Chapter One: Journey

The winds howled across the desert plains of the territories of the dragons, whipping around the sandy hills and inciting dust storms to form in its wake. It would entertain these storms for a while, adding to each of them simultaneously, a great monster of tentacles, reaching across the uninhabited terrain. The stream of air rushed on, until it was stopped, abruptly, by a great obstruction. The wind halted in its course, as though dazed, but barred its incorporeal fangs all the same at this new obstacle. The beast struck again, and again, but finding the offender only the least bit affected, turned its course and exited the scene, head held high in disdain.

Within the dome of light walked almost fifty equines. All of them wore gilded armor, around which a shimmering aura could be seen if one stared long enough. This effect gave the impression that if somepony were to reach out a hoof and touch the metal, it would pass through, as though the protective garb were a trick of the light. In their hooves, they all carried a weapon made from the same material as the armor; some handled spears, some bows and quivers, and still others preferred swords. Leading this disorganized band of soldiers were two ponies, both walking with a gait that implied power that remained leashed for the sake of their subordinates. The first was a pegasus, white fur visible from the eyeholes of his helmet. His weapon of choice, a tall spear which had seen a great many battles, was carried in his left hoof. In his right, a shield was held, although it dipped to the ground, as though the owner was not fond of using it. The demeanor of this pony was cautious, if not outright paranoid. He constantly surveyed the land and looked for the potential assailants who would surely be concealed by the tall sandy hills to their left and right.

The pony by his side turned to look at him and let out a short, feminine chuckle. Her mane, patterned as though it were a segment of some airborne rainbow, flowed out from behind her. She spoke to him with a knowing look in her eyes.

"Storm Shield, please, we are not at war with the dragons," she remarked. "Besides, why would the dragons hide from us? You know they prefer aerial combat to stealth."

Storm Shield continued to glare at the hills as if by sheer force of will, they would turn over their secrets. "Well, I certainly don't see them in the skies. If they are to mount an attack, it will be from behind these hills."

The pony turned her head to him, interested in the speculation. "You doubt the capabilities of our shielding spell?"

"Of course not, Princess," he replied. "I just doubt that our trade relations with the dragons will keep us safe from their greed." He shook his head. "I know it's unprofessional to say this, but how do you deal with those savages?"

The rainbow-maned pony thought his query over. Slowly, she replied, "Why do you call them savages?"

Storm Shield resisted the urge to snort at the ridiculousness of the question. "They ornament themselves with the bones of their fallen adversaries. Their children have been known to torch entire changeling colonies for the pleasure of hearing the screams of the dying. For Cruenta's sake, most of those children don't reach adulthood if there's another famine and the elders need to be fed!"

The princess did not take nearly as long this time to reply. With a whisper that was not unkind, she replied, "They may have said similar things about us ponies, back when we were called the protequi."

This gave the stallion pause. After a long silence had elapsed between the two, he changed the direction of the conversation. "You think that the dragons are misunderstood?"

The princess shook her head. "No.  I think that, as a pony, I cannot know what living as a dragon would be like."

The soldier raised an eyebrow. "Aren't those the same?"

"Perhaps," shrugged the princess.

Storm Shield still did not appear entirely convinced. "They're still a dangerous and unpredictable race."

"Of course. But are we not too heavily focused on racial relations and forgetful of the benefits of not shying away from conflict? The dragons, for all their faults, are bold and courageous, and will fight for a cause they believe in to the last breath."

With a watchful eye turned again to the hills, Storm Shield muttered, "That's true, Princess, but it's not the least bit reassuring. I have a company of ponies who are trusting me to get through this journey safely."

The princess' tone softened. "Of course. No one blames you for being careful."

"You know," replied Storm Shield, in a tone that revealed he was unsure if this question would overstep some boundary of etiquette. "Philosophy won't help if it comes to a battle."

"True," she replied, a smile lifting the corner of her lips. "Then again, that's why I travel with a company of soldiers."

The stallion chuckled. "Touché." Then, with a glance at the horizon, he announced to her, "We're here."

"Indeed we are. Ready the troops to enter the city. And remember, we're trying to engage in a diplomatic mission. I don't want a repeat of Syllua."

Storm Shield shifted on his hooves uneasily. "That won't happen again, Celestia. I promise."

The legionnaire turn back to the procession and called out, "Avimat! Klavidis illut de negtidos!" The call was answered by a strong "Hae!" from the soldiers. The stallion returned to his royal companion with a smile, clearly enjoying the moment.

When the first dragon, Geborah, traveled from the forests of the South to the barren landscape in the East, he found that sand was the only substance with which he may build a home. With his monstrous strength, rumored to equal that of a hundred dragons after him, he brought up a mound of sand that touched the skies themselves. Breathing in gases from the pits of Beloah, he fashioned the mound into a pillar of glass. His claws hollowed the pillar, giving rude form to his home. This pillar stood against the windstorms of the desert, protected by the will of Geborah himself. The massive structure stood today as the center of Rekoah, the largest city in Drakegorah. After Geborah's passing, his children built their own homes around their father's, each one identical to the original. Geborah's pillar was transparent in hue, while all the others were stained black by the transgressions of his successors. Such was the sight that greeted the band of ponies upon entering Rekoah.

Celestia herself had visited this city on three separate occasions. The first was accomplished when she and her sister were no taller than the smallest of dragon youths, to beg for aid in the rebellion against Discord. Not wanting to meddle in the affairs of equines, the dragons declined their offer of friendship upon victory. The ruler of the nation at the time had laughed particularly deeply when Celestia made reference to the mystical Elements of Harmony. The second visit was undertaken by a haughty young mare, drunk on victory and newfound flight. This foolish alicorn mocked the leaders of the dragons for their cowardice. She made many enemies that day, but only a few could have seen the greater enemy growing in the place of her own sister. The third occasion was one of humbled tragedy, a plea to the goodwill of the dragons to give help to her nation, much of which had been destroyed by her sister's battle.

Celestia shook her head in solemn reverence for the dragons, thanking the god above they supported her.

Rekoah was not home to the multitude of noises that may have inhabited the busier cities of Equestria. The dragons, having been beaten down by the harsh winds of their dwelling lands, exercised speech only when necessary. The winds, then, flowed through the houses in stark contrast to their stronger, more violent cousins without the city. This was known as a Whistling, or vënshrøc, in Dragonian. This noise underlay every action of the dragons which was exerted in this city. The inhabitants regarded it as a continual flow, a model to live life by: consistent, and therefore unnoticed. But today the flow was interrupted by a sound paramount to the raising of the dead.

As Celestia's group proceeded through the spiraling art of the dragons, the noise brought to mind the first machine she had ever witnessed. It was a device to mass-produce paper, she remembered. A novelty, and had the inventor not met a sudden death, it surely would have changed the way of life in her country. She was a young foal then, but not young enough to escape Her being by her side. Celestia had tripped and fallen, and her metal crown had been relieved of its career on her head to be thrown within the contraption before her.

Yes, the horrible scraping, the cries of shock, the pounding of blood; it all resided within and without the Paper Producer 5000 and the Rekoah Arena.

Dragons, for all their discipline, were prone to turn to a primal savagery when the need had risen. The Arena served as the ultimate example of this socially-accepted hypocrisy. The scaled monsters, who tomorrow would be cool and dismissive of anything not worth their attention, were all unleashing an excited hollering of bloodlust. The sound boomed out of a crater near the center of the city, the floor beaten down after many battles between criminals and fearsome beasts of the surrounding lands. The crashing of scales upon smaller scales threatened to bring her back to the dread Producer, and so she shut it from her mind. Looking back towards her ponies, she could see many of them desperately wished to leave the city, but hid their emotions well beneath their wall of gold armor. She gave a reassuring flick of her tail, knowing no rationale could placate terror alone.

Two younger dragons stood guard outside the closest gate, wielding halberds of cold grey steel. Looking towards the advancing party, they regarded them with a sense of distaste. One made an odd motion with his tail, and the other disappeared into the shadow of the gate, lost in the horrors of the Arena. The single dragon remained, staring past the travelers as though they were nothing more than a desert mirage. Time passed, and, having heard the approach of some figure behind him, he moved to his right, revealing the scaled face young guard. He passed through the entrance and stood before the party, his face a mirror to that of his partner.

"Genoa desires to see the Princess. All other members of this party are to remain positioned as you are now." He had spoken Equestrian to them, instead of the native Dragonian. Celestia decided to take this as an extension of goodwill.

The spiraling staircase up to the royal balcony of the Arena had no torches to illuminate the grey stones. Celestia inwardly wondered how many times she had found herself walking a darkened staircase to some formidable power. Too many times, she decided. On all other occasions, she had used magic to light her path. Not now.

It was a pleasant change to be greeted by a well-lit area at the end of the damp passageway, she thought. After all, she did not need to prepare for a conflict here. This was friendly ground.

To her right and left were several armored guards, all staring in bored interest at the mauling beneath them. They held weapons, these halberds being gold instead of the grey her escort possessed. In front of her was a shadowy throne of sorts, on which was seated a monstrous figure.

The general misconception among her ponies was the King of All Dragons was a sort of brute, ugly in form, scarred from many savage battles and perpetually devouring the flesh of enemies. This was simply not the case. To say he was the opposite, or that he was a weak leader in stature and mind, would likewise be undeniably false. He was, in a way, the perfect leader for his people. Dragons would never follow a brutish king; they had already forcefully dethroned many of that type. What the dragons valued was ability. The king was physically fit, muscles proudly displayed, and possessed a strong mind that had won many strategic victories against the Changeling Colonies. He had a handsome face, not having been marred by any scar. In reality, he possessed no scar on any place on his body. He was pure muscle and wisdom, with the authority to exercise them as he wished.

Celestia stood beside him, only a fourth as tall as he. He seemed not to notice her, watching the battle below intently. The alicorn turned her head as well to find what he decided was more worth his interest.

There was a small dragon fighting for his life beneath her. His scales were a dark black, and he sported no wings. He appeared to be savagely beaten, and was audibly gasping for air. Discarded a few feet from him were a shield and a bent wooden sword. Glaring down at him was one of the monstrosities the desert sometimes dispelled into the civilized world, a beast with the body of a lion and the limbs of a snake. The beast snarled at him, and raised its mouth to expel a blast of acidic saliva. The dragon dodged the assault, or rather threw himself left and right, and cried out as his hind leg collapsed under him.

Celestia heard a quiet chuckle to her right. The King of All Dragons repositioned himself, humming quietly. Still watching the fight, he murmured so lowly that only she could hear, "If he survives this, you may have him."

She too did not turn from the struggle. "He will never defeat this beast in his weakened state."

The King tapped the arm of his throne with a claw. "That is not my concern." The throne was beautiful, really, a scorched and blackened masterpiece of metal.

Her voice betrayed no emotion. "But it is certainly mine."

The dragon had been cornered. He cowered in the shadow of the beast, who was smirking down at him. Moving too quickly for a normal pony to perceive the movement, a limb struck the dragon and threw him across the Arena. The crowd howled in delight as the monster roared and bounded toward the crumpled figure, batting it to and fro.

There was a deep chuckling to her right. "Do you think us savages, Celestia?"

She spoke as she must. "No."

The King opened his mouth to say more, but was interrupted by a whisper. He and the pony next to him stiffened, ears pricked and trying to decipher the words. The audience seemed unaffected, still pounding at their seats as they saw the beast stand over the heap, serpentine paw raised over it as though intending to crush the dragon into the dust. The whisper became more insistent, and suddenly the fleshy pile shifted, shifted when no movement should have been possible, and gently tapped the paw away.

The howling of the crowd was replaced by the cries of agony coming from the creature. All were silent as they saw it bound away, raising a paw and bawling in horror. As it passed beneath the balcony, Celestia smiled to herself as she saw the quick thinking of the dragon. It had made the beast touch a smoldering crater of its own discarded saliva.

The pile was standing. It was now less of a mass and more of a small dragon again. It was shaking, and as it shook harder the beast stopped in its journey around the arena. It yipped now both from pain and confusion as it was lifted from the ground. Celestia stared at the dragon, heart beating faster and faster as a black aura engulfed his form, his eyes losing their whiteness and becoming pure shadow.

The princess saw something move in the corner of her eye, and turned to look at Genoa for the first time in their meeting. He was still. Perhaps it had been nothing. She looked again at the black dragon, but struggled to retain a gasp as she saw him sprawled on the ground, the beast's paw crushing him beneath it. The crowd was just as loud as it had been but a minute before; the paw the manticore utilized was its lame one, the one with which it was tricked into stepping on the acid. It was as though nothing she had seen in the moments beforehand had occurred at all.

The dragon gave out a little cry as its rib-cage cracked beneath the pressure. She may not have known what had occurred, but she understood the child's safety to be her priority.

"Stop this," she murmured.

Genoa's voice was deathly serious. "And leave the crowd wishing for blood?"

Celestia had made many hard decisions in her time. As much as she had tried to ensure peace and security for the citizens of her nation, war could never be fought without loss. But above sacrifice was the one choice that stood above all the rest, the one that for a few hundred years had defined her as a violent warrior-queen. What she said to Genoa next would most likely have lasting impacts on her life that she could not foresee.

She nodded slightly. "Then give them blood."

The King smiled in understanding. He raised a clawed fist and let out a deep growl, one that silenced the audience and caused even the beast to look his way. He then made an odd motion with his claws, and the beast howled in delight, and the bones of the light dragon cracked again. His cries were drowned out by the roar of the audience. Celestia turned and walked down the dark passageway. No one followed her.

Green magic pooled around Velvet Heart's horn and fell down onto the broken body below her, lazily moving over the shattered scales. In all the places it touched, the body seemed to inflate. Muscles were reconnected; organs were mended; bones came back into their correct alignment. The mare was standing next to the bed of her patient, concentrating on her healing magic and keenly aware Celestia was seated only a few feet away. She opened an eye to check if the scales under her had moved. The dragon was still unconscious, and had not stirred in the three days of their trip back to Canterlot.

Celestia smiled apologetically to the purple unicorn, head ducked to avoid touching the low roof of the tent. "Thank you, Velvet. I know I asked much of you to stay by his side a little later than you may have liked."

The mare stifled a yawn and smiled back at her. "I can never refuse to help a pony in need. Besides, they'd revoke my license if I went back to Canterlot and told them I couldn't fix this poor dragon.  Do you think you could—?"

She was interrupted by a feeble coughing beneath her. She gasped in shock, temporarily losing control of her magic. The green aura dissipated, revealing the shivering form of the dragon. Velvet squeaked and readied her healing magic again. She paused when she felt a hoof on her shoulder. The princess walked towards the child, and gingerly laid down next to him. Gently wrapping her wings around him, she pulled him into her breast and whispered comfortingly into his ear. Her horn alit with yellow magic, which moved quickly over his body. Feeling her warmth, the dragon relaxed, breathing sharply. Celestia's magic continued to soothe him, pulling him into a deeper sleep.

She leaned her mouth next to his ear and whispered a simple question. "Who are you, my little dragon?"

In response, lighter than a murmur and with the assurance that only exhaustion can give, he replied. "I am Remus."