A Measure of History

James Volker patted the folded clothing in his hands, feeling the soft cloth with his calloused fingers. The white, button-collared shirt was… warm, he observed, comfortably so, welcoming to the cold flesh of his hands. The pants he had already put on—dress pants, black with blue stripes streaming down the sides—were likewise warm, almost hot, to the touch, its wool trapping heat within the formal trousers. His icy legs had felt absolutely fantastic upon wearing them, and with an absent minded shrug, James pulled on the dress shirt, a small sigh escaping his lips. A lulling warmth entrapped his upper body, soothing his freezing skin. Hopefully, at this rate, he wouldn’t get pneumonia, or anything. In fact, James was still not sure if he was dead, or in an entirely new dimension or world altogether. It was all rather strange, and James had fallen into a state of relative disbelief and fatigue overall.

“Would you like the… jacket too?” A feminine voice asked from James’ front and he looked up, gazing into the lavender eyes of his host—caring, yet cautious. An intriguing combination, to be sure.

“Mmm,” James hummed, patting down his shirt with his hands. “No. I think I’m good, for now, though I’ll keep the jacket myself.” He gave the… pony, he had been informed, a small smile, though his eyes were rather empty, except for a shade of skepticism. It was clear that James had not quite adjusted yet to his new surroundings.

Twilight nodded in response, simply hoofing over the black suit jacket, its blue stripes matching his pants. She turned away, meaning to return outside to where her friends had gathered, but was stopped by James’ question.

“Twilight, if you don’t mind… how did you dry and heat my clothes so quickly?” James asked, his expression much like a curious toddler. Happy to answer, Twilight smiled warmly at James, dipping into her usual lecture-stance.

“Well, James, I used a simple Drying and Heating spell. It’s quite easy, one for beginners.” She explained, watching James with eager. “The spell is really useful for drying yourself off, like after a bath or a rainstorm.”

He raised an eyebrow, a motley mixture of confusion and interest in his eyes. “Spell?” James queried, rolling the word through his mouth like he was testing the taste of a wine. “So… you used… magic, I assume?”

“Yep!” Twilight nodded her head with enthusiasm, her smile growing. “All ponies have magic, but unicorn magic is special in that we use our horns to actively produce magic. On the other hand, Earth pony and Pegasus magic is passive.

James, however, seemed to ignore Twilight altogether. “Magic,” he muttered, testing the word in his mouth. After a moment, James chuckled, a hint of bemused incredulity tinting his laugh—in that sense, it seemed to be more of a sardonic scoff. It was, indeed, somewhat unnerving to Twilight, her smile beginning to fade.

“Why do you ask? Does your… species, I guess, not have magic, James?” Twilight asked, and as James gazed back into her eyes, he could see a bit of innocence within them.

“Well… I guess we do, in a sense,” James began, looking away glumly. “Though, not in the same way you guys do.” Could science be called magic? Technology, perhaps? Or was James simply referring to the smoke-and-mirrors of the so-called “magicians” back home?

Indeed, James realized he did not even know what he was saying himself, and to this extent he sneered at himself internally, though resisting the urge to let it loose.

“Oh, okay,” Twilight responded in turn, her smile returning in full force. ”Well, in that case, I’ll be outside with my friends. Princess Celestia should be here within a few hours, so feel free to get some rest, or something. Call us if you need something!” With that, Twilight trotted out the cottage’s door, closing it softly behind her.

James was silent as Twilight left, a small sigh escaping his lips, and he sat back. His eyes began to wander around the room, absorbing his surroundings.

After their original encounter, James had been moved from the cold, wooden table to a small green sofa, whereupon Twilight had proceeded to return to him his clothing. The rest of Twilight’s friends had left the cottage, leaving the two of them in private for a brief time while they began to discuss James—or, rather, James suspected they were discussing him. Now that he was alone, James finally had a chance to fully observe the cottage he was within. Of course, he had seen the holes and gaps that had filled the floorboards and the walls, as well as the feathers that had littered the area, already. Now, however, James took the time to inspect the room further.

Bird cages, he assumed hung here and there, a variety of feathers filling their padded insides. Within the walls were shelves upon shelves of books, their spines detailing such titles as “Caring for your Smallest Pets,” “Tender Love for Bigger Creatures,” or “The Best Medicine for your Sickly Bird.” Behind James sat a window, small leaves carved into its sides, and further to his left was a painting of a pink butterfly. Vines, both painted and real, hung down from a nearby doorway, and the small tables placed around the living room seemed to resemble carved plants, vegetation intrinsic to their oaken details. Upon one of the tables sat a wooden bowl, a pleasing aroma drifting towards him. He took in the scent of tomatoes, spinach, and white bean mixed together, causing a gentle, easily ignorable rumble to echo from his stomach. All in all, James observed, the cottage seemed to represent nature and wildlife. A curious fact, to be sure. Fluttershy, the cottage's owner, was evidently attuned to flora and fauna.

Of course, they had thought he was an animal at first, amusingly enough. James scoffed, an amused smirk creeping up his face. There was, however, not much else for him to do. His muscles ached with fatigue, his eyes already heavy—the situation of a new world altogether was a weighty burden, and James did not know how much longer he could cope with the pure insanity of his state. Laying back into the sofa, James closed his eyes with a low sigh, letting his dreams take him.

It was white—all white, it seemed, almost blindingly so to James. Depth and distance seemed to have no hold, and the ground below him—if it could even be called ground—felt much like marble under his feet. Opening his mouth in mild shock and curiosity, James gazed around his newfound surroundings. Where on Earth was he now?

“You have no idea where you are, do you, Volker?” A voice, a deep voice, familiar and easily recognizable to James’ ears, rang from behind him. A fearful chill scrambled like a tarantula down his back, and James whirled around, his eyes wide with shock and dread.

James’ mouth fell open, his body leaning back involuntarily. A dark-skinned face, sand-caked lips and a soft nose adorning the spots below two orbs of emotion, equally spaced. Brown irises stared back at James, alight with amusement and care.

“No, no, what?” James muttered, his eyes continuing downwards. The being wore a uniform, covered in dirt and mud, and a mark, a triple chevron over a rocker encapsulating two crossed rifles, sat on the shoulder. A nametag, a white nametag, glittered with mud, sand, and grime, gleamed back at him, but its text was still clear, still legible, and beside it sat a gaping hole, a dark, angry red splattered across. James read the nametag, and astonishment filled him. He stepped back once, twice, his gaze snapping back to the face.

“Sergeant Winston?” James tested, his voice sounding meek and timid. “Sarge?”

He was met with silence, as the dead man in front of him merely smiled at James with warmth.

James tried again, his right hand raising up. His fingers extended towards the man. “Winston?”

Silence.

“C-Christopher? Chris?” Slowly, ever so slowly, the calloused tips of his fingers made contact with the dead man’s chest, feeling the worn texture of the uniform. “Is that you, Chris?”

“Indeed it is, Volker,” the corpse spoke again, its voice deep and gravelly. “Who the hell did you think I was, James?” Its mouth slowly curled into a smile, grains of sand falling from its lips.

“But,” James stuttered. “You’re—you’re dead, Chris! You’ve been dead, since Iraq—how the hell am I talking to you now?”

The cadaver, Chris, merely tilted his head and shrugged, his smile slowly morphing into a smirk. “Can’t tell you that, James.”

The two men remained in silence for several seconds, before another question popped into James’ mind.

“Then… if you’re dead… and I’m talking to you… does that mean that I’m dead too?” Though his question was solemn, it carried with it a shade of hope, nearly unrecognizable.

The deceased sergeant did not respond for several moments, merely looking sadly into James’ eyes. “I’m afraid not, James. You’re still very much alive,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m sorry.”

James’ eyes sparked with incredulity, his hand falling from Chris’ chest. “Sorry? You’re sorry?” He shouted, his voice growing cracking with anger and regret. “I’m the one who should be sorry, I got you killed! I, I, I screwed up, I friggin’ screwed up, and got both you and Johnny killed! Why the hell are you sorry?”

Chris raised an eyebrow in response, his eyes sorrowful. “You nearly died yourself, James. Aren’t you thankful? That you got to live?”

James stared back at the dead man for a few moments, before dropping his gaze altogether, a hand reaching for his face. “Yeah, I did live. Barely.” James muttered, his frown growing. “But I don’t even know if any good came out of it. Besides, I can barely breathe anymore. Lungs are all messed up.”

The two men relapsed back into silence, both of them looking away into the endless white. After several lengthy moments, Christopher spoke again, turning back to James.

“How’re you doing, James? Everything alright back home?”

Though James was not quite sure about speaking with his deceased friend and mentor, he decided to entertain the sergeant, nodding slightly. “It’s been… alright. I decided to become a teacher after getting back to the states,” he said, shrugging. “I want to get kids away from the same mistakes I made. I told you about my youth, right Chris?”

The dark-skinned man nodded, a grin reaching across his lips. “Yeah, you did. Hard-headed kid, did some bad stuff, got into trouble, and later joined the Marine Corps. Typical story, I got you.”

“Yeah,” James began, continuing on. “So I became a history teacher at a highschool in Brooklyn. Good kids, lemme tell you. Don’t think I’ll see them ever again, though.” James muttered, looking down.

“And what about now? Do you realize where you are now?”

James turned to face Christopher, his brows furrowed. “I have no idea where I am now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I, uh, recently woke up in some… fantasy land, almost like it came out of a little girl’s television show or something. Talking horses, ponies, or whatever, magic—the whole shebang.” James said, his tone molding into that of a frustrated ramble. “I don’t know if I’ve gone insane, or if I’m dead—though you told me I’m still alive. Thing is, Chris, I just don’t know.”

James ended his rant, looking into his dead friend’s eyes. Christopher, however, beheld an amused expression, almost omniscient, as he returned James’ gaze.

“What? You know something I don’t, Chris?” James demanded, narrowing his eyes at his friend.

The marine sergeant nodded slowly, his mouth curling to the side in a mischievous smirk. “James, you’ve pushed forwards all this way, to get to where you are now, right?”

Unsure of where his friend was headed with his question, James tilted his head in confusion. “Of course I have, Chris. Where are you going with this?”

“James,” Christopher began, placing a hand on James’ shoulder. “Whatever happens within these next few days, weeks, months—whatever happens, keep pushing forwards. You haven’t given up all this time, have you?”

“Chris, the hell do you mean? I’m not giving up anytime soon—at least, once I find out where the hell I am.”

“I can assure you, James, that the world you found yourself in is very much real,” Christopher explained cryptically, before turning away. “Just keep pushing forwards. Now, I have to head off—places to be, people to see, you understand.”

James’ eyes widened, his arm reaching out towards Christopher, seemingly attempting to hold the man back. “No, wait! Chris, I still have some questions! What do you mean by real? And why are you telling me to keep pushing?”

“I’ll talk to you later, James. Seems your newfound friends are trying to wake you up.” Christopher’s voice faded slowly, the white expanse around them melting away. “Time to get up, Private Volker.”

“No!” James shouted, attempting to chase his friend, yet finding that he could not move his legs. “Chris, wait! No! C’mon, man, wait!”

His cries were met with a dead, cold silence.

“Wait!” James shouted, flying up into a sitting position. His head slammed into something hard, and James snarled in pain, a hand flying to his forehead as he squinted shut his eyes.

“Ow!” James looked up, opening his eyes to see that Twilight Sparkle, his new acquaintance, was reeling away from his sofa, holding her head in pain.

“Ow… are you okay, James?” She asked, carefully opening an eye. “Wait for what?”

James rubbed his smarting head as he returned Twilight’s stare. “Ah, sorry Twilight,” he replied, turning to face the pony. “Don’t worry about it, just a dream.” He caught a flash of white in the corner of his eye, and shifted his gaze just in time to see a tiny mass of white fur scurry out of sight.

“Oh,” Twilight began. “Well, do you want to talk about it?” Her tilted at an angle, concern filling her expression.

James shook his head in response, waving a hand dismissively. “No, it’s fine. But did you need something? Why’d you wake me up?”

Twilight nodded her affirmation, smiling at James. “Mhm! Princess Celestia is due to arrive any second now, and the others are still outside. I was hoping you’d come outside with us, to greet the Princess.”

Letting out a low sigh, James stood up from the sofa. He took a second or two to twist his back, his joints letting out a loose ‘pop’. Turning to look down at Twilight, he noted that he stood a good several heads above her. James smiled down at the mare, who had adopted a cringe upon witnessing James crack his back, and extended a hand towards the door.

“Lead the way, Twilight,” James offered politely. Twilight nodded, trotting towards the door and opening it. James took a moment to lick his dry lips, feeling their cracked surface, before following Twilight out the door.

James hissed as he left the cottage, the afternoon sun beaming down into his eyes. The smell of freshly-cut grass filled his nose, a clean, fresh emerald aroma. He held an arm over his forehead and shut his eyes in an effort to block out the dastardly light. Something gently touched his leg, and he looked down.

“You okay, sugarcube?” The pony next to him asked, her coat a rich, earthy orange and a mid-western styled hat upon her head. Her accent mildly surprised James, the man not expecting her southern-American drawl. “You’ve been cooped up inside that cottage for so long, I don’t reckon your eyes are takin’ too kindly to Celestia’s sun.”

James took a moment to note that the pony had said “Celestia’s sun,” wondering what that phrase could particularly mean, before responding. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”

The pony smiled back at him, her teeth shining like polished ivory in the sun’s light. “Gotcha.” She held out a hoof, gesturing for the human to shake it. “My name’s Applejack, if you were wonderin’.”

After a moment of hesitation, James grasped the hoof, shaking it firmly. “Nice to meet you, Applejack. I’m James—"

“Girls!” Twilight interrupted him, holding out a hoof towards the sky as a wide smile crept across her lips. “The Princess is here!”

James let go of Applejack’s hoof, looking up into the sky. He squinted, still adjusting to the sun’s glow, before noticing a certain dot above them, growing closer and closer by the second. Staring closely at it, James realized that it was not a singular object, but instead two equine figures, pulling along what looked to be a carriage.

The carriage was made of a stark-white frame, cushions of purple and gold lining the interior. Its wheels seemed to be crafted of gold, the violet spokes surrounding what seemed to be a carving of a sun. The carriage was topped by a star and a banner, and within sat a large white horse, or pony—whichever of the two, James honestly did not know at this point—her kaleidoscopic mane flowing like silk in the wind.

It came to a stop above the group, slowly descending to the ground. The wheels of the carriage touched the green grass, and James noticed the various mares around him bowing down, in a sign of respect and obedience. Unsure of how to proceed himself, James went to bend down, before stopping altogether—would this princess take his lack of knowledge as a sign of ignorance or disrespect? Royalty, after all, were not always painted as kind and charitable people back on earth.

And how did Twilight and her friends personally know this princess? Were they royalty themselves? Or were they simply well connected, perhaps even courtiers to the throne? James pinched his nose, frustrated at his lack of knowledge.

His thoughts were brashly interrupted as a soft clip clop sound reached his ears, and James snapped his eyes forwards, finding his neck and back at an awkward angle. To his front were three sets of legs, all an icy white, yet one of them more… feminine, James assumed, than the others. Slowly, ever so slowly, James shifted his view upwards.

“Arise, my little ponies.” a regal voice said, feminine in nature, powerful and authoritative. James’ eyes widened as he came face to face with the one who, he assumed, would judge his future in this new world. She bore large, pearly wings, their breadth wider than that of James’ arms, and the horn upon her head was long and terrifyingly sharp. Her eyes, a striking royal purple, stared back at him, their gaze hard and adjudicative.

“Princess Celestia!” A voice cried, and James watched, both curiously and fearfully, as Twilight Sparkle rushed towards the royal horse-pony, her eyes alight with joy, familiarity, and happiness. The princess moved her intimidating stare to the comparatively small unicorn, and for a second James’ heart stopped, his mind fearing that the sovereign of the ponies would blast Twilight away. The princess's eyes had changed, however, their cold, critical glare replaced by a sincere, soothing, motherly regard.

“Twilight Sparkle! It’s so good to see you again! How have you been, my student?” The princess said light-heartedly, her melodic voice fluttering in the breeze like a piccolo flute. James found himself desperately fighting the urge to smile. His unicorn acquaintance established greetings with the regal princess, her voice bursting with love and admiration. Seemingly like mentor and pupil, the two spoke warmly to each other.

“Oh, I’ve been great!” Twilight began, turning to gesture towards the rest of the mares. “My friends and I have had some fun adventures since the last time we saw each other, Celestia. I assume you got all of my letters?”

Princess Celestia nodded. “That’s so good to hear, Twilight. And I assume nothing has been amiss since your return from the Crystal Empire? Cadence and your brother already seem to miss you.”

Twilight chuckled nervously at the question, rubbing a hoof with another. She looked away with an anxious grin on her face. “Well, nothing too major, princess… just…” Her gaze shifted slowly to a cheerful pink pony with a mane that reminded James of cotton-candy. In turn, the bubbly mare laughed heartily.

Twilight looked back at the princess, grinning wide. “How are they, by the way? Auntie Cadence and Shining?”

Celestia giggled at her student, as if sharing some inside joke. “Oh, they’re doing alright,” she said, leaning close to Twilight with a hoof cupped around her mouth. “If you ask me, they’re adjusting to the north a little too quickly.”

The two ponies shared a laugh, and James raised an eyebrow, a small, uncertain smile inching onto his mouth. Indeed, it wasn’t really every day you witnessed a person—pony, in this case, of royal character act much like a sister, mother, or otherwise kindly female figure towards those that were, ultimately, her subjects. Returning his attention to the conversation, James listened closely to the princess’ next words.

“Now, Twilight, though I must admit it’s been fun catching up, we do have business to take care of here,” she explained, her warm, familial gaze slowly morphing back into that of an icy, dire nature as she looked back at the subject in question. Chills flowed down James’ back as the royal princess slowly marched past Twilight and her friends, approaching him steadily. Each step rang with a melodious tone, the golden armor on the princess’ hooves seemingly singing with music. James’ nose caught the scent of lilac and strawberries, the normally pleasant fragrance wafting towards him from the winged unicorn.

James, however, found the combination of sound and aroma rather intimidating at the current moment.

“Namely, that of an unknown, sentient creature that you have found, my dear Twilight Sparkle.”