Contest of Empires: Dark Omens

by Lord of Flies

Rating: mature
Tags: Crossover, Dark, Alternate Universe, Anthro, Thriller, Drama
Length: 962

The Solarian Empire is in the midst of an uneasy peace. And when one of its political figures responsible for maintaining that peace is assassinated, will it mean war once again?

Never doubt the power of even a single death.

******

Five years have passed since the end of the Pony-Caribou War. While both the Solarian Empire and the Caribou Nation are at peace, this peace is uneasy and balances on a knife's edge. Although none of the citizens of the Empire will admit it, they know that the caribou will rise to fight again.
Even now, there are some that would see war start up once again between the two powers. Treachery and betrayal lurk in the shadows as these schemers put their plans in motion.
On the day of the fifth anniversary of the war's end in the Empire's favor, one mare's bold act will lead to more than simply outrage…
And there is one saying among politicians that rings true more often than not: when you play the game of thrones: you win or you die.

******

A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones and Warhammer Fantasy crossover with MLP.
Rated Teen for mild gore and language.
Most deaths are final.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-12-29 05:51:25 UTC

Introduction

The little lord stood looking out the window of the train as they traveled to Ponyville. He was little, sure. But he was no colt. A full-grown stallion stood there, pointing out landmarks that he saw to his bodyguard. “And if you look carefully, Arge, you can see just the littlest bit of Hurricane’s Respite.”

“Aye, my lord. I’ve actually been to the fortress, by the way.”

“No.”

The larger stallion nodded, and the little lord asked, “What’s it like?”

“It’s… well… It’s very pretty. Considering it was built by the Shetlands.”

“Shetlands? What are they like?”

“They’re ponies. Not like us, though. No magic in their blood. And short. Like you, but a little bit shorter.”

“Didn’t think there’s anything in the world shorter than I am when fully grown. You learn something new everyday. I also hear that they like their beards.”

“As do I. But I wouldn’t know the details.”

The little lord nodded, and looked back out the window. “Hopefully we reach our destination soon. Being cooped up in this train since we left Lionsport a week ago does an Apple no good.”

“Once we arrive in Ponyville,” Arge said, “you’ll be out back to your normal stuff in no time, I’m sure.”

“And you’ll be glaring at every knight that walks by.”

“They deserve it.”

“Not saying that they don’t.”

The little lord nodded again, and sat back in his seat. “Now we wait.”

************

“Here, milord.”

The town guard gestured to the door. The little Apple lord nodded, and said, “Arge, put me down.”

The Hound reached up, picked his charge from off his shoulders, and set him on the ground.

The lord reached up, and knocked on the door.

Thirty seconds later, the door opened, just enough for the opener to see out. An earth pony stallion, favoring one of his legs, stood on the other side of the door. Seeing the Hound, his eyes widened slightly, and he looked down.

Cyan eyes met his, and their owner smiled.

“Who is it?” A mare asked from further inside the house, raising her voice to be heard.

The stallion, one of the farmhands, looked back into the house, and replied, “It’s Lord Jonagold.”

“Let the Imp in, Caramel. Ah’ll go get Applejack.”

The door opened all the way, and Caramel stepped back, a wary smile on his face.

The Hound and Jonagold entered the house, and the town guard turned and headed back to his post.

************

Meanwhile

Beyond the Wall

Three kilometers from the Wall

“Why is it always so cold on this side of the Wall, even in the middle of summer?”

The question was posed by one of the Sworn Brothers.

“Because,” another Sworn Brother said, sarcastically, “the Gods hate you. And everyone else.”

The Sworn Brother who posed the question shrugged, and nodded to the Shetland with the winged helm. “What is your opinion on this cold?”

“It won’t kill you, friend.” The Shetland said, “We ponyfolk are very resistant to the cold. But, it could be warmer, aye.”

“Yes, indeed.”

Bushes sighed. Blades scraped as they were pulled from their sheathes. “Show yourself!”

A stallion, garbed in gold, stumbled out of the bushes, gasping for air. The Ranger leading the group stepped forward. “Magister? The hell happened to you? Where’s your cloak?”

The magister caught his breath and looked at himself. His black cloak that had been given to him by the Lord Commander was missing. “They must’ve gotten it. We need to return to the Wall. We’re not safe out here.”

“What? What do you mean? It should be another three or so miles before we should run into any wilding patrols.”

“It’s not wildings.”

“Clearly,” one of the newer Rangers, some disgraced lord of a minor house, “the cold is getting to him. The only things out here that are a threat are wildings and direwolves.”

The lead Ranger glared at the ex-lord. The other Ranger shrugged. The lead Ranger raised his free hand, as an unknown sound reached his ears. “Do you hear that?”

“It sounds like wind, sir.”

The Shetland bristled, and hefted his axe. “That’s not wind.”

The ex-lord Ranger paled, and said, softly, “Then the legends are true.”

“Magister,” the lead Ranger, in unspoken agreement, said, “take our honorable friend here and return to the Wall. Now.”

The magister nodded and called the Shetland by name, and told him, “Come, we must return to the Wall. I’m sure that the Lord Commander wouldn’t want us to throw our lives away over something foolish.”

The Shetland sighed, and put his axe away. “Aye, let’s go.”

***

As the magister and the Shetland hurried away toward the Wall, the lead Ranger watched them go for a few moments and looked back towards where the bushes from where the magister had stumbled from. “Come Brothers,” he said, “we must hold as long as we can.”

The ex-lord Ranger nodded in agreement and readied his kilij. “If the legends are true and the Others have returned, then at least two of our group will make it back to the Wall to report to the Lord Commander.”

The bushes sighed again. Turning, the group froze. The source of the wind-like sound had shown itself. Slender figures, snow pale, eyes like bright blue stars.

Despair and hopelessness crept into the Ranger’s head. An effect of these beings, no doubt. He shook his head, gripped his sword with his other hand, raised it, and charged his Sworn Brotherhood’s ancient enemy, shouting a battle cry that had not been used in two and a half centuries. “For the dawn that comes!”

One of the beings smiled, a cold, sinister smile. It raised its own weapon, a partizan, and readied to strike.