Flint.

by Petrichord

Rating: teen
Tags: Garble, Ember, Dragons, Gore, Drama, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 2008

Princess Ember has to perform one of the less pleasant duties of running a kingdom: personally executing a traitor.

Ruling an up-and-coming empire is largely an unpleasant task: there are disputes to be resolved, budgets to be balanced, infrastructure to maintain and policies to enact - and made sure they're followed through on. This isn't helped by the fact that, as a dragon, Princess Ember is supposed to perform these duties without complaint, clemency or compromise. It was thankless for her father and thankless for her, especially when they were supposed to perform duties above and beyond their normal tasks.

Ember really doesn't want to have to personally execute a traitor. But that's part of her job, part of what she's expected to do, part of how she's expected to show strength of character.

He. Must. Pay.

All of my thanks to Flashgen and Regidar for pre-reading the story.

Picture was created by bassybird, and will be deleted upon request.

Published 2017-10-02 13:10:07 UTC
Last updated 2017-10-02 13:10:07 UTC

A thin, sharp splinter

The misshapen hunk of crystal hung heavy in Ember’s claw, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

After all, Ember had insisted on making this “sword” herself. It wouldn’t have been a big deal to get some other dragon to give her a sword or make one for her, but it was quicker to do it without asking anybody else. Of course, “making” the sword was sort of a misnomer: All she had done was grab a large hunk of crystal, chomped it down into the right shape, ripped the broken steel out of some unrecognizable ex-weapon found lying in her predecessor’s hoard and jammed her misshapen shard into the empty hilt. Presto, some foreign soldier’s loss from a long time ago was her gain right now, and that was what happened to those who defied her kingdom.

The soldier probably deserved what happened to him, of course. Ember didn’t know all of the details about what had happened to him - or any of the details, for that matter - but it was easy enough to guess the fates of lesser species that took up arms against dragons. The fact was that the story of his life was lost in the dusty haze of history, and it was a fitting fate to those too weak or craven to earn their own glory.

Ember hefted up the hilt of the sword. The vaguely pointy end of the blade scratched dully against the roughly-hewed rock of the cave floor. It was too big for her to use as a “real” weapon, but she didn’t need a real weapon to begin with. What she needed was to stop dragging her tail, step outside of the royal caverns and honor her kingdom.

Part of Ember wanted to look over the sword one more time, to case it for possible flaws or defects. Part of Ember wanted to call a delay of adjudication, to spend more time reading over different etchings on decaying scrolls and weathered stone tablets, searching for the exact right words to say at the exact right times. The rest of Ember knew that denying her position, even if only for ten minutes, would be ruinous to her and the kingdom alike.

All of Ember knew that she didn’t really have a choice, anyway.

Dragging her sword behind her, Ember stepped out of the cave and winced. The cloudless sky glittered in a magnificent sapphire hue, and a breath of morning air filled her lungs with an invigorating chill. She had hoped the weather would be slightly more dour, or at least not so blindingly cheerful. It might have attracted less of a crowd that way. But a crowd there was, from dragons barely as high as her knees to dragons with claws larger than her entire body. Some talked to each others in muted whispers, but most of them stared silently at her, waiting.

And there, in the middle of it all, was Garble. Garble, with arms held behind him by two drakes in rusty plate, glaring at her as if he was trying to kill her with his eyes.

It would have been less craven that way, wouldn’t it? Almost something worth taking pride in. Not that it would matter in two minutes.

Ember drew within spitting distance, as was the custom. Skilled she may have been in other tasks, but if five feet was all she could manage, then five feet it would be. If Garble wasn’t restrained, Ember realized, he would be in a perfect spot to go for her throat. As she locked eyes with him, Ember jotted down a mental note to remember that fact. Not that it would matter in twenty seconds.

“Release him,” Ember said, dropping her sword. Three things happened in rapid succession: Her sword clanged heavily against the ground, the guards loosened their grip, and Garble went for her throat.

Of course, he had telegraphed his intentions like an idiot. He put his arms out like an idiot as he lunged at her, too. Shouldn’t have dropped his guard while thinking she had dropped her guard. Her knees bent as she twisted her body, arms curling up into a lock as Garble sailed through the spot where she had been - then she clinched down, trapping the drake’s right arm while he scrabbled to regain his balance.

Too late. Ember’s foot lashed out, pressing firmly against his side, and his expression twisted from hate to surprise to horror as her foot pushed, her arms tugged-

The pop of his humerus coming clean from its ball socket might not have been audible to the crowd, but Ember heard it clear as the sky. She wasn’t sure that Garble heard it, too, but judging by his shriek of pain and the slight sag of his body, he certainly felt it. And in his pain and fury, he continued to leave himself open. Part of Ember wished that, twelve hours ago, she could have taken aside her self-proclaimed “greatest rival” and reminded him to learn from all the mistakes he had missed, risks to her life be damned..

Instead, she reached out, grabbed his left arm and let go of the other now-useless hunk of muscle. Garble was clearly doing his best to not scream again, but the wince that crossed his face as the arm flopped to his side betrayed weakness. It also betrayed a temporary inability to fight back. By the time he realized he needed to move again, his left arm was tugged in a lock identical to Ember’s first clinch. Up and out came her foot, it pushed, her arms tugged…

Pop.

Ember let go, and Garble staggered. He was clearly struggling to stand on his feet, and Ember didn’t doubt that pain-induced clumsiness might cause him to trip. But all he needed was a little assistance to topple him completely, and a kick to his spine, barely harder than a punch, sent him in an unbalanced sprawl into the rocky earth.

Even if it wasn’t practiced, it would have been simple and obvious. Shatter a dragon’s wings and wreck a dragon’s hind legs, and they’d still crawl over to tear their ankles off with their teeth. Cripple their arms, and you cripple their autonomy, and as it turns out without autonomy she felt like-

He probably felt like nothing at this point.

“Stay.” It was an order no more respectful than it would have been to a pet, but Garble evidently got the message. As the red-scaled dragon lay with his muzzle pressed into the dirt, Ember turned back towards the guards. “Get me a stone. Large enough to rest his head on.” To their credit, the guards exchanged confused looks before they left; it would have been uncanny if they had obeyed a command without question.

Ember turned and hefted her sword up again. Garble didn’t move, and neither did the crowd. But to the credit of the crowd, there were some knowing stares, some barely perceptible nods of the head. They understood, even if they didn’t understand why. A true leader was supposed to settle grievances with tooth and claw, not with tools. But her tools were just, the tools of a leader. They understood. Of course they did.

“Garble.” Ember began. There were ways she could have pontificated, turned the event into a grand speech. But the words, self-congratulatory and full of the bravado of generations past, felt ugly and bitter in her mouth. A merciful crowd might understand that expediency here was no less important than the expediency she had shown when she left the cave. Silently, Ember prayed that they would be merciful.

For what they asked of their princess, surely it wouldn’t be remiss to ask for a small slice of clemency?

“Let it be known that you have been charged with the crime of high treason,” Ember continued. “Reports from the Royal Guard described an uninvited intrusion into my caverns, coupled with a failed attempt to enter my personal quarters as I slept. They showed me a vial of a highly lethal contact poison. Do you deny this?”

Garble said nothing. Ember wished that he would at least try to lie to her, and make this last minute feel somewhat more justified. Somewhat more autonomous. But the guards returned, and as they tugged his head off the ground and wedged the stone underneath it and slammed his head back down again, he remained silent.

“I will allow you fifteen seconds to interject and state your thoughts. Should you choose not to, or fail to capture my attention, I will pass judgement.”

Garble remained silent. Drop the act, Ember silently begged him. Talk to me. Something better than this can come if you tell me the one thing i need to hear. Please.

Fifteen seconds. Ember pulled the sword in front of her, reached out and with her other claw, lifted the blade high into the air. Its dull, roughly-chomped edge gleamed in the light of the sun, and it wasn’t her fault the sun caught the blade that way, wasn’t her fault the blade was lifted into the air at all, these weren’t her choices. This was what she was supposed to do. This was what she had to do.

Perhaps Garble had fainted. Perhaps he had given her his choice when he gave in to pain. Which meant he deserved this, if he wasn’t strong enough to handle his consequences. It was for the best that he fainted, then, wasn’t it?

“Garble, as you have offered no convincing testimony to the contrary, I hereby convict you of high treason, and sentence you to die.”

“Wait!” Garble said, twisting his head to look up at her. “It wasn’t-”

It wasn’t Ember’s fault that the blade fell.

Thunk.

It wasn’t Ember’s fault that a dragon’s bones were so thick. She didn’t have any choice but to lift her sword again.

Thunk.

There wasn’t any liquid on the ground, by her feet, washed on to her ankles. It was a mirage.

Thunk.

This was her duty. There was no choice.

Thud.

Ember reached down and grabbed at the head before it rolled completely away from her. She ignored the warmth of the skull beneath his crest. It wasn’t a head. It was a stone, painted in color but full of nothing. Ember dropped her sword and held the hea - stone aloft as she turned to face the crowd. They waited for her to say something - say the right words, words that she was never told but that she was still supposed to say. A leader did these things. A leader did anything and everything.

Ember cleared her throat.

“Long live the empire!” She shouted.

Most of the crowd stood, confused. Those weren’t the right words.

“Long live the empire!” Ember shouted again. And now, the crowd began to understand. They weren’t a kingdom - they were something more. As was she. As were they all.

“Long live the empire!”

“Long live the empire!” the crowd shouted back. They were the right words, now. They were the new traditional words - the lack of precedence didn't matter anymore. What mattered was the booming multitudes that echoed her words, the delighted squeals of the hatchlings and the earth-rattling echoes of those who had lived for centuries, all of them filling the earth and sky with her name, her words, the new words, the right words.

And now the Princess - no, Empress - Ember allowed herself to fall silent. The crowd said everything for her, over and over, ascending from a murmured assent to a deafening cry. They would not be weak. They would not be craven. And they would earn power and glory with her, and the empire would cover the world and blot out the stars.

And it wouldn’t be her fault. This was who they were, what they expected of each other.

It wasn’t her fault.

Please, let it not be her fault.