The Burden of an Honorable Stallion
Nothing More Than What I Am
The Burden of an Honorable Stallion
When I was a younger pegasus, I thought that nothing in this world of ours could ever possibly restrain me, harm me or defeat me. Oh, how grand it was to be alive with such ignorance and bliss! For now I am all but restrained, harmed and defeated.
Despite what you may think, it was not the horrors of war that brought me to this state of disenchantment and despair. Something much more dire and proud had brought me to this place.
What was it you ask? Perhaps it was my greed, vanity, or even selfishness? No, no, my friends, it was the worst of them all, it was my desire; my desire to be one worthy of honor. Just as my father and those before him, and now I am trapped here in my own golden cage, just as the singing canary.
Throughout the city I am known for my “honorable deeds,” and I boldly flourish them as if they were some elegant suit that must be presented to the world. But once I return to my home, once I am entirely alone, I wish nothing but to cast my “honorable deeds” into the furnace and be done with them. Yet they shall not leave me, they cling to my skin, my flesh, my bones, and my very soul! Oh, how these “honorable deeds” haunt me, torment me, and destroy me! You cannot comprehend my pain. How could you? Without knowing exactly what these deeds are, I seem nothing more than a rambling old stallion with nothing better to do than waste your time. So, if you will indulge me, I will tell you how I gained my burden of honor.
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I suppose that I could blame my mother for planting the seeds of “honor” into my head since before I could fly. Alas, perhaps it is not truly her fault, or at least not entirely, as she did so love my father who was, by profession, a soldier and a captain in her Majesties’ royal guard. It was her love for him, I imagine, that drove her to instill the values that he held so deeply, into me.
I vaguely remember her voice as she read stories of long dead stallion who had served our people honorably whenever the need for brave soldiers arose. When she was not reading the stories of brave colts and generals, she would read to me legends of chivalrous honor. Sometimes she would even replace the hero’s name in the book with that of my own, saying that I, too, was destined to be just as they were…
As a child, I did as any other and spent my days in euphoric happiness with not a single care nor worry. But it would not last for, as all things worthwhile, honor had a terrible price that had to be paid.
It was a normal enough day. Mother was making our daily meal while I watched my baby sister, who had been born but two months prior, both of us quiet and happy, making it easy for my mother, so that she could continue her work in peace.
After a while, there came a loud knock upon the door, and I cried out in joy at the sound of it, as Mother had told me that Father would be returning within the week. He would be returning to spend the upcoming holidays at home, with us! Me, being still a child, thought nothing of the unlikeliness of his early arrival but instead had only joyous thoughts of jumping into his arms.
I was wrong.
When I opened the door, I was met by an unfamiliar face of a stranger instead of that of my father. He was similar in many ways, clad in the colors and uniform that Father had often worn when returning home. The only difference was in the symbols that were adorned on each arm of his sleeves. The stallion himself had a sad look upon his face, which became all the more and the dread upon his face doubled when he saw me.
“Is your mother home?” he said in nearly a whisper. I spun around to begin a dash towards the kitchen to fetch her, but as I turned, I was met with the visage of my mother on her hooves covering her eyes, trying to hold back tears that had already started to seep through. Then it struck me as hard as a hammer to a nail. Father was not coming home…
The funeral for him was held on a bright day that, if I can recall correctly, had a large crowed of veterans, civilians and quite a few serving soldiers. But to me, it was very dark and very lonely. I walked besides my sister, steadying her when the need arose, along the carpet to Father’s casket and I felt pity for her. Despite me not knowing my father very well, I at least had memories of him and she would have none. After my mother, Sister and I had stepped up to his coffin and mourned once more for him.
We found several seats near the front of the crowd, and waited as an old colt, whom I later discovered to be the commanding officer of my father’s regiment, took the podium and began to say a few words about him. His dialog was flowery and extravagant, something you would expect an officer’s voice to be like.
I lost most of what he said to the thunderous hunger of time and forgetfulness. Yet, as I sat there and listened to his speech, there was one part that I would never forget and that was when he called my father ‘honorable’.
“This brave stallion was the very definition of honor! Let none say otherwise. He shall be missed, but we must carry on the memory of his bravery and sacrifice. I can only hope that we may continue his legacy in some way!”
My father had died, but to all of those left behind here, his death was something to both mourn and cherish, as he died with honor. At the time, I could think of no better way to be gone from this world.
My first steps into adulthood were plagued by a terrible thing: A creature, one of confusion, frustration and impossibilities… a mare. I spent most days plotting on how to start a conversation with her and learn just a smidgen more about her. We were not total strangers, of course, as we had been childhood friends, but that was when she was but a filly, and I merely a colt. Now we were grown, and began seeing things in one another that as children we did not.
I paid suit to her for many months, and it seemed to get me nowhere. I had nearly lost hope and was ready to give up on “love.” Then, as if the Goddess above had been toying with me these past months, had grown bored of all of the foolishness, and was now willing to allow me to have the prize I prayed for. Hope returned when she began showing much interest in, of all things, me! To this day, I know not why the mare had such a sudden interest in me, but what I do know, is that shortly after this newfound interest, she and I became almost inseparable.
We married, and within a few short years began a family of our own. We were blessed with two healthy sons, both of which received her eyes, and my blank white coat. I cannot remember a time when I was filled with such joy. But just as my happiness swelled to the point of bursting, the woes of my nation sank, as would a stone in deep water.
War had broken out and there was a desperate cry for ponies to take up arms against the traitorous rebels. After much thought, I came to the conclusion that I could not avoid this conflict no matter how much I willed it, as my very soul screamed out and I had no choice other than to listen.
It was late in the night when I told my wife, and she wept, but she did not ask me to stay. She knew me far better than to think she could sway such a decision to anything but what had already chosen. Eventually, we found ourselves embracing each other, doing nothing but staring out into the night skies through our window, and she told me that no matter how far away I went, not matter how long we are apart, that I can never truly be gone for I am always in her heart.
It was by her blessings that I could go forth unto the battlefield, with both honor and love in my heart to push me onward. At that moment, I suppose I knew what my father had felt all those years before.
After going through training, I was almost immediately thrust into the upper tiers of ranking, thanks in part to both the fact that Father had served admirably as a captain. This, in conjunction with the fact that the regiment I was stationed with was extremely short on officers, due to a recent skirmish with the rebels. I was given command over a rather large contingent of lancers, and as such, I was usually in direct communications with the regiment’s commanding officer.
The commander was a thin little unicorn but what he lacked in physical prowess, he more than made up for with his swift wit. He thought logically and depended heavily on his own intuition. Throughout several months of fighting the enemy back,I had come to see the commander as a reasonable stallion, who would always treat his subordinates fairly.
Eventually, we found ourselves in a desperate stalemate with our foes, and I was caught off guard when the commander had called me into his tent and told me of his plans. He wanted to advance into rebel controlled territory before the month was out. At first, I believed this plan to be nothing more than ambitious, and possibly lacking of consideration for our logistical needs. But as he continued speaking, my mind could barely comprehend it his thoughts. He said we would be striking towns and villages along a large swath of farm land that the enemy armies had yet to cover in their defense. His plan was to starve out not only the rebels, by attacking the farms that their food came from.
I told him I would follow my orders and do my duty as I was honor bound to obey him, but I told him that despite them being our enemy, that they were still our people and that destroying the livelihoods of famers and innocents was… well… fiendish.
He then proceeded to explain that by destroying these villages, it would save more lives on both sides. His words made sense and he made them seem reasonable, just as would be expected from a man like him. My morals were all in conflict against one another, and were fighting for the dominance of my mind; but in the end, I would follow my orders, respect my commander, and do my duty…
The commander’s plan was a complete success, in the sense that our enemy did indeed surrender a few months after their food stores were depleted.. Yet to me it felt as if I had lost a bit of myself while destroying the livelihoods of innocents, even if it was for an “honorable” cause.
Our return home was a march filled with praise and glory, and throughout the return home, ponies from all the local towns and hamlets lined the roads, and showered us with gifts, flowers and praise, but nothing could compare to the reception we received once in Canterlot. I had never seen so many banners and vivid colors at once, and at times had to cover my eyes when light would reflect off a particularly shiny flag pole. Once the regiment reached the center of the city, we saw something spectacular; a giant monument dedicated to our regiment. Standing at the center of this statue was the figure of our own commander, and to his left, was his second-in-command, while to his right, there was… well there was me!
But for me, the only true prize would be returning to the mare who loves me.
Finally! Home! I remember seeing it for the first time in years and I couldn’t stop myself from running like man to its welcoming aura. I climbed the steps to the door and pounded heavily on the door. When it opened, I would hug my beloved wife and children and never let go. But when the door did finally open, It was not my wife who I saw, but instead my sister. I immediately thought nothing of it, thinking that perhaps my baby sister had wished to come greet me as I returned as well. I gave her a tight hug, squeezing the breath out of her light frame and continued inside without so much as a word. I began calling out my wife’s name expecting to see her come down the stairs or through one of our home’s many doorways.
I was cut short when my sister came and grabbed onto my shoulders and spun me about to face her. When she saw the joy on my strewn across my face, it made her expression contort with discomfort and pain, and I knew something terrible had happened. In a voice that was on the verge of tears, she told me that my beloved had taken fever and died seven months after I had left. She explained that they had all tried to contact me, but due to my regiment being in rebel territory, no one could get a letter to me. She also told me that she and her husband had been taking care of my sons while I was gone, and that they were at her house. She said the reason she was here was so I would not be at a loss when I arrived at my home, and it was empty.
I then started to weep, just as my mother had all those years ago when she heard of my father’s passing. My sister attempted to comfort me the best she could, but it was not to be. When my father died, I had the foundation that he had died while doing worthy and honorable things, but this was different. Oh, so very different! My wife had died while I was on a quest for honor, and I had no way to steel myself against such tragedy.
Honor once again had cut deep into my heart, and had claimed its price.
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That my friends, is the story of my burdens, and the tale of my life. I will live with the things I have done forever and I hold no contempt for anyone but myself. I can only hope that my sons avoid the life that my father and I had lived. And while I regret many things that I have done, if given the opportunity to change it all… I don’t think I could…
For you see, I am nothing more than an Honorable Stallion.
Author's Note: Well hey there, I hope you liked my little short story. I found it in my bin of old stories that I never got around to finishing and decided to complete this one. I have to say that making a story without hardly -any- dialogue was a real pain, but it was neat to explore a different kind of storytelling.
Please comment below :D
