The Princess and the Monarchs
In a time before the equines, when the world was newly birthed and the old masters of magic still ruled the earth, seas and skies, there existed a land of rich and bounteous plenty, blessed with fruitful harvests, fair weather, and sparkling gemstones of great beauty. Its forests were lush, its creatures were fair, and its waters shone bright and clear as diamond; indeed, it was the most beauteous land upon the face of Equus. Yet this land was not a peaceful nor prosperous one; it was ruled by strife and bloodshed, beset by vicious enemies from without and tormented by chaos and anarchy from within– for this land had no leader to guide it.
After many years of unhappiness, it was decided that a great assembly should be called in order to find a good and proper leader for this land, and so end the strife that had plagued them for so long. And so, from every corner of the land, creatures large and small gathered in a great clearing to choose a leader; yet this solution offered no peace, for it soon became clear that not a single one among them could agree on what a good and proper leader should be.
“A leader must be strong and fierce,” snorted the mighty Centaur, his red-black form and pointed horns towering over all else in the clearing, “to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies, and command respect in his subjects.”
“No, no,” hissed the sly Draconequus, coiled around a nearby tree, “a leader must be smart and clever, so that they may outwit their enemies with ease, and know what moves their foes will make before they do.”
“Oh, goodness no,” crooned the beautiful Faerie, fluttering her rose-colored insect’s wings, “a leader must be kind and gentle to subject and enemy alike, ruling with compassion to spread prosperity and peace across their land.”
And though they bickered and quarreled for many days and nights, not one of them would concede. At length it was decided that the Centaur, the Draconequus and the Faerie should each have the throne for one year - and whosoever ruled with the fairest hoof and brought the most peace and fortune to the land would henceforth be named the new ruler. All three were agreeable to this, each sure their methods would prove superior.
The Centaur was the first to rule. He gathered up a great many soldiers and warriors, and, arming them with sword and spear, he sent them to every corner of the land, driving back all monsters and foes in their path; and after them he sent the mages and stonemasons, girding his borders with stone and spellcraft, creating walls that no foe could climb or breach. And so, for a time, there was peace. But the Centaur soon turned his strength against his subjects, forcing them to build ever more walls and weapons, and surrender ever more of their young to his armies. And wherever there was resistance or complaint, his retribution was swift and terrible, grinding whole villages to ash beneath his hooves. His subjects became resentful and angry, refusing to work, rallying against his reign. First one village, then two, then ten rose against him; and, try as he might, the flames of revolution spread until even his own soldiers took up arms against him. They marched upon his palace and burned it to the ground, forcing the mighty Centaur to flee with tail between his legs. And thus the first ruler fell.
The next one to rule was the Draconequus. Unlike the great Centaur’s, his armies were invisible; legions of spies, gathered and trained in the shadows, were carefully placed in the land’s every nook and cranny, bringing his subjects’ every whisper back to him. He acquired a group of advisors as well, handpicked for their expertise, and brought them together at his palace, playing them against each other for his own gains. With his spies and his court he molded the land to his will, orchestrating trade, work, diplomacy, marriages and royal appointments; there was no problem or conflict the clever Draconequus could not connive his way out of, and, greased by the honey of his lies, the whole of the land ran like clockwork. And so, for a time, peace again reigned. But deceit begat more deceit, which begat more and begat more, and the mouldering of unfulfilled promises bred distrust and cynicism throughout his court. Soon enough the web of lies grew so convoluted that even the masterful Draconequus could not untangle it. And so, one day, a single errant slip of tongue by the Draconequus brought the whole crashing down, each collapsed lie exposing the one before – and, in a coup led by his most trusted advisor, he was thrown out of his own corrupted court. And thus the second ruler fell.
Lastly, the rulership fell to the Faerie. Dispensing with soldiers or spies, the Faerie opened her court to all, treating each and every creature’s problems and grievances with the utmost of gentleness and concern. Assembling a group of peacekeepers, she settled each dispute she found, some with her own hooves, refusing to give up until each party left satisfied. She used neither armies nor jails to enforce her rule – all, even the criminals and dissenters, she decreed, were to be treated with words of compassion and gentle persuasion, and her subjects adored and praised her for her kindness. And once more, there was, for a time, peace. But the crooks and villains of the land noted the Faerie’s gentle openness, and said amongst each other, “Look: this queen is feeble and weak, backing her authority with nothing but sweet words. Let us go forth and rob and pillage with impunity, for we will suffer no punishment from her.” And so the thieves and criminals rose up and laid waste to the land, robbing and burning in broad day – and no matter how the Faerie or her peacekeepers begged and pleaded, the criminals simply spat and laughed in their faces. The great beasts and marauding armies of the other lands around hers, seeing her weakness and the chaos sweeping her land, attacked as well, destroying all in their path and paying no heed to requests of diplomacy. The people’s love for the Faerie turned to hate and outrage, each clamoring and demanding that she halt the intruders and fulfill their ever-greedier requests. And though she strove in vain to satisfy them all, the mob in the end threw her out and took the palace, only barely driving back the marauders and beasts. And thus the third ruler fell.
After the Faerie was thrown from power, the great assembly was reconvened. There was much distress among the creatures of the land, for none of the three leaders had even lasted the full year they were given to rule; and there were some who questioned if there would even be a leader at all. The Centaur, Draconequus and Faerie hung their heads in shame, and each searched for a way to sway the people’s opinion in their favor. Just as the assembly was about to disband in failure, however, a small, frail creature stepped from the crowd. It was a strange, horselike thing none of them had ever seen before, with fur white as snow and a flowing pink mane. She bore a sharp horn upon her forehead, wings like a bird’s upon her back, and a picture of the sun on her flank. On her back, wrapped in swaddling cloth, was an infant – like herself, but with a coat of midnight blue. The pony-creature gave her name as Celestia, and asked, in a small, quavering voice:
“May I have a year to rule?”
The assembled creatures laughed heartily at her – for how could such a young, pathetic creature possibly lead the land? The pony bowed her head in embarrassment, and the other creatures prepared to dismiss her.
But the Draconequus whispered to the Faerie and the Centaur: “Come, let us allow the little pony a year upon the throne; for she is sure to be a poor ruler, and, by her ineptitude, we three shall look better by comparison.” The other two agreed to this plan, and so granted the young pony a single year with which to rule.
However, all in the land were shocked by what the filly did with her power. For, though they had known it not, Celestia had watched carefully the successes and failures of the three before her. With fierceness and strength, she reassembled the armies and rebuilt the walls, driving from her land the monsters that terrorized it, and punishing firmly and harshly the criminals that sought to pillage it. With wit and intelligence, she assembled a group of advisors, carefully weighing their counsel and organizing her court and kingdom into a well-oiled mechanism, cleverly out-thinking her foes and finding cures to the land’s every ill. And with compassion and kindness, she listened to the cries of the people, giving freely from her treasury and treating all with fairness and gentleness. Under the pony’s hooves, the land blossomed into a paradise of peace and prosperity, with food, liberty and safety for all under her rule. And so, when the great assembly convened one year later, there was no argument – it was near-unanimously decided that this pony, this Celestia, would henceforth be known as the ruler of the land. And so she and her sister rule, to this very day.
However, though there was much rejoicing and celebration among all creatures of the land, great and small, there were three who did not rejoice. For the Centaur, the Draconequus and the Faerie were each ashamed and bitter that a mere filly had succeeded where they had failed so utterly. And so each stalked off to the furthest corners of the land, swearing revenge on the pony who had taken what was by rights theirs. Of these three however, none was bitterer than the Faerie; for, while the two others had gone to the throne with malice in their hearts, the Faerie had given her love and kindness freely and openly to all in the land, and had, to her thought, received naught in return but scorn and hatred. The Faerie swore that neither she nor her children would rest until every last drop of the love she had given so freely was taken back, sucked out of the people’s ungrateful hearts. And so saying, her fair pink coat hardened to cold black chitin; her wings and mane became ragged and torn; her magic soured to sickly green; and the compassion in her heart curdled to putrid, ever gnawing hatred, a hatred that would not be satisfied until it had devoured every last bit of love there was to devour. And thus was the first changeling born.
