The giant doors eased open, slowly pushed by the hooded and robed unicorn pony beyond. He lifted his head, the effort to do so costing him greatly. The building he entered dwarfed him, the high-hanging gas-lights casting his shadow in all directions.
The building was beautiful, in the truest sense of the word. It was full of beauty. The hooded pony shook his head, slowly, and a single tear dropped from his face onto the marble floor. His slow, tired hoofsteps reverberated around the massive hall. Thousands or millions of ponies should have been here, each one paying their respect to those who had suffered and died for them within Canterlot. It was not the case today. Now the hooded pony was the sole visitor.
He shuffled through, and passed by massive statues carved from marble, or cast in bronze and covered with gold and silver. Each one was the work of a grandmaster, depicting in diorama a scene from the last days of the desecrated city of Canterlot. There was no reason for him to look any more, for he knew the events better than any sculptor, and yet he still did. As the pilgrim did so, he slowly raised his right fore-leg high and winced as he forced his arthritic limb to fold into the position it had long been accustomed to, pledging loyalty to the Night Queen. It was fitting for the first statue. It was almost as large as a house on its own, and carved into the pedestal of stone was its title, ‘Fear and Temptation’.
There was the Night Sister, Luna Thrice-Sacrificed. Carved in black marble, she stood high above him, her wings a barrier separating colts and fillies from the Bright Lady, speaking there her words of poisoned honey and cast in gilded bronze. The metal artisan who had made the statue had made it so lifelike that the pilgrim felt a cold trickle of fear run down his back, and took a step back. He turned to the statue of Luna, and after a second, bowed his head, choking back a sob. “I… I would have died for you, my queen,” he said. Part of him wished he had – had died there, so long ago, rather than face the slow-death of age. To fall against such odds would have been no shame.
It was on this day every five years when the guards closed the doors, and the last of the veterans walked the pilgrim’s path. Each time, their numbers had dwindled; time waits for nopony, and all must pay their due. He walked on down through the hall of the magnificent building. The light reflected from the golden walls seemed to make a path for him to follow, and it felt to him like the spirits of the departed were watching him from beyond the grave.
The second statue was on his left, bearing the same name as the one depicted by it, ‘The Dawn-bringer’. Her face was cruelly twisted as she cast her spell which had cost the lives and souls of many hundreds, or even thousands of ponies for the power to do it. Two of her minions flanked her—horrible parodies of ponies. Both had tentacles where a unicorn would have a horn, and bat wings to spite the pegasi. Both were feasting on the dead ponies beneath the Dread Princess’ hooves. The pilgrim stared at it, hatred burning in his heart for those butchers. Even though there had been many, many more than those depicted, he took pride that he had killed so many.
“You never could win, Bright Lady,” he said, quietly. “Even if you had killed us, we would have died free.” He still remembered the time when the ultimatum had come from the Evil One. ‘Join me, or die.’ Well, death would come anyway, as it was doing now. Even though he had escaped from death at her hooves personally, he could not hide from death forever. The last survivor would join the others. It seemed fitting to him, for he had lived by his word and he had told the ponies under him that he would be the first in, and the last out.
The pilgrimage went on, winding through the next statue, ‘Loyalty and Treason’, wherein the pilgrim passed between the split scenes. On the left was a gilded bronze statue of the Corruptor, her hoof outstretched, deceiving ponies into her servitude. On the right, the black marble Luna was stooping down, to meet the ponies face to face, and to lead them into the truth. Though the Night Sister was ready to help all who needed it, many had joined with the Enemy of Ponykind. They stood behind the Dawn-bringer, preferring to live in bondage than fight for their freedom. On the other side were the loyalists – those who would rather die than fight for those who had fallen as the Dread Princess had.
Of those within Canterlot itself, there were not many.
The pilgrim had made his choice long ago. Not once had he regretted it since. Even now, as he looked at the two, he knew which one the right choice to fight for and with was. Luna, his queen, did not have to ask for his loyalty.
He continued his journey up to the crux of the building, to the place that he had come to now and so many times before. But before he came to his destination, he passed the fourth scene.
A small scene dwarfed by the other displays, it depicted four ponies, each standing around the table on which was set the plan for the salvation of Canterlot, and all that existed. The first was Queen Luna, their noble leader, who stood there focused on the other ponies and listening to their words. She was the focus of the piece, and by the cunning of the artisan her eyes seemed to follow the watcher. The second was Captain Shining Armour, the head of the Royal Guard, hoof gesturing towards a point on the table.
The third was Prince Blueblood, son of the Queen, who looked at the table with a confident gaze. ‘When we stand together, nothing can stop us,’ he had said, and the statue reflected his bold and daring image as much as his charisma. The statue looked like it could come alive and engage in the same daredevil stunts as its model. The fourth was Twilight Sparkle, who looked impassively at the table. She was a mage beyond all others of her time, and said to be second only to Starswirl the Bearded of old.
These were the four whose leadership and sacrifice had saved ponykind and defeated Celestia. They were the objects of veneration, and the heroes of countless ponies, and the reason that this building was so visited.
The pilgrim continued only a short while further, and came upon three stone sarcophagi. On the first was the statue of an alicorn, while on the other two were unicorns. The statues were all carved in exquisite detail, like at any second they might begin to move and talk. Yet the pilgrim knew they would not, and was deeply saddened by it.
The pilgrim slowly sat down, and removed his hood to reveal a face scarred and battered by innumerable conflicts and battles. One of his eyes was scarred over, and the eye itself milky white. Another ear is torn. He did not speak, yet. He merely sits there, remembering the old days.
“The time is finally here,” he said, suddenly. “I’m no longer in charge. They told me that I do not have to carry that burden any longer. Eighty years was more than anypony could expect of me, they said. I still put my signature on things. They still pretend I am responsible for them. It… It does not seem right, being a figurehead. You three, you were never ones to be like that. Especially not at the end.”
There was more silence, and the pilgrim looked at the statues, almost hoping they would reply. Nevertheless, they remained silent gazing at him endlessly. He raised his hooves, gritting his teeth as the arthritic joints pained him even more.
“We still haven’t found Princess Cadance yet, though we still hope – for all that is worth now, anyway.”
The silence refilled the room, as if noise was an unwelcome guest. Not for the first time, the pilgrim felt the foolishness of the trip. The occupants of the crypt had long ago passed from where words could be heard. Yet still he felt the need – the need to talk to those whom he had called friends, to those who had shed their blood in his place.
He looked around at the golden walls. The gold had come from the inhabitants of Canterlot, from their very bodies. The Bright Lady’s death-curse, or the after-effects of the spell she had cast, had caused those who had died to turn into the precious metal. One of those was Flash Sentry, the lowly mortal who had stood up against a near-god, but for everypony like him, too many were un-named, nothing more than a glittering sparkle in the light from the gaslights hanging from the roof of the building.
He thought back, to the Day when everything had changed.
He panted heavily. The way through had been hard fought. The beasts were more terrible than any mortal enemy he had fought before. Both his swords were bloody, and he was tired. But the gate, now far behind him, had been taken, and the Legion was fighting house to house. There was deranged laughter ahead of them, and from a laneway appeared one of the beastly foes.
He readied himself, and leaped in to attack when it took wing. They could all fly, and all of them had at least rudimentary magic. That was the worst part about them. He gave the signal, and the twenty crossbow-stallions with him loosed their bolts at the beast.
Of the twenty who had shot, nineteen were on target - the things being big enough that that wasn't any difficulty. Only three got through, the others hitting some sort of magical shield. Even the three that hit didn't do more than anger it.
That, however, was the plan. Following the conflicts with the griffons, ground-pounders had developed a strategy for dealing with flying enemies. When they dived, they made themselves extremely vulnerable, just as this one did. When it was committed, and too fast to stop itself, the ponies raised an array of spears, and it ran itself through on them.
These beasts, however, were far more than griffons. It stood up, roaring in pain and anger, and started to swat at the ponies. Quick as a flash, he leapt in, swords singing. He executed a perfect Crab's Pincer, taking off the monster's tentacle. It screamed in pain and reared. He took the only opportunity he could get, and drove his swords into its throat. It died slowly.
He pulled them clear, and wiped them on the body. Looking back to where it had come from, he steeled himself for the rest of the battle. "Come on! I happen to have booked an appointment for a manicure for you fillies, and if we don't clear out these bastards now, you’re going to be late!" he called out to his ponies, which at least brought a couple of chuckles.
They set off through the streets. The prince still had almost a third of his legion, the rest either casualties or clearing out the buildings behind them. But even a thousand soldiers wasn't much over the city.
There! The centre of the city was dead ahead. He forced new energy into his movement, moving forward. The battered remnants of his glory squad up kept with him at the steady pace he was making. He prowled forward, keeping an eye out for any surprises, when there was the sound of steel on steel from close by.
"Let's go!" he said, as they sped up. "We’re not going to let somepony else get all the glory!" His guard followed him, their hooves rapping on the cobblestones of the city street, when they came upon Shining Armor… or the upper half of the Captain anyway. His face was frozen in the rictus of death, and his spear was broken in half, the top half missing. Around him lay many bodies of the Royal Guard, defiant to the end.
He closed the Captain’s eyes, and turning back to his soldiers he spoke again. “We cannot let this blasphemy go unavenged. We will not take a step back until this city is purged of the filth that infests it!” His voice was deadly calm and he turned around, facing the source of the noise again. “Now come on!” They leapt into a gallop after him.
They hurried through when there was a last clash of steel and then silence. The silence was broken by the clatter of their horse-shoes as they continued on.
There in front of them was the central plaza of Canterlot, broken and devastated. Rubble was strewn almost everywhere. The upper half of Luna’s statue had been destroyed. On the left of the plaza, the body of the Dawn-bringer lay, broken and torn. The fatal wound was the Queen’s sword, which impaled the Dread Princess’ head.
On the right was the Queen, who was badly wounded. She was gasping for breath as the ponies approached. She looked up at him, and her eyes widened. “Is… Is that you, my son?” she asked.
Blueblood nodded, his face aghast. “Mother… What happened? Are you going to be alright?”
“I fear not,” she said, with a hint of her good humour to her voice still. “I am growing cold. I am assured that is a sign of impending death. I fear that the blood leaving my body is a similar sign.” She was bleeding profusely through three open wounds.
“You… You can’t die, mother. I can’t do this. Not alone,” Blueblood said, shaking his head as his arrogance melted away. “The people need you. I don’t know what to do, how to help them, or… or anything!”
“Oh, my son,” said Luna soothingly. “I have taught you all that you need to know. Just make this last promise to me. Protect the kingdom. Guard its people. Never let fear rule you. Then you will be loved—and loved more than I, I have no doubt.”
“I… I promise you that, mother. I won’t fail you. No matter what, I will not break this promise,” he said, his voice threatening to break as he did so.
“Good… then I can die in peace. Thank you, my son,” she said. The prince remained close to her, holding her until she breathed her last.
As she did so, the ponies around took a knee in respect. “The Queen is dead. Long live the King!”
Of all the dead, only three were more than the sheen on the wall and they lay within the sarcophagi. Shining Armour was the first to die. Celestia had toyed with him, though he had torn a gash in her armour before she killed him. Queen Luna was the second. She had slain the Corruptor, though the Dawn-bringer had mortally wounded her in so doing. The third was Twilight Sparkle. She was no soldier, like the others, but she had sacrificed herself to close the portal to the Border Realms that the Dawn-bringer had opened as well as to turn the sun and moon to their present cycle.
King Blueblood looked up at the statues, of himself, of his friends. They looked down on him, impassive in their marble forms. He fought back the desire to weep, to break down and cry for them. He remembered all the ponies that had fought beside him: those who had been afraid, those who had been too brave, and those who had merely done their duty. They had been here with him, every five years when they had made the Veteran’s Walk just as he did today. Each time their numbers had faded. This day he was the last one.
"I still remember the promise I made to you, my friends. The kingdom is safe still. Ponykind is still safe. The fallen still try to break out of the Everfree Forest - even now, they do not give up. But they have never succeeded. Your people live in peace, mostly. But... It feels like I'm the only one who remembers what really happened."
The words ran out, and the King just sat there, in silence. He did not know why he felt the need to talk to the dead, but he did it anyway.
