Heat Stroke stood at attention, waiting for Celestia to address him. She stood once again upon the battlements, overseeing the evacuations, looking troubled and unsettled. She had been nursing Coronach now for several days, and she had just come away from a feeding session not too long ago.

A tower had completely fallen over during the night, tearing away the wall and crumbling part of the outer barracks. It had left behind a terrible mess, and contributed greatly to the destabilisation of the now ruined castle. The collapsing tower had killed over two dozen guards, Nightmare Moon’s rampage was still claiming lives.

The empire was in ruins. The long night, the impossibly long night, with its freezing temperatures had killed many, mostly foals and the elderly. A sizeable portion of an entire generation of foals were now gone, the damage unimaginable and catastrophic. That generation of foals was needed… so many had died already from Discord, from Sombra, from the terrible griffon war.

This conflict would probably further shrink their borders, weakening the small fragile nation of Equestria. The Unicorn Range was already threatening civil war, only a day ago the ruling heads of the ruling unicorn families saying that Celestia was unfit to rule, and communications had been severed not long afterward. The unicorns had done well during the long night, having their magic to sustain them. The pegasi were well suited to cold, but their young had suffered. The earth ponies, the ponies who fed the land, had suffered the most and their numbers had been greatly reduced.

The situation seemed unsustainable.

“Heat Stroke?” asked Celestia, now turning her attention to the guard beside her.

“Majesty, I have a report. I, uh, have a troubling report. Your Majesty, there is some things I need to tell you that you will find most unnerving and quite painful,” announced Heat Stroke, agonising on his report, knowing that Celestia had suffered so much already.

“Do not mince words Heat Stroke. Report,” commanded Celestia, her wings slumping slightly, her back sinking, her posture one of extreme fatigue.

“The last of the Nightmare Moon loyalists were tracked to their hidden cave. They fortified themselves inside of the underground cavern. A wall had been built and a gate as well. We began to lay siege to the fortifications to root them out, and then we noticed that there was no sounds coming from within. When the unicorns forced the gate open, nothing moved to engage us in battle. The cavern was filled with the stench of death,” Heat Stroke reported, his wings twitching, unable to follow protocol and keep his own hooves still.

Celestia squirmed visibly, made a gagging sound deep in her barrel, and let out a strangled cry. Her eyes clenched shut and yet more tears stained her cheeks, there had been so many tears as of late.

“Hundreds took their own lives your Highness. Some kind of highly toxic cave fungus that is poisonous even to them. Mostly mares and foals. So… so many foals your Majesty. The Honour Guard is working even now to recover them, give them the respect they deserve, and, uh… put them to bed with the gentle love and decency that they did not have in life. If it is any consolation, there were some survivors. A few foals that hid and did not eat the fungus. One of them in particular will be of great interest to you I beleive,” Heat Stroke explained, his voice cracking many times as he spoke, his own face streaked with tears, his lip quivering from emotion.

Celestia looked at him quizzically, but said nothing.

“There is a foal named Threnody. She asks about the fate of her father. She already knows the fate of her mother,” Heat Stroke said quietly. “We have made the foals comfortable, we are holding them, gently, they have suffered enough. I had to deliver a fierce beating to one of the guards who wanted to kill them. I suspect that said guard will not live through the coming night,” he finished, his armor creaking as he lowered his head.

Celestia quickly made the connection, Coronach and Threnody both being types of funeral songs. Her legs wobbled, she lost her balance and staggered, a pained cry escaping her lips, her good wing going out, seeking support, and finding Heat Stroke, who wedged himself against Celestia’s side, attempting to hold up the much larger mare.

Heat Stroke failed and both took a tumble down to the stones of the battlement walks, Celestia landing on Heat Stroke, and then lying very still, weeping bitterly. Heat Stroke lay crushed, but dared not complain, his armor creaking and screeching with strain, cutting deeply into his flesh. Somehow, he did not cry out.

After several torturous moments, Celestia rolled away, falling over onto her other side, her head upon the stones. She made no attempt to rise or regain her hooves. Several pegasi landed around her upon the battlements, all of them looking quite worried. Heat Stroke struggled to his feet, blood trickling from many places, his armor crimped and biting into his flesh in many places. The pegasi solemnly stood around their fallen monarch, looking pained and afraid.

“Fetch Festus,” Heat Stroke commanded.

One of the pegasi took wing and flew off after nodding his head briefly.

A few more pegasi landed, mares, wearing ill fitting armor.

It had come to this. Mares had been pulled away from grieving families and placed in armor, conscripted into the ranks. Family, a precious and valuable asset, a much needed asset, was now being dipped into as well. There was almost nothing left of the empire, and everything now was just scraping the barrel and last ditch efforts. Equestria was circling the sump hole.

Privately, Heat Stroke believed that Equestria would be reduced to a city state republic, Canterhorn Fortress being the last available asset. The Everfree counties were being overrun by fierce unstoppable plants that had to be constantly burned and battled to hold them back from the Palace of the Royal Pony Sisters. The Unicorn Range threatened secession and civil war. The pegasi of Cloudsdale were strangely quiet, no messengers, no missives, no reinforcements had arrived from them since before the long night.

Heat Stroke took his oath seriously, and had already made peace to go down with the empire if need be. He stepped forward and bravely did the unthinkable, he pressed his snoot into Celestia’s neck, gently stroking her.

Much to everyponys’ surprise, she responded, her eyelids fluttering, her ears moving, and a low pained cry resonated in her throat.

“Celestia,” Heat Stroke whispered, daring to call her by name, daring to comfort the fallen Sun Goddess, bravely speaking words into the warm flesh of her neck. “Celestia, can you rise? Do you need assistance? I know these are trying times, but we must be resolute. One of the last few precious resources we have is your image as the stalwart defender of ponykind. I know you are hurting, and this conflict has left grievous injury upon your heart, but as your friend, I beg of you to regain your hooves. There are many who have no strength left and need to see you as the shining example that you are for all of us,” he murmured, his words soft and encouraging.

The fallen monarch lurched, her body contorting, moving, her legs kicking. She struggled, her breath a pained grunt escaping her gritted teeth, and slowly rolled over onto her belly, folding her legs beneath her. After a few moments and several deep breaths, she rose, wobbling unsteadily, the remainder of her faithful Solar Guard pressing in all around her, determined that she would not fall again.

“The Sun rises!” a mare cheered, wearing her husband’s armor, lifting her head proudly, drawing strength from seeing her monarch regain her standing.

“Take me at once to the foals,” Celestia commanded, her voice wavering and raspy. “I will see them immediately. They need to understand there is no animosity between us.”

Coronach hung suspended in his sling. Much to his relief, Festus had found pain killing compounds that could overcome his body’s own resistance to chemical substances. His brain was fogged and his body seemed distant.

Pain was his constant companion, and the alchemical brews he drank or the poultices packed into his wounds did not dull it completely. It remained, devouring both his flesh and his will, tearing away at his focus and his gritty determination.

The worst torment through had to be Celestia, and her perverse need to keep him alive. He hated her. With every fibre of his being, he hated her. He was bound to serve her, his own oath inviolate, and, if given the chance, would continue to serve her, but he hated her. And he had told her so. His own guilt hurt far worse than any physical pain. He had said many harsh words to his monarch and had made her cry. Coronach was supposed to protect her from harm, and he had been the one who had hurt her.

The conflict tore away at his mind and caused him no end of torment.

He was blind now, but still able to see in a sense, his echolocation still functioning. The room was empty. Festus had left, called away on some emergency. Festus was a good griffon, and Coronach was proud to know him.

He squirmed slightly in his sling, causing his body to flood with pain as things pulled. He felt weak places on his flesh tear back open.

The damnable mare that was his bane would be back in a few hours to force feed him more fish paste and make him drink water. Loathing burned in him like a furnace. He would continue to resist, and she would continue to attempt to conquer. They were both fiercely proud creatures, and neither would ever admit defeat. If she wanted a fight, she’d get one.

Coronach resolved that he would no longer mention out loud how much he hated her. That seemed to be fighting dirty, and even in this weakened condition, he cared about his honour. Honour that the horrible selfish mare continued to chisel away at, treating him like a foal. Celestia was an intolerable pain in the plot. A snoot pinching intolerable pain in the plot. Many things were acceptable in war, even terrible things, but going for the snoot was just plain dirty, just like kicking a stallion in the potato sack.

And Celestia was clearly a potato sack kicker.

Coronach cursed in the empty room, his voice a strained whisper.

Coronach heard hoofsteps outside of his door, a group, and then heard the click of the door opening. He sniffed, trying to figure out who was visiting.

Celestia of course. Early. Ready to torture no doubt. Festus was there.

And something else.

No.

No, not like this.

Was it her?

A whimpering cry flooded Coronach’s throat and passed through his tortured lips.

“She can’t see me like this!”

Celestia considered the pain filled plea, and looked down at the foal who stood beside her, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open, her face in a rictus of pain. The foal was soon to be a young adult filly, the last vestiges of her foalhood fading.

Threnody staggered forward, her legs now weak with shock, making clicking sounds, little pops, and whistles.

Coronach hung in his sling, now weeping, completely broken once again, again by Celestia’s actions.

Threnody stumbled forward, finally reaching her father, and touched his nose with her own. She did not cry, but her eyes were squeezed shut, and her wings fluttered with agitation and pain.

“I thought this might comfort you,” Celestia said, her voice filling the room with sounds other than grief.

“She shouldn’t be seeing me like this, I’m not fit to live,” begged Coronach.

Threnody’s backside fell to the floor with a “whump!” and she sat before her parent, still unable to say anything, the smaller lunar pegasus filly completely in shock. She cocooned her face with her wings, hiding herself, and faint guttural sounds came from within her shelter.

After several minutes of crying, her voice drifted out. “Sire, I shame you with my weeping,” she said, her voice raspy and full of gravel.

Moments of comfort and bonding were rare in their militaristic culture, but Coronach wanted more than anything to hold Threnody, to feel her. And he couldn’t. A low wailing moan escaped his throat, a cry suitable for a funeral.

“Kill me,” he begged, “do it now, end this for me I beg of you.”

“Do you not want to live for her?” asked Celestia, taken aback by what she was witnessing, not understanding what she was seeing.

“And leave her with a crippled and blinded millstone around her neck?” Coronach responded.

“Sire, forgive me, I did not follow orders… they made us eat poison. I was cowardly, I ran and hid, I have shamed you… I should not be here and I now regret living. To see you like this is my punishment,” Threnody wailed, now falling to the ground completely, laying on her side, her face still covered.

“Both of you have lived through trying circumstances. Take comfort in one another. Or is your kind incapable of that?” Celestia said, moving forward slowly, seeking to comfort the fallen foal.

“What is to be done with her?” Coronach asked. “She was never a combatant… she…” Coronach’s voice trailed off, not wanting to further shame his offspring.

“I am a coward, fighting makes me frightened and scared and I am a shame to both my parents!” Threnody shrieked from inside her wings.

“I was never ashamed of you,” Coronach confessed in a low whisper. “You had the courage to be different. You stood on your own. Your Majesty, please, what is to be done with her?”

“She will be looked after and treated kindly,” Celestia answered.

“So she is a prisoner,” groaned Coronach, one leg kicking slightly as its bindings.

“I never said that,” Celestia retorted as she reached down and touched the hiding foal with her wingtip. Threnody froze, not moving, falling silent at her touch. “I will not hurt you,” promised Celestia.

Threnody did not respond. She lay as still as stone, not even breathing, not making a single sound.

“Threnody, perhaps you can help me make your father eat?” Celestia asked, lowering her head down near Threnody’s wing cocoon.

“Sire will not eat?” Threnody replied, sniffling slightly from within her shelter.

“He is a stubborn pain in my backside,” Celestia replied.

“He must be made to eat then,” Threnody agreed.

Coronach groaned, realising that Celestia had found allies. He cursed his traitorous offspring, and then he silently resolved to dig in and redouble his efforts.

Author's Note

And there you go folks.

More will come in time, as always.