Heart Of Light And Sorrow

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.