If Armour Could Talk
From my earliest moments, I remember you. That regal countenance I perceived through the ember glow of fire and swirling fields of magical energy. Your memory, master, is a permanent and indelible mark, forever bound within my sphere of knowing.
You were there with the finest of unicorn and earth pony forgemasters as they diligently labored with my metals, dictating to them with royal proclamation each and every fine aspect of my creation with a passion as brightly burning as the forge in which it was done.
My argentine mithril mail, interwoven together and concealed beneath a filigree of gold that shimmered in the light of your sister’s star. Silver-filigreed mithril adornment that bore the mantle of your crescent standard. Matching boots that humbled the ground beneath your mighty hoofsteps. A sleek amber-hued helmet that, in the place of a traditional crest, held instead the socket for a slender horn, and the seat for a crown of jet black.
My form could have been anything of your choosing; a style all your own. Possibilities limited only by your imagination and the skill of mortal but masterful smiths’ craft.
Yet still you chose this. “‘Twould not do to don mail starkly different from those of Our warriors,” I believe you had said. “Stallions and mares ought to be inspired and invigorated by Our presence amongst their ranks on the field of battle, not belittled into meek submission by an ostentatious display that merely rolls the eyes of the enemy.”
Though it was not yourself that wielded the hammer, it was you who ultimately made me what I am, and I cherish that, even to this day. And so I became: masterfully-crafted armor easily fitting for an average soldier or guard, but so adorned with the sigils and badge of your royal office.
And to this very day, on my stand inside your chambers, I still remain in awe at what your great nation considered average for standard issue in my heyday of service.
We’ve seen them, whole battalions of opposing warriors clad in raiment that barely held a candle to our majesty, seeming as if some amongst their ranks had scarcely learned how to heft a blade before the call of conscription had come in their land of origin. For many, such was the likely scenario.
They marched and fought and fell in humble iron, some in the skins of animals, tired old bronze transitioning to the colour of master’s eyes, rarely steel of varying calibres, but on some select few-—alloys both alien and exotic, or mithril like our own.
Those were the greatest of threats, the ones that brought you out to the field in person, to instill the necessary fervor and morale in the defending forces of our lands.
I began my service to you, then.
Equestria the blossoming kingdom, ever the target of other powers, both big and small, equine and not. Other young upstart nations, millennia-old empires making their last attempts to grasp at glory before crumbling to dust, dark forces from beyond the pale; it made no difference to you.
While Celestia and Canterlot’s power arose and grew from East to West like a young phoenix spreading its wings for first flight, in amber clad you stood against their enemies all the same, and so too, did I.
Every swing of a villain’s sword, every impact of the stray arrow, I warded off with all I had. Like a dearest lover, I knew your every curve and contour. My metal shielded you from harm as you dealt it back swiftly, and in return you shielded me from the elements and degradation with care, and devoted maintenance.
Your movements were my own, and after the greatest conjurer of our time imbued me with residual magic, my newfound strength too, was yours. As arrows began to give way to metal, stone, and even lightning all propelled by miraculous breakthroughs in alchemy, my strength still held fast to keep you safe as you quelled invasion after invasion and did your part to rain justice upon the unjust or tame the monsters that threatened whole communities. Such was my age-old duty.
The call of battle. Glory without end, some would have said. But it would seem there was an end, at least for us, if a long and harrowing but finite one.
Though my enchantments always warmed you as if I had been long left out in the sunlight, they, I, could do nothing to warm the kingdom you helped protect like your sister’s star. Such was the comparison of a puddle to every ocean on this Earth.
The stars of the sky always burned bright during your night, but they were too distant, were they not? Like the hearts you had once sought fairly to gain, that for Celestia were given away freely.
When one of the few hearts closest to you that it was actually within reach fell to the very forces we had opposed for so long, the end finally came. I remember. The heart of that King was stolen from you, and an entire empire was doomed to a millenium-long curse.
Nothing was right after that. For one factor or another, you could clad yourself in my metals and magics no longer. How your suffering weighed heavily on me, master. And then it came to a final, dreadful climax.
Like so many times before, I was there, and though you would probably disagree if we could but speak to one another, I consider it the one time I truly failed in my duty. Nightmare Moon was one dark arrow fired by Nightmare Forces I could not deflect from piercing your heart. Because of it, I was left without a master to serve. I was replaced by a cold, unfeeling thing. Armour as silver as moonlight but devoid of any love, or any soul.
Ironically, it was Harmony’s light and not the dark mass of corruption that was the final thing to spirit you away from my service. And thus my wait began.
But what is past, is past; history follows suit.
While I sat, cloistered away in a closed off section of the capital’s royal archives, the kingdom we had defended together in the many decades before your banishment carried on without us.
Borders expanded, new cultures arose, and trade routes opened. Soon, the philosophy of amity, harmony, and goodwill took root under Celestia’s tutelage, and spread to nearly every corner of the civilized world. Old cities grew and new ones arose. New machines, new magic, science, and ways of life furthered Equestria’s evolution, and so too did it for war, through plumes of factory smoke and young forests of metal and stone towers.
Old armor like me wasn’t needed anymore by the common Equestrian soldier who now fought mostly overseas or on frontiers with strange weapons and magic, far from a now peace-loving and largely idyllic homeland. Now, we were ceremonial, worn only in regular service by Celestia’s Royal Guard. As for me, the hallowed halls of a royal museum was my lot.
Until you came back, master.
The day you arrived and extricated me from the piercingly curious eyes and harshly flashing lights of those who barely understood the true significance of the very halls of history they tread, was the happiest day since our victory in the epic battle against Lord Tirek, in an age now sung about only by bards.
Your form was one I hadn’t seen in centuries. The paler blue fur and silver locks of mane. A sign of weakness, to be sure, but your eyes through the glass case of my exhibit told me the whole truth.
Strength was indeed within you, and it was growing fast.
Weeds would be humbled.
But something too, was different. The Elements of Harmony had done far more than simply free you of Nightmare's grasp. Strength that had been Star Swirls, then mine, had now clearly been passed onto you. All was clear to me, then. Your nostalgic smile was the final confirmation.
That strength combined with your own carried with it the collective emotions, hopes, fears, dreams, and pride of a whole kingdom. And before my retirement was finally rendered full, you wielded all of us together, one final time against the Nightmare Forces with a new generation of heroic ponies, ready to defend one of the world’s greatest civilizations.
Victory followed, as is the natural order of things. I sit now on my stand, in pride of place within your chambers, as luminescent and polished as the day of my forging.
I can rest easy.
We have passed on the torch, and though the new defenders may not be clad in amber like you once were, Master Luna, I think you would agree that they are no less formidable.
