It began just before the dawn. The sound, like thunder in the distance or the pounding of a thousand drums. Artillery shells fell like rain from the sky, putting even the precipitation of Clousdale to shame. Each minute another thousand tons of death crashed on the purple-pink shield, each blast leaving another imperceptible crack in the ivory citadel's defense.
For hours it rained, unending, unstoppable. Inside the shield ponies cowered and hid, fleeing as deep into the mountain as their basements and cellars allow. Fear beyond anything they had ever known gripped their hearts. They had never experienced anything like this, never even heard of such raw destructive power. Save for a prophetic, Cassandric few, none ever believed it would come this far.
"The barrier will hold the monsters back," had said the Queen, all those years ago. "They will never threaten us."
How arrogant, how naive those words now seemed. They did get through, through impossible technology and unspeakable treachery and that hated sword they broke through, and now the human horde pours through, unending and implacable. City after city, town after town, has fallen to their numberless horde. Magic, though mighty, proved no deterrent. A thousand would be struck down or given ascension, and in their place would charge ten thousand more. In blood these humans, these monsters from beyond the veil, bought Equestria. Now they struck, here, at the holy city, at the shining citadel whose walls had never been breached, whose security has only thrice ever been threatened.
So they hid. They could do nothing else. The civilians had no role left to play. Their fate rested in the hooves of the Royal Guard and the Alicorns now.
On the walls, that impregnable bulwark, the Royal Guard stands, firm and tall and resolute. They can be nothing else. The foolhardy and the cowardly alike are all gone, dead or deserted or defected. Only the core, Celestia's Finest, remain. They are few, but they are enough. Against any foe in all Equus, they could hold these walls for a hundred years. Now, they pray they will survive the day.
In the castle, that magnificent ivory pillar, she waited, the Solar Queen, Celestia herself. She stands alone. Twilight and Cadence are downstairs, keeping Shining Armor's ruined body alive as what remains of him tries to keep the shield intact for just another minute. It is a hopeless endeavour, but they have no choice. There was nothing else they could do. When the last scraps of Shining Armor faded away, the shield would fall. Cadence would be dead within minutes, her heart too broken to ever recover. Just another loss in this accursed war.
Celestia permitted none to stand with her. Even Luna she pushed away. This destruction was her fault, her burden, and she would bear it alone. How foolish she must have been all those years ago, to think that with alchemy and magic she could bring an entire race to heel so easily. Was it naiveté, an unfounded belief in their wisdom and better natures, or arrogance without peer? She cannot tell, cannot remember. It no longer mattered. She looked up and watched the firestorm. It was almost beautiful, like looking up in a sea of flame, seeing it dance about overhead.
Then, a scream and a crack. The shield was gone, shattered, never to return. At a stroke, Celestia felt Cadence fail. Only four of their kind now remained. Grimly, Celestia reckoned that even that number will soon seem extravagant.
The shells pounded the city. Buildings that had stood since her sister first took up the name of Nightmare Moon cracked open like eggs. The streets became little more than streams of rubble. Celestia looked up and saw the human airplanes soar into the fray, adding bombs and missiles to the endless shelling. Machine guns tore at the streets and walls, smiting those foolish enough to be seen. Celestia's horn glowed a brilliant gold as she deflected a shell that would have taken her head.
Then it ended. The shelling stopped, and before even a second has passed, a new sound rose. The chatter of human guns, the deep, guttural warcries her ponies had so harshly learned to fear; those were now the soundtrack of the day. Celestia did not need to look down at her city. She knew what would come. The humans were already beating at the walls with rockets and missiles and tank shells. Those walls were built in ancient days, imbued with the greatest magic Equestria had yet seen. They could withstand a dragon's fire, shrug off even the bombardment of Tirek at his peak.
They would crack within an hour.
The humans poured in through the breach. Few rose to stop them; most who could have were hours dead, and what remnant remained, though brave, were no match for their foes. Screams filled the streets as the humans surged through the city, reducing those buildings which yet stood to rubble and ruin. In some places defenseless ponies died screaming for mercy, gunned down by warriors without an ounce of pity left in their war-hardened hearts. In others, stern-faced humans marched their captives out of the city, into the trucks and trains and planes that would take them to new lives far away.
Celestia at last left her room. She strode downstairs, passing through empty halls. Luna and Twilight had already led the last of their forces out to battle. The staff had long since been conscripted or had fled, seeking safety in the catacombs and caves beneath Canterlot. Of all the hundreds who called this castle home, only three ponies remained.
The Solar Queen crept quietly into the nursery. Sunburst noticed her instantly, but said nothing. He had no thought to spare for his Queen; all effort was focused on keeping young, innocent Flurry Heart quiet and safe. Cold sorrow gripped Celestia's heart; the child was an orphan now, and didn't even know. Or perhaps, she already did. Celestia could see the micromovements, the subtle kicks and shivers that only so mighty a being as an alicorn could make or percieve. Flurry Heart knew. With all her poor, young heart, she knew.
The castle shook. Rumbling and pounding filled the halls as soldiers and tanks rolled in. Celestia almost laughs. They have come expecting an army, a final, secret weapon. They do not know the extent of their deadly power, she realizes. To them it is an abstraction; they know they can slay cities and bring nations to heel, but they do not understand. They cannot comprehend how completely they can destroy a people without even trying.
The door swung open behind her. Sunburst freezes up, and Flurry Heart, still asleep, still dreaming, flinches.
A deep voice spoke. "So we meet again, Celestia."
She beholds him, the hero of humanity. He doesn't seem as large in person as he does in the pictures; nay, somehow he seems almost larger. There was a presence about him Celestia could not describe, but one she felt she almost knew, like the distant memory of an old friend. He was clad in red and white armour, the colours of his people, or so Twilight claimed, and Celestia knew better than to doubt her pupil's words. A golden cloak hung from his shoulders, drifting off him like the rays of the sun. In his hand he held that hated sword, the sword that broke the barrier, that turned the tide of the war and unleashed doom upon all Equestria.
"Roland," she says, affording him a shallow nod, an act of respect for one so determined as he. Though he has brought ruin to all she ever built, she could not hate him, not when all he did was resist the tyrant who sought his race's destruction. "It is a... an experience to meet you, though I cannot recall anytime we ever met before."
Roland chuckled, the sound distorted by the vox-grill of his helm. "I always figured you wouldn't remember. I was there, that first day. I was one of those kids who got to meet you. Touched your mane, never felt anything like it."
"You were among those children?" Celestia replied, taking in again the full sight of the tall, proud warrior before her. "My, how time has passed."
"Indeed," Roland said with a half-chuckle. He stepped forward. "But we've no time for reminiscence. I'm here to collect your head, finish this war at last."
Celestia nodded again. "I know. Why else would they have sent you? Don't worry, I won't resist. I know full well my crimes. But please, what of my sister, and of Twilight? Are they..."
"Dead," Roland replies. "Beowulf found her, overcame her. Not a pretty sight, but no less than she deserved for London. Twilight was an accident. We, I was going to take her alive, but the Russians found her first. Not much left. I'm sorry."
Tears streamed down Celestia's face. She bowed her head. "You say that my death will end this war?"
"The very hour I raise your head on the balcony, that is our victory," Roland replied. "That's what the Security Council told us. I may not always trust them, but in this instance, I do."
"So be it, then," Celestia said. "I just want it to end. But please, grant an old queen two last requests."
"Name them, and then I will decide," Roland answered, raising his sword.
"First, tell me, why did you so resist? We offered you perfection, utopia, and you threw the offer back in our face," Celestia asked.
"Because it was not perfection," Roland said. "You offered mindless servitude, subhumanity. Perfection can't be bottled and sold. It can only be given by One who is already perfect. And you, Celestia, are far from perfection. Now tell me, what is your second request?"
Celestia winced at the condemnation, but did not rise to defend herself. It was too late for that. "The foal behind me, Flurry Heart, is without parents. She is the last of the alicorns, the only one of her kind in all the world. Please, will you ensure her safety?"
Roland stands still for a moment, his sword leveled at Celestia. "She will be to me as my own child. I promise you, Celestia, she will never know want. She will be everything you could have been, everything you should have been, if of course she will rise to the task. But fear not for her safety. She shall be under my aegis, and none shall lay a hurting finger upon her."
"Thank you," Celestia spoke her last. She stretched out her neck, and the sword fell.
_______
The Great War ended as Roland promised, at the striking of the twelfth hour, when Roland stood atop the balcony of Canterlot Castle, the Solar Queen’s head hefted in one hand, his blade in the other. Some fighting continued afterwards, mop-up operations and a few less disciplined regiments refusing to stop their rampage. But it was short-lived, and soon the city was abandoned, its smoking, burnt-out husk left to rot and moulder on the mountainside.
However, the ending of the war did not mean the departure of all the humans. The United Nations placed Equestria under Mandate, partitioning it into sectors presided over by the Great Powers. UN forces remained to watch over reconstruction efforts, while independent states and organizations sent both soldiers and civilians to begin settling this new land.
The ponies faced a great diversity of treatment. Some states drove their captives to extinction, seeking revenge for decades of brutal war. Others simply kept them sequestered in reservations, safe from vengeful human hands but lacking the freedom they had once known. A small, idealistic handful offered degrees of freedom, allowing the prisoners to enter the general human population after passing background checks. Those ponies who had defected to the human side during the wars were given full freedom, though they still faced daily glares and suspicion from normal humans who could not at a glance tell the difference between a paroled prisoner and a defector.
The great heroes of the war went their separate ways in its aftermath. They held one last meeting, a council in the ruins of Ponyville, where the whole war had begun. None who were not of their number were allowed in, but reporters were able to capture one scene. Roland and Beowulf, those battle-brothers of old, embraced one last time and bid each other fair fortune. Beowulf then turned north, leading a band of their compatriots and a force of willing volunteers to seize the Crystal Empire for themselves.
For his part, Roland returned to his homeland, retiring from the business of war and adventure. He took neither spoil nor medals. He simply took what little he owned and left. None have seen him since that day, though if one is to visit Canada, one might yet hear the legend, of the man who walked north with a sword on his back and a small, squirming bundle in his arms. Stay longer, and one might just hear an even stranger tale, of a man who lives in the far north, with naught but a white-coated pony as his companion.
Author's Note
It just sort of happened. I have no real explanation. I started with a bit of description, and then suddenly it was writing itself.
~~Takes some elements from TCB, but not really tied to that. That was just the first stuff I could think of for making Equestria evil enough to justify a siege of Canterlot.~~
EDIT: TCB influence scrubbed. That's right, I changed all of one word, as it turns out.
Also, if you think this should be higher-rated, please let me know.
