head sharply, angrily. “K-Katrina,” he muttered, focusing on her. “I’ve got to get to Katrina…” With shuffling steps and a tormented mind, he ran from the castle. Spreading his wings, unconstricted by armor, he flew as fast as he could to return home.

The air tugged at his fur, chilling him; yet a fire was stoked in his heart as he looked below. All he saw was shadow. The lands were shrouded in terror and pain, dark and unforgiving. He knew it was his duty to do this. His duty to clean the world. To kill the unclean.

“WHY,” he cried out, knowing not the heavens nor the pits of hell would heed his question. He cried in the air, feeling his tears stream past him as he flew onward. Why was this his duty? Who orchestrated this choice, this idea that he of all ponies was the best for the job?

He tore through the air as fast as he could, despite the ache of his bones and eyes for rest. Time dragged on, yet he made it home just before the sun set. Panting, he landed outside the quiet village. None were out enjoying the cold eve - everypony was enjoying dinner with their families, unsuspecting that their dear friends were lying dead on the battlefield. None of them knew all those who were dead.

Morrigan shook his head, trying to shake those thoughts from his head. He trotted through the town, the eerie silence around him almost tranquil. His hooves became wet from the snow as he trotted faster. He thought back - how long had he been away? Surely, it had been little but a day since the battle. A march took 3 days; his flight had taken the majority of the day. Perhaps 5 days had passed. His child might have been born in that time. He might be a father.

Would he be able to be with his son or daughter?

He reached their house, glancing around. All was still so quiet in the village. This was and that, shadows snaked around some houses. He shook his head and turned to his own. His eyes widened as he saw the entire house, shrouded in shadow. “W-what…”

He trotted up to the door and raised his hoof. He thought he heard Katrina singing. He knocked on the door and it all stopped. He heard his wife trot to the door. Heard it open as he saw her again. His heart skipped a beat.

Her mane was ragged and her eyes tired. She had obviously been crying. Her eyes seemed shaded somehow, even glazed over, almost like those shadows above and around the house. She held onto the door frame, looking at him. “M...Morrigan?...”

“My dear Katrina…” He opened his hooves and moved in to embrace his wife.

He wasn’t quite expecting the slap he received.

“S-stay away from me!” Morrigan stumbled back, surprised. In her eyes were bitter hatred. “Thou art not my husband! Thou art a monster, pretending to be in his form! Back!”

“K-Katrina, w-what art thou - It’s me!”

Katrina began to sob pitifully, tears streaming down her face. “T-The gods have already shown me his death, t-these dreams are never ending! Leave us alone, let me mourn in peace!”

Gods? Dreams? Us? Morrigan watched his wife, seeing shadows swirl around her, encompassing her entire being. “K-Katrina…”

Katrina opened her mouth again, but her ears perked up as though there were a sound nearby. “O-Oh, the baby…” As though forgetting he was even there, she turned her back and trotted inside, going to a small cradle. “Shhh, there’s no need to cry…”

Morrigan trotted inside warily, hearing no crying. He stepped towards the cradle to see a small child, wrapped in cloth. His heart soared and fell all at once as he saw his son. As he saw his sons lack of breath.

A stillborn.

“Shh... “ Katrina picked up the child, seemingly ignoring the tears streaming down her face, keeping her back to Morigan. She cradled him softly, humming. “No need to cry,” she whispered. “Daddy will be home soon… He’ll make everything better…”

Better. Kill. Kill Shadows…

Morrigan groaned as the thoughts overtook him once more. It tugged and pulled at his mind, begging, pleading him to do something about what now hurt his wife. He held his head, struggling to grasp it all. Was this all just a dream? Was this real? Who could tell, now?

In his pain, one memory resurfaced. But a single memory.
The kiss left it’s mark on the weak mare. She rested her head on his chest, sighing softly. “I love thee, husband mine… Please, never leave me. Never betray me, never hurt me as I thought thou had…”

“I promise thee. I shall never harm thee again.”

Together they rested in their love, in each other’s hooves.

How could he do this to her?

How could he have left her alone to fight this, leave her by herself?

He had vowed not to hurt her, and in the end, that hurt her the most; he had gone to battle to protect her, and had left her defenseless.

He grimaced as he reached for his sword, almost an uncontrolled movement. Katrina beer stirred from her rocking, intent on making the still child in her hooves rest. I cannot just leave her like this, he thought. I can't just let her suffer in this madness.

He saw the light of the orb glow. It's siren song rose to a fever pitch of whispered mutterings, half uttered orders. His mind fell far from him, never truly at peace, but successfully lulled into a dormancy; he raised the sword, his voice and body taken by the power of the light.

"Carry my word, thou shadows of evil," he whispered in a suddenly archaic voice, the voice of the orb. "The Son of the Light hath been reborn in this vessel."

Katrina turned to gaze at the man she no longer recognized; whether from madness or pain or shadow, only the gods know. In his blinding power, his eyes saw only shadow. Yet, his heart had one last thing to say, one last glimmer of what he had been long ago.

"Thou shalt never feel pain again."

Thus with a slash and the blink of an eye, the tale of Morrigan the Knight ended; and, in its place grew the tale of Morrigan, the King of Light. The king who ran from his kingdom and chose another. The king who left his throne to slay what shadows thrived in this world. The king who slayed his beloved.

Epilogue: Light and Sorrow

The mare gasped as she ran, her heart racing. She could still hear their voices behind her, still hear their hideous laughter. “I know you’re ‘here, girlie,” one of them called. She shut her eyes tightly; quite the mistake in the dark alley. With a slight misplacement of her hoof and a sharp cry, the mare fell to the ground, her saddlebag falling to her side. She struggled to stand quickly, before the stallions caught up to her.

“Why’d y’try to run,” said a cocky voice behind her. Gasping, she turned quickly, only to slip on her bag once again, tumbling back down. The man laughed as he came into her view. His hair was scruffy and unkempt; his eyes were hollow and dead looking under the mask of smoke from the cigarette in his mouth. His hoof strayed down to his side, where a rather sharp looking knife rested, sheathed for now. “Answer t’question, girlie,” he said, his accent shining through.

“P-Please, please just take my money,” the frightened mare said, scooting back against the wall of the alley, leaving behind her bag. “P-Please leave me be…”

“Now now,” another said, coming from the opposite side of the alley. “Why would’e go and leave a poor, sweet, innocent mare like yerself all alone now?”

“Like proper gentleman, we is,” the last said as he trotted up, grinning. “We oughta take y’home, lil’ miss.”

“Though, whose home we takin’ her to?” All three laughed as the mare whimpered and stood on trembling hooves.

“D-don’t you come any closer,” she said in a quivering voice. “I-I can still fight you!”

The closest stallion laughed. Suddenly, he charged forward, pinning the mare to the wall. “As if.”

The mare opened her mouth to scream, but the stallion quickly shoved his hoof into her mouth. She swallowed around the taste of dirt and whimpered as loud as she could. The stallion merely laughed. “Don’t y’go choking yet, girlie. Time enough for that later.” Her eyes widened as she pushed her head as far away from him as possible. The stallion grinned as the other two came closer, licking their lips. “Have at ‘er, boys.”

“I think not.”

All three looked back in surprise, seeing a figure standing in the shadows. He wore archaic armor, all but a helmet. His mane was sprinkled with grey, yet he still looked young. At his side was a hefty sword that looked to be the only light source in the alleyway. “Git outta here,” one of the stallions said. “Git going, and y’won’t get hurt.”

“Strange. Methinks thou took mine words.”

The stallion tilted his head. “Are y’from Trottin’ham or somethin’? What’s with the accent?”

“T’is merely the way I speak. I’m rather surprised; criminals usually focus more on the big sword.” To further his point, the stallion pulled the sword from it’s scabbard, blinding the men in white light.

“W-what is this?!”

“This is thy retribution.”

The mare shut her eyes tightly as the hoof in her mouth left. She dare not scream now; she was paralyzed in her terror. She focused on nothing but the soothing light that enveloped her. However, she still heard but a few words spoken.

“Carry my word, thou shadows of evil, for I am the Son of the Light. Where sin runs deep, shadows do as well. It is my duty to smite those; so make peace with your gods. May they show no mercy on thy impure souls.”

The mare couldn’t help herself; she fainted.

*~*~*~

The mare stirred slightly, feeling as though she were floating. She opened her eyes to see she was floating; very close to the ground. She turned to see the tired looking knight who had saved her. Was he really a knight? “S-sir?”

He glanced down at her in surprise. “Oh, thou art awake. Mayhaps, dost thou think standing is a possibility? I have come a long way.”

The mare blinked once. So that was how he really speaked. “U-Um…” She thought for a minute over what he had said. “I-I think I can stand by myself…” He nodded and helped her get to her hooves. “I’m… I’m grateful that you saved me.”

“Please, do not thank me. I only did my duty.”

“And what exactly… well, is your duty? I… I heard you say something about shadows… I’m sorry, I just… I’m curious.”

He smiled softly. She noted that his eyes seemed timeless yet old and worn at the same time. He had seen much, yet so little. Deep in them, she saw sorrow as well. Sorrow and pain. “Curiosity is not a crime, madam. I should know. It is my duty to end those who dwell in shadow, and to keep the lands bright and protected.”

The mare glanced behind her. The lamps around her casted her shadow far behind her. She had never thought it menacing before. “But… How do you decide? How do you tell when somepony has so much shadow in them that they deserve to… to…”

“To part ways with the living?” She gulped and nodded. “T’is a hard choice… Yet it is always based on their actions and how much shadow they contain.” He glanced at her again. “Before thou ask, yes; I do know thy sins as well.”

“... A-are you here to kill me too?”

“No, madam. I am here to do my duty; as of right now, thou art not so filled of darkness that I can call it right to end thy life.” He sighed. “I merely suggest to all those I save that they keep their lives bright… If not, they could end up swallowed by the cavernous nature of shadows, and be lost forever to the madness of that abyss.”

The mare nodded, absorbing his words. “I believe I can walk the rest of the way to my house… It’s not far.”

“Art thou positive?”

“Yes… Just… One more question.”

“Yes?”

“What is your name?”

There was a long pause. Surely, he had a name. Surely, he knew who he was. Right? It was a simple enough question, the mare thought. After a while, he sighed. “My name is old and forgotten to many a pony… Thou shalt find no record of me. Yet, my name is Morrigan.”

“Morrigan?... What an odd name.”

“I have heard that often… Yet it befits me.” Without another word, the knight turned his back on the mare and opened his wings. Ignoring her shout of surprise, he took off.

The mare sighed, checking her back. Her saddlebag was back in place. She had evaded… the alley gang, whichever one they were. She had been saved. And now she knew his name. “I wonder why he paused so long…” Smiling softly to herself, mostly in relief, she walked to her house without another incident.

Morrigan flew away, sighing. His name truly befit him, in his eyes. His mother had never known what he would become. How could she? Yet, as names went, the goddess of war and strife made sense. He was a knight who had gone to a war against shadow.

He just had to make sure he was on the winning side.

Author's Note

HAPPY (VERY VERY VERY LATE) BIRTHDAY DRAKE! <3