They Shall Not Grow Old

by Stellar_

Rating: everyone
Tags: Princess Celestia, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Equestria at War, Alternate Universe
Length: 1525

On the 100th anniversary of the end of the Great War, the last veteran performs one final service for his county.

On the 100th anniversary of the end of the Great War, the last veteran performs one final service for his county.

An Equestria At War story.

Published 2018-11-11 16:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2018-11-11 16:40:01 UTC

They Shall Not Grow Old

The field was silent. As the bright orange early morning sun just began to inch over the distant horizon, the light rays piercing through the blades of grass and the leaves of the thick oak trees, catching the dust particles that hovered in the air. The sunlight washed over the grass, bushes, and each and every petal of each and every bright blood-red poppy flower that coated the surrounding landscape. There were hundreds of thousands of them, growing so wild and thick across the fields and hills that they seemed to replace the grass in some areas. Across the field stretched a single cobblestone path running for almost three miles through the red sea of flowers, cutting through the red like a grey gash of harsh contrast. On each stone, there was written a name. A name, two numbers, and a city, all engraved into each and every small stone along the whole length of the path.

There was over three million of those tiny stones, each one unique with their own name, number, and city, but each second number ended within a five year period.

The average difference between the first and second numbers was only twenty.

Some cities written on the stones no longer existed. Some of the names weren't even of ponies.

As the sun rose even higher in the cloudless sky, the dew began to burn away, the haze soon following as the sky turned from soft orange to a calm blue. The two figures walking the path stopped a moment as a light breeze blew between their legs, ruffling their fur and carrying with it the faint smell of the poppies.

They walked slowly, taking as long as they could to reach their destination at the end of the path. In the past there had been others, many others, who had walked alongside the two of them on this same trail. But as the years went on, fewer and fewer souls showed up to take the treck. Last year, there were four. Now there was one.

She walked there, slightly behind him, keeping close, but letting him lead. He was a rather small pony, an Earth Pony, one who used to have a vibrant burnt-orange coat and a dark brown mane that frayed at the ends, and a cutie mark that depicted a stretcher. But his colors and long since faded, leaving only dull, washed out traces of what they were.

His name was Cotten Weave, and he was the last.

They walked in silence, listening to the rustle of the wing and the sounds of their hooves on the stone. Him, his head turned up, looking towards their destination, and her, her head lowered, reading every name on the stones that passed underhoof.

Each one was in pristine condition, as clear and easy to read as the day they were carved engraved despite over seventy years of weather and hooves.

He stopped suddenly, and she stopped as well.

He stood there a moment, reading what was written on the stone that he had almost stepped on.

“Just a… buddy of mine.” He said, speaking for the first time in a while. He spoke softly, his voice a raspy whisper which she had to strain her ears to hear. “We signed up together… Same platoon, we were ambushed by a hidden machine gun during the siege of the Main Hive as we came around a street corner. That guy was a patient one, holding his fire until a bunch of us had passed… The rest of the squad managed to toss a grenade at him, but not before he had taken out two more of our guys. He bled out in my hooves as I tried to save him.” He sighed and shook his head. “They found the Queen's body only five hours later.” More silence. “He was possibly my only friend from back home. A useless death. I’ve… never bothered to find his stone before.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for? You didn’t start the war.”

“I… don’t know. Ever since then, when I saw all the bodies that were coming home, and the brutal injuries that soldiers had sustained… Not to mention the looks I received when I walked through those bombed-out cities as we liberated them from the Changelings… the sunken eyes and malnourished bodies of the ponies who had been through so much. As they lived in between the two armies, I stood safely in my castle… Just makes one feel guilty. I couldn’t help them.”

He looked at her, before turning his gaze back towards what lay ahead. “Come on. We’ve got a walk to finish.”

At the very end of the long stone path there lay a statue. It rested on a large stone podium, underneath a tall dome held up by six columns. The statue itself was solid iron, and on it was depicted four figures. All life-size, and all containing an almost unnatural level of detail.

Three ponies, an Earth Pony, Unicorn, and Pegasus, each wearing the uniforms of the Army, Navy, and Air Force respectively. At their feet lay their weapons, seemingly thrown to the ground. Their hooves were outstretched in offering. And across from them stood a lone Changeling.

Its uniform was in tatters, a rifle, snapped in two, at its feet. It's face half wrapped in bandages, it still held out its hoof, seemingly accepting whatever the three ponies were offering, but it's form was permanently frozen in a state of uncertain hesitation.

Its title was Forgiveness.

The two of them walked into the rotunda, their steps echoing within the dome. Here, the names ended, replaced with smooth stone. They approached the statue, now close enough to read the words written on the side.

Lifting the large wreath that had been sitting on her back, she offered it to him. “Here, you should be the one to do this.”

Gently, he sat it at the base of the statue, leaning against the podium as to not cover any on the inscription.

“You know, it's strange… I was just a naive young pony, who signed up for the army when I turned sixteen, dropping out of school. Joined the medics… And as we marched into the hive, I was there to save a little Changelings life. He was barely ten years old, got hit by some shrapnel from mortar fire. I possibly saved his leg from getting amputated. Patched him up, send him off to the POW camps… of course, this was only a few days before everything ended. In the years since, I would wonder what happened to him… turns out he actually tracked me down… and personally thanked me when he got assigned as the Equestrian ambassador.” He chuckled.

“I guess it’s just… weird, seeing your actions having an effect on the lives of many, knowing your actions caused something huge in the world. But I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that, Princess.”

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”

The sun shined brightly, the last traces of orange finally fading from the sky.

“...Thank you for coming out here with me Princess. I thought I wouldn’t have anyone with me for this… special anniversary.”

“No, I suppose it is I who should be thanking you. For your duty, for your actions… and living long enough to see this day.”

He turned slowly, beginning to walk back up the path. “Come on Princess, we’ve got people waiting for us.”

One last glance back at the statue and the inscription on the bottom, before Celestia followed her guest, leaving the statue alone and quiet once again.

For on the bottom, there was written a poem.

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,

Equestria mourns for her dead across the sea.

Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,

Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal,

Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.

There is music in the midst of desolation,

And a glory that shines upon her tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young.

Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;

They sit no more at familiar tables at home;

They have no lot in our labour of the daytime;

They sleep beyond Equestria's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,

Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,

To the innermost heart of their own land they are known,

As the stars are known to the night.

As the stars will be bright when we are dust,

Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;

As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,

To the end, to the end, they remain.