Dilemmas and Decisions
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Princess Celestia sighed as she looked before the situation laid out before her on her desk. Three pieces of paper sat there plainly, their unassuming whiteness underlying their sinister purpose. Between her teeth perched a pen. She looked down at the three papers. War lay in between their lines of black and white. One was a plea for help from the government of Zebricy to crush rebels from Chechneya harbored in the Equestrian protectorate of Afghneighnistan. The other was a plea from her own administration in Klopdagar to protect them from the conflict spilling over from Zebricy. The third was a letter from Twilight Sparkle asking to be granted authority over the crisis in her little kingdom. Regardless of how she decided, there would be death. She simply could not decide. There was too little information to make life and death decisions. No matter what, there would be blood on her for whatever happened, whether she acted or not.
Which proposed to accept? The call from Zebricy? After all, the Zebricans had some valuable trade resources and contacts. By accepting their request, she could bolster her nation’s prosperity by playing a clean little chess game abroad. However, she understood that this little gambit of hers would be played out in battles and lives. More specifically, it would require the sending of some of her own subjects to fight and die in a strange land in a conflict that was not theirs. Afghneighnistan was her own protectorate, but she had little love for the Afghneighns, as they held for her. There was no trade to be had there, and they were not her precious little ponies. However, they were her protectorate and if things spiraled out of control there, then they could boil over into neighboring Equestria, her very own land. The third was another request from Afghenighnistan, but a special one which would let her place the responsibility upon the shoulders of another.
Her ponies loved peace and stability. She could hardly send troops to both lands, despite the pressing need, without embarking upon an unprecedented dual front war, especially considering that this could hardly be called defense of the realm. However, if she abstained, then there would be bloodshed regardless while the rest of the world saw her as sitting back and allowing them to suffer, which would hurt relations in the long term, and perhaps security if chaos came to forment with resentment against Equestria for refusing to help. There would be consequences for her nation, but none for her. Equestria had been through good times and bad times, but those had never touched her all the way in her tower in her castle in Canterlot. Whether peace of war, boom or bust, the impact never came and stared in the face.
She called out, “Guards.”
The reply came from beyond her door, “Yes, your majesty?”
Bring me a big pot of tea and a book on outlying equine lands, Zebricy and Afghneighnistan.”
“Right away, your majesty,” they replied, the sounds of their hooves clopping fading away like heartbeats.
She had not seen them, only heard them. In a way, how was she supposed to truly know, realize, and understand that they were real? They could be automatons, machines carrying out the motions without even being cognizant or even real. If she never observed them and never came to know them, did they still count as real beings? In their uniforms, were there any true individuals? The magic of their armor turned them all the same colors, grey and white. Grey… an intermediate state between black and white. White was not a real color, more accurately, it was the refection of all colors, erasing all distinctions between red, orange, yellow, blue, indigo, and violet in its stark austerity. Thousands upon thousands of of guards had been in her service, and she had seldom seen any of them out of their enchanted armor. Did it matter to her if they were naturally blue or red or yellow if she never saw it? Could she even say if they were ever that color? Celestia mediated long upon this, unable to reach a conclusion.
Eventually a knock came on the door. “Your majesty, I have arrived with the tea.”
“You may enter,” replied Princess Celestia to the unseen one. He entered with a laden tea tray and she saw that he was real. She could not identify him by any features of his face or body. All differences were erased in the guard. If he was nervous, then she could not see it in his body, hear it in his voice, or observe it in his actions. He set it down. “Thank you, guard.”
“It is an honor, your majesty.” Just like an automaton.
An idea came to Celestia. “Guard, what is your name?”
He stood and saluted before answering, “Your majesty, I am Senior Guardspony Gorge Hinterland.’
“And what is your color, Hinterland?”
The guard hesitated for the first time. “Your majesty,” he replied. “I am afraid that I do not understand.”
“I inquired as to your color of coat, Hinterland,” Celestia clarified.
“Oh, that… I am orange, your majesty.”
“Remove your helmet, Hinterland.” The guard silently complied. Indeed, as soon as he did, the flawless white illusion came off, revealed a freckled orange stallion. He bore a look of confusion as his princess looked him up and down carefully several times. Her eyes narrowed and focused at every idiosyncrasy in his form. She instructed him, “Good. Now put it back on, Hinterland.” The guard complied. He became instantly anonymous. “You may leave.”
He saluted and replied, “Yes, your majesty.” The stallion marched out and carefully shut the door behind him. Princess Celestia heard no noise behind her, so she knew that he was back at his post.
The mare looked at the pieces of paper again. They all specifically called for steps to be taken in regards to the rapidly developing conflicts in far-flung places well beyond the throne in Canterlot. D yet, sure enough, they would all involve ponies, such as Gorge Hinterland. And some of those ponies would die. And for what? For politics? For stability? For money? For no reason they could fully appreciate? In the violent fight for peace? Could she send ponies like Gorge Hinterland to die there? She knew the answer already. Yes, she could. She had done it many times. She could do it. She would certainly do it again many times. She drank her piping hot tea as she contemplated this. Would it matter if Gorge died if her army was full of replacements for him, all indistinguishable, all capable of doing the same things the same way? He could be a black and white stallion named Schwarzweiss for all that it functionally mattered to her. These stallions existed to serve her, after all, as was stated in the charter. What about him now? He was out of her life forever beyond those doors, beyond her perception, but not her knowledge and reach.
If he were still real, then that meant that Afghneighnistan, Zebricy, and Chechneya were all real, too. They would exist and things would happen regardless of her involvement. There would be blood, no matter what she wished. She had to act, if only out of pure pragmatism to protect Equestrian interests. To hell with the soldiers; this is what they were for. Nothing like a nice little war to stir up nationalism and drum up support for her reign. Sure, a few ponies would die, and everyone would make a big show of it, but then they might as well become faceless number on the growing tally of war dead.
Still, Princess Celestia did not yet make her choice. She drank her tea and deliberated and waited. Then she heard a knock on the door followed by an announcement. “Your majesty, I have arrived with the book.”
“You may enter,” replied Princess Celestia to the unseen guard. He entered with a book and she understood that he was always real. She could not identify him by any features of his face or body. All differences were erased in the guard. Surely there were some unique things about him. If he was nervous, then she could not see it in his body, hear it in his voice, or observe it in his actions, but that did not have to mean that such things did not exist. He set it down. “Thank you, guard.”
“It is an honor, your majesty.”
“Guard, do you have a family?” He froze, taken aback.
“Why yes, I do, your majesty,” replied the guard tentatively. “I have parents, a wife, and a daughter.”
“Do you love each other?”
“Of course, your majesty. We’re family. Things come and go, but family is forever.”
“And what do they think of your service in my royal guard.”
“They are very proud of me, your majesty. They worry about me, though, because I put myself in harm’s way to protect them.”
“Why would you risk yourself for others?”
“Because I love them. Because I want to give them the best possible future. I protect Equestria because they are the part of Equestria I love above all others, above myself.”
“But what if you die?
The guard grew grim. “I don’t want to die, your majesty. They’d be heartbroken, devastated. But if I have to die for them, I’ll make that sacrifice. Doesn’t matter where or when.” Tears pooled in his eyes. The corners of the mare’s mouth fell.
“I understand. Thank you very much. You may leave now.”
“Thank you, your majesty. It is an honor to serve.” The guard left. New questions entered the head of the princess. Obviously, the objectively right thing to do was to send in the troops immediately to get the situation under control. The longer she waited, the worse things would have to get before they could get better.
She looked at the cover of the book. Equine Lands. On the cover was a map of the known lands populated by ponies and zebras. She knew that those lands were full of beings just like her little ponies, and now she was being asked to make a decision. To intervene on behalf of Zebricy would result in death but bring stability and prosperity at the cost of renewing the oppression of the zebras of Chechneya. To intervene in Afghneighnistan would be her duty, but history told her that it ultimately would be a fool’s errand to attempt to halt the violence, for it would only lead to endless deaths in her name and in the cause of resisting her name. But could she blame the Afghneighns truly? They had once held their own empire, until beset by invaders, ultimately resulting in humiliation ending in a quarter century of occupation, a generation come of age in a land stamped flat by foreign jackboots. She could give them freedom, but with that freedom, they would only murder each other according to their old enmities stretching back into time immemorial, only surmounted by their unbridled ardor to be independent of greater powers. A war there would have no end and could not be won meaningfully through any means short of ultimate atrocity. Many lives would be lost on both sides.
Then she considered what would happen if she remained neutral and let events take their course. Zebricy would inevitably bring Chechneya to heel under the jackboots of the central government in Bremane. Then would go about the old business of reestablishing order for the aftermath of a civil war as they went through the streets of Grazny, celebrating by the time-honored tradition of reprisal and oppression, through massacre and terror. And there would be a hellish peace, until the survivors and the new generation came of age again to begin another hellish war of brother against brother, only for it all to end the same way again. The zebras of Chechneya and the zebras of Zebricy were not all that unlike her own beloved ponies of Equestria. However, since Zebricy had subjugated Chechneya many years ago, cyclical brutality and revenge ruled. She knew that those folk had familes too, their own reasons to fight, their own causes to die for, just like her own ponies. She owed nothing to Zebricy, but there was nothing to be gained by not helping.
If she remained neutral, then Afghneighnistan would spiral from instability into chaos. The war would sweep the whole country, but not impact Equestria meaningfully, although some of it would inevitably spill over as it had done before. Few of her ponies would have to die on her soil. However, that would be abandoning those to whom she had sworn protection, as well as the many Equestrians and Zebricans living in Afghneighnistan. Her own land could be largely spared bloodshed by allowing bloodletting abroad, or so she thought.
The she thought of what intervention could mean. In Zebricy, it would mean finally endorsing the actions of Bremane as legitimate. However, it would also mean a chance to protect the civilians from the ravages of the conquering troops by keeping the peace and enforcing standards of decency with her own soldiers. She could then begin to break the cycle of violence, perhaps, or at least lay the foundations for a lasting peace between Chechneyans and Zebricans. Naturally, many of her precious ponies would die, and it would be of no benefit to them. Their families and friends would morn and miss them terrible. Just one life to be traded, and there would not be another. In Afghneighnistan, intervention would mean hopefully reducing the overall bloodshed by never permitting things to escalate into a full war. The war would be long, hard, and exhausting for all sides, with much death and suffering throughout. Whether she or Twilight gave the orders, she would ultimately be the one responsible.
The deaths caused by the intervention would be their fault, just as the needless deaths caused by their inaction would be, for they permitted others to die by refusing to lose anyone to stem the tide. It would mean the deaths of many ponies just like Gorge Hinterland. It would mean so much grief for familes like the one her other guard cared so much for. Princess Celestia picked up her quill and sighed. Action meant death, but inaction was not any better. No matter how she decided the matter, there would be horror and bloodshed, whether she liked it or not. In this one impossible decision, it could go either way.
She weighed her decisions against each other one last time. Helping the Zebras versus supporting an abusive regime. Bringing war versus the potential gains for peace. Moral obligation versus political obligation. Then she thought of Afghneighnistan. There was the long bloodletting versus the short storm. There was the good of her subjects versus the good of her nation. There was the prospect of entanglement versus the hope for success. Nothing at all about either one was certain, save for the simple truth that there would be death and that Celestia had to decide now before others chose for her. The mare finished her tea. She could already hear the ringing bells and the distraught families weeping. She knew what had to be done. She steeled herself, tears leaking from her eyes.
Then she wrote a letter to Twilight and a letter to Bremane and a letter to Klopdagar. Two were refusals. One was sent to teach new, painful but true lesson to her faithful student -- that one could not always win at statecraft.
Author's Note
This fic is a tad experimental, so please tell me what you think.
Thanks to Starbreeze for looking over this at Bronycon. Stay cool, bro.
Thanks to Sayer for giving me the courage to post this.
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