I Like Grumpy Shadow Better.
Those were perhaps the first time any rational being had over made any such evaluation of my person. I've been called many a flattering, to most measures outside myself, appraisal, and much more unkind ones by far to few for my well, and far too many of that account to true for the continued comfort of my wrath and pride. The beasts must be fed, it has long been known, lest they fall in torpor in time of dire or grow to such desperation as to see struck those loved or a unwarranted blow fall upon the guiltless and innocent.
None here but the pained and desperate to speak so plainly, as Gale did with Tornado's dismissal... And the little filly who stood before me, looking up at me in absolute defiance of any consideration of station or years. It was, in absolution, as it was so long ago, with our tribe, though I did not think so then. I only spoke this story at her asking, but yes. This was as with the foals of Morrigan, her daughters who were as she was in youth, wild and foolish and free, as it was with her colts to their sire, proud and strong and prone to quick anger, but seeming just as soon in forgiveness and all as though it never had been. We, our tribe, had forgotten that there were things of our being as mares that could not be winnowed away or even fully hidden no matter our dedication or honing of skills. We adopted the customs of war but forgot why it was so.
We had also forgotten our shameless ability to know the feelings of others, and while mares and stallions do in a way have the same knowledge, stallions have the good sense to mind their damned thrice fucking business and consideration to allow their follows to continues lives of blessed ignorance. But that obnoxious little cunt, as was your mothers evaluation of my darling, saw through my attempts at smiling, and called me out on it.
I only stared at her a moment, then growled. She just paunched her lip out and would not budge, so I relented. I stopped smiling. I had, due to events, been attempting to put her at ease and make transitions of matters as painless as could be feasible without taking to much from her... And had insulted her instead. I instead scowled as thunderously as I could, this time being true in face and letting her know my displeasure at her for this in ways unspoken but known by any who dared to cross their mother's ire.
"Is that to your liking, or shall I slice it away and let you mold it to your spoiled whims?"
Giggling, she clapped her hooves in approval, and nuzzled her head under chin.
"No Mater. That would make you do naught but improve things, and see our own in deepest envy."
Yes, tis true. But a whelp, but has an almost terrifying and insightful mind, well beyond any I've seen. She keeps apace in drills and is seen as a fellow Kicker, and even well liked and better still respected, but it would not be for any virtue on us. She likes us, emulates and pays respect to our ways, but is quite aware of our loathing in being outdone. She does not hide her mind or mental accumen, but she does not flaunt it either. She's ours, and as such is privy to our doings, some of which we do not even knowing done as it is so or why. Its just how the herd trots, I suppose.
More unsettling is her alpha status. Judging from in the first clue my filly's stomping home in silent fury at Sunbeam's form a sparring ill suited her. No no, it is your ways. Your pranks and japes rankle us, but really, its no different then the rough sport of clan and parent. What terrified me though was her silence. If she had vented, raged, it meant she was just getting it out and planned nothing more. But that... Ah, so Sunbeam actually saw her as finally seeing the depth of her loving tutor's benevolence and wisdom and now would see her wishes met, and would from there grow into another of Sunbeam's many thralls. In short, she assumed because the wolf bared not a fang or whimper or even tensed it meant herself safe.
Well, I could only shudder in despair when she returned hold smiling and humming cheerfully, and knew that in but far to little time she would prove to be the herald of your lovely and entirely enticing mother in full plummage of furious and wounded mare, promising the switching upon her vandal's flank long and merciless. The beatings, when Sunbeam, will only cease once morale improved or more pressing, or more likely enticing, prey is present. Hmm... A rather bleak outlook there, I'd be of a similar mind if my mother not only a mare, and thus forgot nothing and forgave only with all knowing it was still to be used in any circumstance deemed worthy, but was of disposition cruel and lacking in foresight or feeling of matters about.
Hmm? Oh, why then had I, in full knowledge of my foals ways and wiles, and did us all deepest pride not cease her advance and dispatching of ones quarry til submission or death, not forewarn Sunbeam of such a thing? Because one, she would have gone forth regardless, and as long as she acts in my clan unicorns benefit, acts to her betterment and not for her own agenda, and agenda there is in any dealing with Sunbeam Sparkle, my lovely and passionate angel will hear not a peep or so much as a feather ruffled in agitation. I have no less then utter faith in her and her abilities, and I trust her with my own and clan with utmost confidence.
But mostly I was just being a petty old bitch and Sunbeam had finally been cunt enough as to warrant not giving a flying feather over her grievance or perceived state of harm. I only felt remorse at her eventual calling to her tower and demanding due blood tithe from behind screen... I know not what had been done nor her state of appearance, but her eventual bursting into actual tears and begging for me to at the very least whip enough from the little demon as to make it squeal the number and placing of all her traps and snares. She did go on for some time in this. How bad was it?
A zebra mohawk... purple with stripes of blue and green polka dots... And after her beating, she came back to her office with her accoutments stuck upon the ceiling. And awoke the next morning in her bed atop the tallest tower. Not in it, on the tip of the spire. Fear not Midnight... she was in no danger, you know that.
Pax Midnight, no harm was done. She... wait... no mare, none of that! I only felt such ill for Sunbeam, spare me your blubbers, I... Wait, your truly upset, aren't you? Midnight, now see... Child, I say now, you go too far! Do not doubt my love, and indeed it so, for you and yours, nor ponder it again in all your days, for I shall know, and seek you out so I can tell you again! Here, come here...
I'm not much for embrace, so forgive if it seems forced. I worry your harm if I squeeze to tightly... No, no, its not you. I feared to near hysterics with Ash at his birth, and had to ask others aid with him. I truly feared I'd crush him, he was so small... Maker Midnight, you shake so, over such little a matter. I think we needst speak at length before more of her. No, it does matter. And no, you'll not hear a utterance more hence till your seen too. And no, you may not leave my forelegs until I'm sure of your centering.
No, no, we don't wish her pay for anything. You know I care for Sunbeam. But I care for so much I won't let her have the chance to do more harm to herself then I can stop. No, she's not a child, and neither are you, aye, tis so. But thats not so with my little unicorn. Yes, she acted quite badly, and like all my clan, will learn that I will not allow as I once did. The blood debts and honor bouts and blind eyes are over, and grumble and accuse as they are and will, I will allow all those and all undue doing of harm no longer. Before I may have allowed it, have allowed their blinding cloth and hobblers, but no more.
Why? I suppose tis a fair question. No blood no foul and no laws broken, so why pursue matters? Because I love her, as I do all my family, kin and clan. Mater and Pater are no mere words, my daughter. They are perspectives. I do not, of course, hold all in such sight, nor attend them to such degrees. Some I simply must see cut loose and left to their own simply for the fact I can only do so much, and moreover I must believe them worth my time.
No... I don't think I'm better then your mother, or any of the nobles really. I might be incensed with them on matters politic, but have no strong feelings with much of their ways one way or another. Is what hard?
Well... I never stop caring. But... I wonder, did we, my tribe... did we ever care? Yes, they said it was so, but what does words matter, or what scrawled ink testifies matter if one not there to see it so? But then... what good is old ways and tradition when it is merely acted out for the sake of not wanting to be outcast, what use is the order it offers when it makes... well, my tribe.
I suppose so... I like to think your mother's voice is sweeter though even if what is said is the same. No, I know that. She isn't just a pretty voice and seductive demeanor... I think ponies are just scared of her. And I think they fear her not for her deeds or supposed evil, but that their limited sense of things. No, thats unfair. I think... I think they just can't stand themselves. Midnight... have you ever wanted to just... fix her? I mean... you have to know that shes tearing herself open and wounding herself again and again. And no doubt sees you at...
No? Pax child, I meant no harm, and I would not see my labored for work undone. So... whom does she blame? Herself. I'm... well then. I was wrong. I apologize.
Hmm? Now that, I am not shocked to hear: Sunbeam admits no wrong and makes no excuses. She merely acts where others stand with all their well wishes and "when will others fix matters". Given their braziness and blatant pursuits of all matters carnal, I would not be much surprised to learn she is the descendant of Hurricane and his wanton mares. No, he was a stallion. And the reason for such confusion was one particular instance where Smart Cookie, incensed over his overt and uncouth ways, turned him into the quarry of his wandering eyes. I take it from the snort you take a different view? And that would be?
Rather odd, given you and your mothers solitude. Don't you grow lonely? Yes, you have her, but... Midnight, your grown, and you do know, even were you to stay at her side, she will die?
Yes, I suppose... well, I guess you do have a family then. But... Midnight, I want to be clear: you are clan, but I have made it known you are not of it. You have full citizenship under law, by our standards, but you are not bound as we are. You may, as you will, feel free to speak on matters, and even at times to intercede in what you deem immoral, and on their own lives none would act to stop you. Not for a lack of will, but because we regard many things as matters of conflict as between two persons. We were wrong in its execution, but...
I suppose... I suppose you've heard the Hearths Warming tale? We hold it as true as well, but we also remember they who saved us... And learned from their wisdom as much as their failings, or did. But for the nonce, we speak of our kin, Hurricane. Or the kin of of all our tribe and clan, for he bore no name and was beholden to none, and was one whose loyalty not a thing bought for any price, gained long through deceit for he saw things for what they were and how so as much as he may have wished they were as he wanted, and was thought a traitor for his last walk, as he laughed and sang in his parting, bearing none of the supposed shame he was supposed to be feeling when he chose their exile instead of slitting his own throat for his failure of duty.
His failure was not being what they wanted and making it such that they dare not to be him. I suppose we could speak of him more, if you could remain for the night... we'll speak of our little terror in the morn. As you will...
First, we should speak of matters of power. It is, here and abouts, that there are those who are simply better by merits of birth. That they are born with inherent traits and dispositions suited towards the rule of others, and that it is of the highest morality that they be allowed to act as the embodiment of their nation and its people. And the people, as it is proposed, are as nature decrees meant to show due tithe and veneration to their lords and ladies, and to adhere to the laws of land. One of course merely needs bring the matter to the Rahj and learn more then what is healthy in how they feel is what they regard as abhorrent, but then the rahj have ever been not willing to be beholden to any but themselves.
We, of course, espouse the virtues of meritocracy over all things, claiming the acts of valor and loyalty over all things. To be loyal and honorable is our highest goal. As our lives secondary to the innocent, our wish for tyrannies end, our love of family. We had never once questioned these things. We had no kings and were beholden to none but ourselves. We are free. Free to chase terrified ponies off cliff ends, free to see all things outside ourselves as the acts of lesser minds and hearts, free to make a king in all but name, but worse then that. For a Commander...
In function, a Commander is three things: a king, a high priest, and a general. They act as arbiter and studier of laws and act in their execution, they oversee and regulate the cults and sects to see they do not seek sedition, and they command us as warriors. They are in every the embodiments of ours ideals. Hurricane is venerated by all, but for us, he did more. He set us free Midnight. We say, this, that, you, they, does not matter. And he, if he were here, he would look at us, and say "But it does matter, Citizen Bright, Citizen Rightly... Citizen Shadow."
I have his time in that era abouts... but first. look. This was the lesson he learned up there, on that cliff. See this. A tea cup. Empty. It has purpose, though it is not in use. What is its value? Not in bits, but what is it worth to you or me? Little, we suppose. And to a pauper, less, for it is not food nor will it bring food. It has only as much value as we are willing to put into it. I could dash it across the floor, and before our rebellion, to me it was nothing. To me, Hurricane's words rang hollow.
But... it does matter. An artisan toiled at it, spent all their lives in study to make such things, and as do so many other crafters, artists, and the like. Mayhaps I find no value in their dalliances, think them wasteful, but is my life dedicated to a nobler goal? Do you know what our little terror said? She said "Mater... I think the Maker made me wrong. I suspect it so, that I'm the wickedest Kicker in the whole lineage. Because... I don't care if they mattered, I don't care about their lives... I'm glad Bright and Lance are dead. And Rightly too, though you loved him. And... I'm glad you lost your old hold. I'm glad you don't have be away from everyone."
And Midnight... I think then I know what Hurricane must have felt there, as he looked down. In the Rebellion, I could justify and hem and haw and espouse and tell everypony of some greater good... But I don't think I could simply say Yes, I'm selfish. I hate this, and you, and I'll see you undone and ash in the wind because I can't stand what your deeds represent, how you sought to undo everything because you wanted to wear a crown? I wish I can as she say I hate them... But I don't. I just... can't. And thats because I'm selfish too.
Midnight... Those papers... in my desk. Read of Hurricane, and know why we feared the Commander so. We did not fear Hurricane for his speed, though he was fast. Nor his strength, though he had that. Nor his stoic ways, nor his skill of blade, which inspired me. No, what we feared was the power we gave him, to see us undone entirely. He would not kill us for our indiscretion... no, the Commander would simply turn away, and see us no more. And it was so. None would hear us out, nor acknowledge us. And all would act as though we never were. And it was like we never had been. Had he been there, the Commander, and beheld Bright... that would have been it. One turned back, and all would have seen her no more.
And that was Hurricane's deed: our un doing. He sought our freedom by taking from us the comfort of oblivion, that we had another option then death. That cruel heartless fuck...
Read... and pray for eyes to see, and ears too hear, and humble heart and wise mind to know, for words hold power, and with such ease he laid us low that even our fall before the windigoes seemed a kindness.
Author's Note
I should probably mention this is expanding on Chengar Quordaths The Lunar Rebellion. Go read it now, because its awesome
(The first matter that should perhaps be addressed in my works is their very nature: it seems to comprise entirely of personal anecdotes, thoughts, a matter of hindsight written well after the events they speak of occured. The languages also cover an entire plethora of nationalities and regions to the point of obscurism, rarely written in Equestrian or done in any particular sense of record keeping, but rather addressing ponies and pegasus in particular. After reading the first, that of Rose of Steppe and the conflict it mentions seems to match up with initial aura workings. From my numbers and checks, this writing, while not hers, was done by a scribe and again by chronological study magic it seems this was then copied and distributed to a almost paranoid degree. Unlike, say, books I run magic over that carry the printing press in its past, this has hundreds of ponies writing over a hundred desks... and all of them hold the same terrified souls. Something had happened and they were unsure to the point of lacking focus.
As for the speaker whom the scribe is writing for, Rose is a rather hard mare to find in record. The pegasus are meticulous history keepers, and from we have in the aftermath of Brights rebellion, she was indeed a hero of her era, but was also something of a decided emberassment. They recognized her accomplishments, but made clear their contempt. She had, surprisingly, left the tribe to seek her child, a earth pony sent into their care from her clan. Her reasons were simply a concern and a deep seated sense of responsiblity whatever law or culture said, and sought her our to see if she was cared for and in good care. From there... she disappears. Just, gone. Then years later, shes wandering the Steppe lands seemingly in no particular desire to return to the tribes. As for her... I feel it needed to intercede at times in regards to events and the ponies and people themselves to provide some form of context for future readers. I shall begin then with her opening entry
So... fair colt, you've asked me here, and here I am, and in my chambers no less. Perhaps we might...
(at this point the quill seemed to have jerked in response to her request. Pegasus, it seems, become more shameless as the years pass and the chance of foals lessen. Rose, in her fifties from my guess, appears to be particularly... willing in this regard, and at times outright brazen and wanton.)
Pax, pax son! I meant no harm! Heavens in storm scribe, one thinks you addlepate with such disdain to ones own desires! Hmm, oh aye, tis no matter. Feel free to write this as well, no secrets. So, what are you here for?
My life? My colt, life is a thing lived, not a thing of ink and parchment. And a lie regardless. You wish to hear about our war, hmm? How my glorious stallion gathered about the armies of the world beneath one banner, for a time, united in our great crusade! You want to hear of glory, of our valorous resolve and the wickedness of Om! You want to hear of war in all its blood soaked beauty!
No. I will not speak of the war itself. I... I thought I had known war. I truly did. We all, my tribe, thought we knew of it in our slaying of warlocks and bandits and our brothers and sister gryphons. But... no. What I shall say war is that their is no glory in such a thing. Honor, Law, right and wrong... all cease to be in war. Our bouts, my bouts, in clan and country... were always personal things. I faced equals, or was the gleaming star come down from Pegasopolis to dash mine enemy across the rocks or slit them open... It was fun.
But war... war is a cold, impersonal thing my fair stallion. I, my stallion, our army and our allies... the battle hardened and once proud in our slaying fools that we were... Our war with Om and her army of soldiers, loyal and sellsword... they was no honor, no glory to be had. Ours was a crusade.
I suppose I will speak of some matters... of our allies who offered arms and soldiers and joined us, of moments before and of our wars end... but first, I wish to speak of what my stallion spoke of my first morning as a mare of the Steppe... when I ran out to slay ones who had done us, my clan and town, ill.
I was out in my stallions armory, preparing my barding. It was... strange, their barding. So different from the plate mail of ours. I had, of course, retained my wingblades as I had earned them (1) but had, due to circumstances we'll speak of, been required to bear it. It did not bear the marks of craft like ours, the swirling decorations of wind and clouds, and indeed, bore no decoration aside from rank and house sigil. I was to stand at my stallions champions side and to oversee our forces for our quarry. It was tanned leather over chain mail, the pauldrons colored the blue of my stallions eyes and bearing a hawk with a dagger in one claw and an olive branch in the other. The mail itself was simple steel, the back of the chains adjusted to accomodate my wings. Heavy, aye, but I had grown stronger since I left the augmented mithril of my nation behind.
1) A rather interesting custom of her and Hurricane's era: pegasus left the clans and tribe one of three ways: clipped and in disgrace, free and bearing barding and arms to face foes but still in obligation to Pegasopolis... or freed entirely of barding and obligation, to live lives as they saw fit. These pegasus were regarded as even beyond the elites, ones whose skill was such that blade was all they needed, and even that was seen as a courtesy since even unarmed a freed pegasus was a terror in their era.
I had taken upon my duty, my armor, and was adjusting my belts and harnesses, when he came. My stallion. I still thrill at the sight of him even now, after all of our time, and am glad to call him mine. You seem bemused colt... oh, my desire for you. Think naught of it unless you wish to reciprocate, and fret not over our Broken King 2). He and I are not as husband and wife and he has given his word not to raise cain over my desires. If I want to rutt another, it is so, and I have given him the same. But our love is always first and foremost, before all things. I might fuck you addled colt, but do not think I truly seek you. His eyes were always his best feature, but I had never seen such an ebon coat on any... and my colt, you may think him a specimen now... oh feh! I seek mare and stallion in matters carnal, aye, but even in my tribe, for those who desire but one, we see the glory in both forms. Tis no matter to admit and declare anothers beauty in our eyes. Oh come now, surely you have at least peeked! Ah, see! And is he not fair? Not as you, my beauty, but in gait and standing, the way he holds himself... a true king all say, and are moments told by their lord they need no king. Have you heard him sing my good scribe? I know he rarely speaks, but in song...
Aye, my stallion has aged beautifully, but fourty winters. His mane has grayed, his coat lost some luster, but this has only seen him taken from his beauty as a youthful stud to one strong as steel and one whom all mares would see fuck a foal into them, to one they'd kill to raise their foal. And how they seeth and envy our colt, my Arban... no, I did not bear him, but he is mine all the same. My stallion had four wives, and many children. How I saw them? Well... I was always cordial, and they warmed, but I was always the whore. A beloved, trusted, and by two of my herd a sire whore, but a whore the same. Our pairing had no standing there, and my foals of my mares were my stallions and theirs, not mine. I was a guard to all, but after the novelty wore away, the foals tended to avoid me, not in fear, but respect. Except Arban.
I had been... dozing, I suppose, in their house garden. My stallion, as Khan, had been granted a manse and trading post, which was how much our the houses coin was made. As such, to show his power, certain luxuries had accrued, much to my poor mates utter annoyance. Nay, my love is not given to fineries or silk when wool and simple materials will more then suffice, and is as content with a tin cup for his tea as the finest bone. He admires their craft and work, but wished his coin could find better uses elsewhere. Alas, house and Steppe mares have certain needs of care, and he must, then and now, keep up appearances. Thankfully, for the most part, my herd and our alpha desired little past the expected save for the occassional showering of affections from him, though I nearly laughed myself ill at their faces when he came to me and asked if I desired anything from his trade journey.3) Apparently I might have asked for much by asking for a pair of rahj folded wing blades 4).
2)Her stallions (name unknown) unofficial title. Its fairly obscure in text, but it seems he desired not only the fall of Om, but of all royalty. That is not to say he sought anarchy, but rather desired that the rulers of this world have as little power as feasible, relegating their positions to near mere figurehead status, to break the hold the notion of monarchy had, thus Broken King. Research also suggests he did , and wished it commonplace, for much of the power of a nation to be in the hands of the common as much as could be done, as though he thought that they had a better notion of how to govern themselves then nobles! Imagine such a thing, a nation ruled by peasants! Mother has suggested, of course, a House of Nobles and a House of Commons, but ones maintained by proper ponies, not the rabble! Ah me, what a silly stallion.
3) Oh dear... In Steppe culture, only family is asked such a thing. And given she did indeed recieve her gift, and its utter worth, this suggests the Broken King saw her as dear to him as his head wife, if not more. Politically, this mattered little since she had no standing of family in his house, but since his wife seemed to applaud the gesture, Rose was probably held in the same regard. She deferred to the head wife as alpha, mind, but still...
4) The rahj never sell their blades. The technique they use creates some of, if not the, finest weapons in the world, and have the weight of kingdoms as their price. Shadow's blades were such gifts, though I know not how this is so. She has had little to do with them before her current companion, so why they offered up such things I cannot say. A rahj blade is a thing as precious as ones lover and foals, as dear to them as their flowers, and any stolen are best said returned before they are taken back. Shadow and Rose are the only two mares I've found who bear such blades, albeit one was a gift from the Broken King, as was his right. Truly the rahj are strange.
Ah, but I do wander in my words... pray forgive me my beauty, I grew sentimental. Alban, yes, our first meeting. I was laying next to the gardens kao pool, eyes closed when he lay next to me. I raised my head to look at him, and he smiled at me, unsure but not skittish. He was merely... there. He is much like his sire in that regard, ones who but for duty are content to watch and listen then mingle and socialize, offering their support and love in their silence. But Alban, the Prince, he is one more inclined to scholarly pursuits and matters politic. He wishes to be a teacher, he says, or as one who works in his father's court. He wants as my stallion does... to see the world changed.
But that day, he merely lay next to me. I laid my head back down, and watched as the kao fish had begun to gather. Snickering, Alban pulled out a half loaf of old bread, and breaking it up in his aura, began to toss the crumbs and scraps out into the water. As the fish took their feed, I snorted.
"You shouldn't waste food colt."
He shook his head, and looked back at me.
"I'm not! See, they're eating it!"
I raised my head again, and scowled. He merely tilted his head at that, still happy.
"Surely colt that could go to, I don't know, a pony! The fish need not such things, they are cared for! Why spoil them?"
His smiled lessened a moment, then sighing, he looked back at the pond, and continued to toss them their treat.
"Because... maybe they'd like a treat too. And they work very hard in their little pond making us happy, don't they? They don't have to swim up to us, or show us their pretty fins and tails, or anything. They don't have to greet us, they could just ignore me or hide away or just go about doing kao things and pay us no mind. But they came up to visit. And... and sometimes one of them dies when father has guests."
I snorted, and rolling my eyes, regarded the fish as they, finding no more bread coming, turned back and swam away.
"They're just fish Alban. Surely your time and food is best spent in things of worth."
He shifted himself, and I twitched as he snuggled next to me. I merely looked at the pond, not saying anything.
"But Rose... they're our fish. The Maker made them for the world, and for us."
I looked back at him, and as so many times before and after, was stunned at how much he looked like his sire. His coat and mane are more grey, and his eyes green like his mothers, but he's so much like his father in personality and speech its frightening. And right then, as his father was the day of my initiation as a mare of Steppe, firm in his conviction. Not stubborn, resolute. Like he was speaking an absolute truth. I looked at him then, how disappointed he was at me, like I'd erred...
"We're supposed to take care of them, their as much the Maker's as we. And, for all the joy and good things our little kao bring us ponies, shouldn't they be treated with at least a bit of kindness?"
I merely looked at my... my son. I realized then that's what he was too me. I had a foal of course, I'd birthed a filly earth pony... and had seen her in proper care, but I had never figured myself a mother. Oh, I fancied one day siring or bearing a pegasus, one who would earn my love, and make me proud to have seen made into steel heart and iron body a warrior of Pegasopolis... but not like this. Alban, by just being himself in the first days in that house, had shown himself a fine and dutiful son. All of them were good colts, largely due too their mothers switch and firmness, but Alban... he showed an insight and kindness, a quiet way to his brothers boisterous running about. He trained in blade and bow, but did so as mere duty, lacking the bragging and scuffles his siblings demanded. He loved books and I had taken to teaching him Equestrian, and he had tried to speak to me of my own tribe only to be told I would not speak of it. Such things were not for his ears, were my words.
But... I loved him. I loved that stubborn little unicorn and would have raised him as my own in Equestria whatever my tribe said. I would have left my tribe, I realized, for my colt and stallion... such a thing nearly broke me. I didn't realize it, but when he leaned forward and nuzzled my cheek, I realized I'd been crying.
"Rose? Oh no, I'm sorry! I... I didn't mean too..."
I kissed his forehead then, and took him under wing. Aye scribe, such was my feelings... ah, you have a pegasus mother then? Of what clan? A Charger... my word colt, your mother spoiled you if thats her clan! Ah, I see... more often inclined to whack you then hug you with one was she? Aye, tis good you see her in such a light. She, as all ponies, only wants whats best for her foals, and the only reason for her harshness was her belief in you. Is she still... oh colt, I'm sorry. Did you have much trouble taking a tithe from my tribe? I know inheritance is not something oft done, but...
Ahh! You're her favored foal then! Left you nothing? Good colt! You didn't worry her then! Or, well, you didn't trouble her with foolish ways. I worry always for Alban... Hmm? Oh, his youth. I spent it teaching him Equestrian, sparring and the art of blade... Ah, as did yours then. And your initiation. Write it down colt. Speak of our ways.
As you will, my Queen... My mother woke me in the night, and I was terrified by her expression. Not angry, or troubled... despairing. I had rarely seen her have any expression outside of her usual stoic frown, but now... She ordered me to arise, and to follow. I did, and we left my fathers house. She led me down the city streets in utter silence, and I felt to afraid to ask anything. We came to the gates, and she whispered to the keeper, an older pegasus with one wing. He lifted his lamp to look at me better, revealing his scarred visage, and his sadness caused my own heart to ache.
"It... it will be all right lad. Aye? A foal of ours, raised up our way... is raised strong and good. Just... just come back safe colt."
He patted my head then, and turned back to the gates levers. The gates opened, and I followed mother out into the night. We traveled not far, I could still see the gates from where we stood, but had traveled miles... and stopped at the woods edge. Mother walked to their edge, and softly spoke.
"My own, one comes for the rite. Will you see him made in ours in full?"
And from the shadows of the woods, pegasus walked, all without barding, and all bearing the same somber expression. The eldest, a mare, walked up to me, regarding me a moment, then walking around me to examine me in full.
"Aye, he seems strong of body..."
Coming up to me full circle, she leaned forward, her voice cold.
"... but what of will? What manner of stallion has been made by you whore?"
I felt my ichor flare in an instant, and snarling, I shoved the mare back. She took two steps, eyes widening before narrowing, her wings flexing at her sides causing the blades there to clink in their wing brace.
"My mother is mare of integrity, and has remained faithful in exclusion to my father since her youth. As loyal to him as Pegasopolis, as firm in their love as her oath to our Empress."
I loomed forward, having height over the mare, and snarled "And at least I know who my sire is, you degenerate feather sack bastard."
The mare merely looked at me a moment, then laughed. She barked in her mirth, then putting a hoof behind my head, pressed our foreheads together.
"You've a studs soul colt! After our rite, I'd have you warm my furs in celebration! What say you to this, hmm?"
Snorting, I pulled away from the pegasus, and scowled.
"Like her, I am no whore nor harlot, and am promised to another."
Smirking, the mare turned, and I looked down as she flicked her tail to the side. Snickering, she walked back to mother, and nodded.
"I'd say you've raised a fine stallion..."
She looked back to me... and her smile was gone.
"But this colt... this is the rite."
Two more pegasus broke from the others, one bearing chains and the other a whip. Mother took the whip from one, and walking to me, sighed.
"There is one last passage to be a pony of Pegasopolis..."
She told me what it would take: to be of their tribe, it took sacrifice. To be of them, it meant I would have to bleed and risk death and agony, and they would be the ones who would have to ask it of me, my clan, my tribe, my family. And it would begin here: I was to be chained down and lashed ten times by her. It was a cruelty done to see if I could bear knowing what was being done... and bear knowing I was allowing one beloved to do so. It was killing not only her, but all the pegasus there, to do this, it was clear. But a pegasus was made by the Maker for this. They, she said, they could bear it, the lashing, the tears, the broken hearts and knowing what was being done... because it meant their fellow ponies were safe. They were hard... so their earth kin and arcana would not suffer, or would not suffer long. It pained them that they insisted to join the Legion, they shouldn't feel such a thing was needed... but they did. And no pegasus could bear to tell them otherwise. Who were they to deny anothers will?
But for a pegasus foals... often if we are born of another tribe, we are given over to them, but sometimes... sometimes they simply can't. Its selfish, and cruel to impose on them such a parent, but the very thought of surrendering them is another thing unbearable to their hearts. But mother... mother was unforgiveably self centered. She had raised me as she had been raised... taught me their ways and customs, raised me as a warrior. Yes I was a scholar, a noble, but I was of Pegasopolis too...
But now, I could leave. A pegasus couldn't, she said. Her tribe could not allow such weakness, and would see them clipped before disgrace. And in the rite, they were expected to take their lashes in silence. A bit would be in their mouths, and they would be lashed like a caribous slave, stripped of all... save pride. For pegasus were proud. Bite hard on thine bit, and surprise them with a laugh after, my mother said.
But I could leave, and none their would think less of me. I would be of their tribe, of clan... I stepped up to the stallion with chain and collar and held up my fetlocks.
My mother acted in disgrace that night. At the fifth, she broke down and begged me to stop. I did not, and she redeemed herself in our eyes by finishing...
You're a scoundrel then. Aye colt, a scoundrel I call you for that. Still fair, one I'd rutt, but a scoundrel. Do you know why? Because my father did not break, but if he had, I would have disgraced myself in begging. Not for my sake, but his. Even if he hated me for it, and I would have had to prove myself over a lifetime to be held in their eyes, I would have done so.
But my stallion... he had been raised by a Striker. A cruel and demanding a sire as any, if not more so. He had left his tribe to raise the damned colt, so he had better be worth his time.... and love. He loved my stallion and his mother. Gave up everything, and if my love had wanted it otherwise, would have supported any path in life chosen. But he wanted to be a warrior... he was to be Khan one day. He had to be ready.
But when his rite came... his father added a new condition. That once his ten were done... he had to give his sire ten in return. He was a colt of fifteen winters, strong and hale, but when his father said that... he wept. He put his hooves on his eyes, and wept in shame. He couldn't do that to his own sire. He was too weak, he said. His father embraced him then, and cried with him... in pride.
"Colt... my son, you do me proud today. Before our ways, before clan, before honor... you chose your family, you kept your integrity. You are no pony of Pegasopolis... you are greater then any of our tribe of kin has ever been."
As I prepared to become a mare of the Steppe, he came to the armory... and shook his head. We had argued over this before, and I snorted as he looked out the window to the land outside.
"Spare me thy glares... I have naught a word to say more. I must show myself of skill cuckold, and will do so."
He snarled, and whipping his head around shouted "And do you not think I wish I was out there with you Rose?"
I looked up again, hiding my shock quite well if I do say so, and smiled.
"That so? Then come, there is barding and blade too..."
"But this isn't about me."
I sighed, and ran my hoof through my mane. I had heard this before, and it still vexes me, his ways. He looked back out into our homeland, and sighed.
"I love battle, and drink, and mares... I want to be with you my friend, to revel and take to task those who've stolen and abused us. But... But I have to do better. Not because I'm Khan... but because I can't bear this world. We seek to merely... exist. Such things are important, but we do not progress, and the world rots around us. And always, we and the people of the world, suffer. Its not enough to exist anymore Rose. The world... its people, they deserve better. Need to be better. We have a duty... no, a duty can be forsaken. We have a responsiblity to make ourselves, our homes, our world, so much more then it could be without us here."
He walked away from the window and made his way to door, and paused a moment.
"We were meant to do, to be, to... to build and create so much wonderful, beautiful things Rose."
I had been adjusting my wingblade as he spoke, and looking at myself into the cold grey of its edge, I scowled.
"And terrible things as well."
"Sometimes... but we can choose to not do those as well. And that's what I'm doing Rose... I'm making a choice. I may have to run to some terrible thing, some horrible conflict by necessity... but will not do so for my enjoyment even if I desire so. Because such a thing is wrong Rose. Whether its for amusement... or honor."
I jerked my head up at that, and tried to speak. He merely looked back at me, the same firm resolve that morning as it was in the Court of Om... and I knew he would not yield.
"It starts when we decide friend Rose. I believe in you... even if you don't do so yourself."
I hated him so much then... Who was he to judge me after all? Aye, I thrill in battle, and love it, I thought. What of it? Why should I not relish the vanquishing of a foe, a villian? What matters the wicked's life, I fumed.
That day, I became one of the Steppe. But it would be years before I became a better mare, a person of integrity.
