We are Totally Fine

by foxgloves

Rating: everyone
Tags: Alternate Universe, Drama, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark
Length: 5716

As the Imperium falls into chaos, River Swirl must navigate across the treacherous seas of politics to prevent its collapse.

The Imperium stands tall as the world's greatest nation. Its armies are legion, and they march onwards on the promise of a brighter tomorrow. Greatest among the Imperium's vast symphony is the Emperor, an enigmatic figure whose mere presence can move the darkest of souls into tears. However, there is a great darkness that festers below the Imperium's velvet visage—corruption runs rampant, banditry whisk away countless futures from the poor, and a myriad of strange foes beset the Imperium on all sides, ready to feast upon its rotten corpse. Yet, the Imperium endures—for now.

The Emperor is dead.

Someone had killed him; his corpse was found on the base of a flight of stairs. Heirless, the Imperium risks total collapse—unless somepony intervenes. Empowered by the cries of support from his subjects, River Swirl, a young noble from the House of Swirl, enters the fray, seeking to purge the Imperium of its infestation; but at what cost?

Published 2020-02-20 12:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2020-02-20 12:40:01 UTC

A Little Introduction for the Confused Audience

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived two beings of incredible power.

They're gone now, you see.

Ascended, so the stories claimed. Their souls damned for all eternity until the last star in the universe is snuffed out by the inevitable heat death of the universe. But existential crisis aside, these two beings (prior to their imprisonment as stellar bodies) reigned the mythical realm of Equestria—a land of exotic creatures, walking cats, and talking unicorns. Their reign was just, and wherever they go, a hundred thousand ponies will cheer their name. "Hail Celeste," they cried. "Hail Lune." Yet ultimately, their creation was their downfall. A mysterious pony, known only as the Emperor, rose from the shadows to challenge the eternal alicorns's reign. The battle was fierce; the sky broke into two when the combined blades of Celeste and Lune clashed against the steel of the Emperor. Entire continents were shattered and the lands of Equestria were plunged into destruction.

The planet's fine now.

We're totally fine.

Part of that story is probably embellished with exaggeration. Regardless, the old order was deposed, and the newly-proclaimed Imperium reign supreme. Ponykind forgot about their creators, and as facts faded into legends, and legends into myths, the new order has finally reached equilibrium. It seems like nothing can oppose them. However, fate has a funny tendency to mess with the grand machinations of an ambitious pony. Corruption ran amock in this new Imperium, and the various noble houses that pledged their support for the Emperor soon found themselves cornered by enemies who share the same face. The Emperor, ever dogmatic, believed that his rule was eternal. He shall conquer the stars, he exclaimed, and the stars shall quake in fear when they see my glorious visage. And with the rest of the world under his control, it seemed that his ambitious conquest would come to fruition.

Unless, fate intervened, which is what it did—pesky buggers.

The Emperor is dead.

His body was found on the bottom of a flight of stairs, cold and devoid of life. Hundreds of ponies rushed to revive his withering corpse but to no avail—he was too far gone. Millions of ponies rushed to see the lifeless body of their somewhat-beloved Emperor, encased in a casket enchanted with certain magical properties that prevented the body from withering; but that did not matter. In the distant land of Haugarîm, there is a tradition—when a pony's spirit has left the mortal realm, they would leave behind their bodies; and it is the responsibility of those around him to propel his body into the heavens so that his spirit may return to its mortal body. Thus, in honour of that silly tradition, the Canterlotians decided that hurling his body from the tip of a trebuchet would be the best course of action.

Nopony has seen the body since.

However, in his absence, he left behind an Imperium on the brink of collapse. Countless politicians vie for control of the Imperial throne as the citizens of the Imperium languish in starvation and disease and war. Noble houses turn against each other; hundreds of sons and daughters are killed—all in the name of an abstract position of power. In response, the Sanctum Imperialis has issued an emergency meeting at the capital—to debate who should be crowned the next ruler of the Imperium. Unfortunately for the "Imperium", this story revolves around a highborn pony whose naivety can rival that of the brightest star. He is River Swirl, sixth of his name, and son of one of the most insignificant noble houses in all of the Imperium; and I doubt he would go very far.

Here is the story of River Swirl, the most pathetic pony in all of Equestria.

Author's Note

hi so im back. i wanna talk abt this story first and how it'll go. so firstly, i'm no longer a brony. well, i dont consider myself as a hardcore brony anymore, but i ain't exactly interested in the show or the material anymore, with the exception of equestria girls. secondly, this story would mostly take some massive creative liberties. itll use the setting of equestria, for sure, and there will be the occasional reference or two, but this story takes place thousands of years after the events of the show so—

neweis this is just a small conjecture from me. its good to be back.

Act I: The Most Pathetic Pony in Equestria

River

Despite his name, River hated rivers.

The engines of the ferry hummed loudly as it made its way downstream. It was an incredibly unremarkable ferry—its hulls had begun to deteriorate with age and the metal propellers that push the ship forward were covered in rust and moss. River let out a sigh of frustration as he shifted uncomfortably on his chair. His cyan coat shone brightly as the sun pierced through the creaks of the room, illuminating the rest of the room in an orange hue. He rested his leather-encased journal on his lap. In it is a story that spans more than a decade, chronicling the events of one River Swirl—firstborn son of the House of Swirl—and his unremarkable life.

He extended his hoof to reach the coffee mug on the table—a hot mug of latte spiced with pumpkin powder. A peculiar drink, but one that River enjoyed greatly. As his lips caressed the rim of the mug, a small smile crept upon his face. 'This is the life,' he thought. Resting a room, encased in a warm blanket, with a mug of coffee on his hooves. A drip of water landed on his snout. 'It could be better,' he added. He hated ships, but he hated rivers even more. Still, a ship is a ship, and a broken ship like the "Weathering with You" would do fine if it meant that he reached his destination—Canterlot, the city of stars and home to the mess that is the Sanctum Imperialis; and he is going to shape the entire Imperium in his image.

He will make Equestria great again.

His moment of peace was interrupted by the sudden collapse of the door. River leaped from his tranquil state, frightened, and turned to face the doorway. There standing on top of the wooden planks that used to be there the door stood a pink pony whose curly mane defied the very laws of physics. She smiled peckishly at him. "Hi," she chirped. "We'll be there in a bit, my lord."

River relaxed his shoulders, shaking his head. "You needn't call me that, Sweetie," he levitated the remains of her mug. "Formalities can wait 'till we reach the capital." River threw away the shards of glass off of the ship.

Sweetie frowned. She was always one for the environment, but she resigned her opinions for the sake of her friend. The pink pegasus dragged the unicorn out of his decrepit room with an infectious smile on her face—one that River cannot help but adopt himself. "So, Canterlot. Pretty big deal," she started. They trotted alongside each other as they made for the bow of the ship. The air was thick with humidity; the path to Canterlot was fraught with swamps, small whirlpools, and quaint little cottages situated beside the river.

"Yeah," said River.

"You know, despite being the capital of the entire world, you would've expect the ponies who build this place to tear down all of his nature," Sweetie commented, though her words trailed off near the end. "Not that I'm complaining. I'm just surprised they still have this place around... Really shows how pretty Celeste's creations can be," she said softly.

River nodded in agreement, though half-heartedly. In his eyes, places like these hinder the march of progress—much like religion. "I doubt the Twins can make something like this," he retorted. Sweetie shot a glance at him.

"Maybe if we look at it through a literal sense—if so, then yes, I would have to agree. Do you still remember Ser Spring Blossom?"

"Yes. He was a great teacher," River added.

"Indeed he was. Well, I remembered one of the lessons that he taught us a long time ago—that the sun and the moon form the foundations for all life on Equestria. So technically speaking, we're all products of Their design," she closed her eyes in satisfaction.

River, on the other hoof, shook his head in amusement. Sweetie had always been a devout follower of the Imperial Church ever since she was adopted into his family. Every night, before bed, she would kneel in front of the shrine and pray for hours. It was endearing—a habit that River respected. "Whatever you say," he quipped and the two ponies shared a quick laugh. As the laughter died down, Sweetie's infectious smile contorted into one of deep sadness. She sighed deeply as she stared at the tranquil river.

The fog was as thick as snow.

The cyan pony noticed the sudden change in Sweetie's mood, laying a hoof on her shoulder. "You alright?" He asked softly.

Sweetie shrugged. "Do... Do you think we'd be able to make it?"

He raised his eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You know, in this 'game'. Everypony keeps tellin me that it's a doggy-dog world out there in Canterlot and I'm..." her voice trailed off as she gazed into the fog.

Still thick as snow.

"... I'm worried about us, River. I'm worried about you," she finished. Silence reigned supreme as River dragged Sweetie into a tight embrace. He caressed her mane softly, shifting her bangs away for a small peck on the forehead. No words were exchanged; only the quiet release of their breaths and the obnoxiously annoying sound of the engine. He pulled her away and gave Sweetie a wide grin.

"It doesn't matter what they may think. Politics cannot tear a pony down if said pony plays his cards right, and if that pony ain't me then I don't know anypony else who could fill in that shoe. We'll make it through this—and you'll open that bar you've always talked," he said, his voice filled with confidence.

Sweetie smirked. "Aye... Yeah, that would be mighty fine," she chuckled as she wiped away the beads of tears forming around her eyes. "We gotta make a promise, though," she stated.

"Oh?"

She reached out for his hoof and planted it on hers. "Promise me," she tightened her grip on his hoof, "that, no matter what, we'd always look out for each other?"

River grabbed her hoof and nodded. "I promise,"

"Pinkie promise?"

"Pinkie promise," River stabbed his eye with a metaphorical cupcake and smiled sheepishly.

Sweetie chuckled lightly. "Now that's a promise sealed in blood." As their ship pierced through the veil, Sweetie could piece together a silhouette of a massive tower looming on the horizon. She pulled away from his embrace.

"I can see something on the horizon," River commented. Sweetie trotted towards the helm, the sound of her hooves breaking the monotonous rhythm of the engine. The young unicorn of Ullanor rested his hoof on the railing of the bow and smiled proudly. He was finally going to make it—Canterlot, the city of dreams, home to the finest ponies in all of Equestria and the crown jewel of the Imperium. Then, the ship pierced the veil, and the decks of the ship were basked in Celeste's sun. River's eyes widened as he gazed at the glimmering towers of Canterlot, their crystalline-like structures shining brightly against the twilight sky. At that moment, River resigned himself to whatever Gods existed—he was in peace. In Ullanor, that distant land, the sky is constantly shrouded by a blanket of grey clouds; but in this land, where the buildings were as white as marble and the azure sea stretching as far as the eye can see, it almost seemed unreal to him. River let out a soft chuckle under his breath. They told him that he would not make it, that he was too weak to survive the rough courses of Imperial politics. How wrong they are! As the ship approached the pier, a wide grin crept upon his face.

He was going to make Equestria great again.

The ship came to an abrupt halt when its hulls accidentally crashed against the stone pillars of the pier. River cringed at the prospect of damaging the ship, but he sighed in resignation. Sweetie tossed a rope around one of the pillars and politely asked the cyan unicorn to tighten the rope. As River hopped off of the ship, he cannot help but smile at the buildings in front of him. Unlike the glamour of the towers they had seen earlier, most of the buildings that filled the docks were dark and covered in dirt. The streets buzzed with activity as countless ponies went on with their daily lives. Storekeepers cried loudly, eager to earn coin; mothers gossip amongst themselves as they let their foals frolick the crowded streets of the dock.

With a slight touch of his magic, he levitated the rope and wrapped it tightly around a pole. The pink earth pony trotted alongside him, her face beaming in delight. "Can't believe we're finally here! Oh, the streets are just what I imagined," her eyes winked rapidly as she observed the streets before her.

River shook his head playfully. "We're only scratching the surface. Let's register our ship first over at that building over there," he pointed at the sign that indicated where the post office might be.

Sweetie glanced at it with suspicion. "Are you sure that's where the post office is located?"

"... No," he said truthfully. "But it's the best shot we got. I don't suppose you have any suggestions at the moment, do you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Sweetie walked towards the end of the pier. She was headed in the direction of an old stallion whose eyes were as dark as the night sky. When the pair got closer, it dawned on River just how old the stallion may be. His wrinkles were especially prominent, and as he opened his eyes slowly to glance at the pair, it was clear that the colt was very old and—unsurprisingly—very tired. "Excuse me?" she asked the old stallion.

His ears perked up suddenly. He looked at them with his eclipsed eyes. "Are you talking to me, missy?" he responded, his voice dry and weary.

"Aye. We were wondering where the post office would be. Do you happen to know where it is?"

The old stallion opened his eyes for a brief second before it closed once more. He shook his head. "Y'ain't from around here, are ye?" he asked.

"No, we're not," River interjected.

"Now this is a different voice. You must be the mare's partner, yes?"

River blushed momentarily, but ultimately dismissed the colt's comment. "No, I'm her brother. Can you please tell us where the post office is?"

"I assure you, there is no post office in this area. Only gangs and broken dreams," the colt chuckled darkly.

River opened his mouth to rebut his claim, but he resigned, sighing. "Alright. Thank you for your time, sir,"

As the pair began to walk away, the old colt rose from his seat and shouted. "Hey. I was joking—I take note of all the new arrivals!"

The cyan unicorn fixed his gaze upon the old colt. "You are? Truly?" his words were laced with suspicion.

The old colt nodded. "Aye," he procured an old charter from his tattered bag. "I'm Björn, if you were wondering," the old colt interjected. River shook his head. While the old man was certainly eccentric, he had a certain quality that made him... endearing. He turned to Sweetie, who stood there in agreement as if she's communicating him to register the ship's name. He trotted towards the old colt and, with the flick of a pen, wrote down their name onto the charter. Björn smiled softly. "That'll be enough, young lad," he said. "No need for payments."

"Are you sure?" said River.

"Aye," he said shortly. "The path you tread is your payment to me," he muttered ominously. River raised his eyebrow, his curiosity piqued, but his train of thought was interrupted by the piercing sound of a bell ringing from one of the buildings down the street.

Sweetie laid her hoof on his shoulder. "Thank you, sir. I suppose we shall be on our way now,"

Björn tipped his hat at the mare. "No worries, ma'am. I'll report your registration to my superiors," he shouted, but by the time he finished his sentence, the pair had disappeared into a crowd of faceless ponies.

The pair had been walking for an hour now.

After their brief encounter with Björn, the pair were taken away by a wave of ponies heading to the centre of the city. River frantically observed the various buildings that form the city. Sure, most of the city was trapped in poverty, but this was Canterlot—the city of stars, where the cheapest house cost more than a lot of land in Ullanor. Meanwhile, Sweetie jumped about from store to store, appreciating the brilliant works of art that are on display. Dresses made out of the finest materials she has ever seen, brilliant cakes made by some of the greatest chefs in the Imperium, and sculptures that rival the beauty of the Goddesses themselves.

River smiled widely, his eyes lost as he took note of the sprawling towers that dot the cityscape. "Isn't this place amazing?" he asked Sweetie.

Yet, despite of all the city's greatness, Sweetie frowned. "No, it isn't," she said bluntly. River turned around to face her.

"What?"

Sweetie shrugged. "I thought..." her voice trailed off as a group of ponies trotted upwards towards a nearby theatre. "I thought this city was supposed to be the epitome of all things good. But in the first few hours, we've only seen ghettos and dog shit. Reminds me too much of..."

River laid his hoof on her shoulder in sympathy. "Hey, it's all in the past now. You're not in the streets anymore—you're a Swirl, and Swirls make no room for pessimism. Now raise your chin—we are in Canterlot, and we will make a new living here. Not even father can stop us from becoming who we meant to be," River smiled in reassurance, but he couldn't help but filled his words with venom when he mentioned their father.

Again, Sweetie shrugged, smiling sadly. "I'll try."

A breeze of wind brushed against their coats as they found themselves locked in a tight embrace. Suddenly, their moment of peace was interrupted by the enthusiastic shouting of a group of ponies heading upwards. Sweetie turned her head slightly. "What is going on?"

"Something exciting, probably," River shrugged. "Let's try to find a place to stay for the night,"

Sweetie raised her eyebrow. "You mean you haven't arranged a place for us to stay?"

"Well..." River rubbed his nape sheepishly. "No matter, we'll find a place—this is Canterlot, after all."

Sweetie nodded. Deep down, she knew it was coming. Regardless of the outcome, one thing is certain: They had to find shelter. The two ponies trotted upwards, past the bedazzled crowds of ponies, and into a building made out of marble. It was the Continental—one of the finest hotels in Equestrian history. As the two ponies entered the building, they were overwhelmed by the hotel's sheer beauty. River grazed the giant pillars that supported the massive building, taking note of the details meticulously carved onto the pillar. One of them depicted the Battle of Orlandae, a massive confrontation between the Imperium and the Covenant during the Great War. He frowned solemnly, rubbing the scar on his chest, hidden by a thick layer of fur. He sighed, shaking his head in an attempt to forget those dark times.

"Get the fuck away from me!" explosions rang all around him as the masked assailant slowly approached River's fallen form. The next thing he knew, his attacker was missing a head.

Sweetie approached the counter. She rang the silver bell on the counter, after which a young mare dressed in a black hotel uniform. She winced as the dress emanated a bright shine from the buttons. "Hello, ma'am," she said with eloquence. "How may I help you today?"

The pink pony glanced behind her and saw River lost in trance. She turned back to face the mare. "I'd like to have the best room available,"

The mare raised her eyebrow. "The Neighpoleon suite?"

Sweetie nodded. "Yes—for Lord River Swirl of Ullanor,"

"Who?" the mare asked nonchalantly. Sweetie sighed, procured a bag of coins from her pockets, and planted it softly on the counter. "Ahh... yes. I will get right to it."

By the time Sweetie completed the transaction, the cyan unicorn had returned from his episode. River's face was empty, devoid of any emotion. He had bags under his eyes. "Tired?" she asked.

River stared at the floor momentarily and nodded. "I suppose I am... I need a nap."

Sweetie patted River on the back, smiling. She handed him the hotel key—a ridiculously luxurious-looking key, one might comment. "Here's the key. I'll stroll around the street for some food." River couldn't hear what she said after that; his head felt like it was spinning faster than a hurricane.

The last thing he remembered was the cold, hard surface of the floor.

It is five minutes before six, and River awoke to an empty room shrouded in darkness. He felt a sudden rush of pain on his face, most likely from the fall. The cyan pony looked about at the environment he found himself in. He must be in his room. He tilted his head slightly and noticed Sweetie, sleeping soundly on the couch. He chuckled. She deserved it.

River observed the room once more. It was elaborately decorated—disks of gold hung from the ceiling, and in the corner of his eyes was a large portrait of an old colt draped in the finest clothes known to ponykind. His eyes were ancient and the wrinkles on his face told of a pony whose vitality was unmatched, second only to the Goddesses. It was the Emperor, and his eternal gaze peered into River's young heart. Even as a painting, his presence was enough to leave him speechless.

He could have stared at the painting for an entire day if it were not for the loud tolls of the bells outside, signalling the time for prayers. River jolt up from his bed, startled. He peered outside his window and saw a congregation of ponies gathering in front of a statue of the Goddesses—and the Emperor, carved out of marble, stood in the centre, planting his sword firmly into the ground. The ponies kneeled in reverence and uttered their silent prayers. Then, a pony dressed in a white gown, stepped out of the crowd and onto a wooden box.

"Fellow Children of the Sun and Moon, heed my words!" he rose his arms into the air. "Today, we mourn again for the loss of our venerable overlord. He was the morningstar, the sword that cut down the many enemies of the Imperium; and we shall forever remember his reign." The crowd let out a quiet amen. River gestured his hooves in a cross and nodded.

The cyan unicorn turned the doorknob gently. He levitated his black coat from the hanger and slowly exited the room.

River strolled around the street in silence. The buildings were filled with the sound of music, and ponies left and right chatted incessantly about matters that River couldn't really gather. He turned to his left and saw an old colt smoking a large, Olenian-brand cigar. River winced at the sight of the smoke rings jutting out of the pony's mouth. If there was one thing he disliked the most it was smoking.

His ears perked up when he heard the loud crash! of a glass smashing against the stone pavement. Nothing to be worried about. He pressed forward until he found himself at a crossroads. He noted the sign in front of him. One arrow directed towards the crowded bazaars of Canterlot while the other was pointed at the monolithic structure of the Imperial Senate. River pondered for a moment. As if he was driven by his instinct, he turned right—towards the imperial senate.

"I'm not throwing away my shot," he muttered to himself. River moved with decisiveness as he marched his way towards the building. This was his chance to finally make a name for himself. They are probably having a meeting at this moment!

Finally, after years of patience, he was finally here, on the very doorstep of the Imperial government. He grinned widely. In front of him were two guards decked with the best equipment available, forged in the fires of Ullanor, River could tell. No steel can match the quality of Ullanorian steel. River saluted at the guards—neither flinched nor gave the slightest hint of a response. He moved forward two steps before his path was blocked by two spears, crossed with one another.

"Halt!" shouted one of the guards. "You do not have a permit to enter this building!"

"B-But this session is for all lords and ladies of the Imperium, is it not?" he stuttered.

"Yes. And you are?"

"Lord River of House Swirl. I answered the Senatorum's call," he responded.

The guards glanced at each other in suspicion. "May we see your identification card?"

"Why yes it should be around..." River froze. He patted his coat in hopes to find his card, but the only thing he felt was the bump of his wallet—and he never put his ID in his wallet. He smiled sheepishly. "It seems that I have forgot to bring it with me..."

"... Sir, you will leave the premises immediately, lest you wish to face charges regarding trespassing," the guard said bluntly. River could hardly understand what he was saying.

"I'm not lying; I am a lord. Your armour is forged in workshops of Ullanor—my homeland,"

The guards were around him now. River's face was covered in sweat. Their emotionless eyes pierced through River's soul and cannot help but feel dreadfully intimidated by their mere presence. As if the Goddesses had heard his plea, the massive wooden doors of the senate creaked open, revealing a tall earth pony dressed in exquisite materials. The moment he made his presence known, River stared attentively at the stallion's features. His cheekbones were sharper than the finest blades of Ullanor and his mane were ashen-grey, just like the colour of his beard. He looked down at the scene from the top of the stairs. He rose his hoof calmly into the air.

"That is enough, brothers." his voice echoed throughout the plaza. The guards turned towards the source of the voice and bowed slightly. One of them lifted their heads in defiance.

"Are you sure, Lord Stormsword? He has no identification—"

"Yes. I am certain," interrupted Stormsword. "I can recognise a Swirl when I see one." The guards tossed him onto the ground, leaving River at the mercy of his mysterious benefactor. River looked up to see Stormsword. He begins to walk down the flight of stairs. The Ullanorian felt his body quiver in fearful anticipation as the old stallion took a step downwards. Just who exactly is Stormsword?

Stormsword stopped. His eyes were looking down on River, observing every nuance that the cyan unicorn produced. River gulped loudly. He stood up and nodded in gratitude. "Thank you," he said. "I don't think I would've been able to deal with those guards."

The old stallion let out a quiet hmm, but it was loud enough for River to hear clearly. "A lord does not need to thank his fellow lords. It is only expected," his voice was eloquent, regal, and he acted in a way that demanded others to listen to his words. He was a king, but not quite. "Come with me, Swirl. There is much to discuss—but not here." He gestured his hoof beside him as if he was subconsciously ordering the young pony to follow him. River nodded.

River was enraptured by the building's interior. The building was fashioned to resemble the architecture of yore—before the 'ascension' of the Goddesses. The large, wooden gates paved way for a mighty hall that stretched for hundreds of metres. There was a pillar every ten metres and each pillar was decorated with highly-detailed carvings depicting the Imperium's many victories. It put the Continental to shame. The pair had walked for a while until the old stallion beside River broke the silence.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked softly, his words filled with command.

"Those guards said something that rang a bell in my head, but no—no I do not, my lord," River replied truthfully.

Stormsword chuckled. "No need for formalities, Swirl. We are lords—equals—under this building."

River raised an eyebrow. "How did you know that I was a Swirl, if I may ask?"

The pair stopped walking. Stormsword looked at the glass mural of Celeste, her image immortalised on a glass pane. "Intuition. You learn quite a bit when you reach my age. I am a walking fossil when compared to you, but that matters not. What is your name, Swirl?"

"River. River Swirl," he answered succinctly. Stormsword nodded.

"Ah... The thirdborn son of Hurricane Swirl," the old stallion said bluntly.

"You know my father?"

Stormsword nodded. "Aye. Stubborn pony, always concerned about legacy..." Stormsword trailed off, but River noticed that he mentioned his father's name with contempt. "Though I cannot blame him. One must have their own reservation with legacy..." Silence befell the two. River's eye twitched.

"You wish to cement your legacy, do you not?"

River nodded.

"All ponies do. It's the one thing that remains after our bodies are transported into the afterlife..." He procured a cigar from his coat. He pulled a lighter and lit the cigar, inhaling deeply. River said nothing as the old stallion let out small puffs of smoke into the air. "My father was weak. Not in the physical sense—he was a very strong pony, but he lacked resolve. He lacked the drive for ambition," he turned to River, his eyes dark with whatever emotion he hid behind his iron exterior. "When he laid on his deathbed, hardly anyone cared for him. Not his people, his court—not even his own family. A beautiful life extinguished by the winds of time," Stormsword gestured River to move forward.

"If your father was strong, then I don't think he would be considered as weak" River commented.

The stallion let out another puff of smoke into the air. "A pony's physical strength isn't what makes him strong. It is the qualities of his character that ultimately gets remembered. You may be the strongest pony in all of Equestria, but that strength doesn't amount to anything if you don't do anything with it," he closed his eyes. He chuckled softly. "It is late at night; I cannot even remember why I dragged you into this great hallway," the old stallion dropped the cigar onto the ground and crushed it beneath his hooves. Suddenly, Stormsword looked at him with a ferocity that could kill a lion. "I know what you seek, River,"

River gulped. He said nothing.

"You wish to make a name for yourself—to surpass your father's greatness, hm?" he prowled around him, like a predator ready to pounce on his prey. He moved with elegance, but his facial expression was enough to invoke fear in the bravest of ponies. "That ambition. Crush it. This is the Senatorum, young Swirl. Once you play the game, you can never leave. It will forever be with you—even in your sleep,"

"I'm ready to face the consequences!" River replied hastily, but the grey pony snickered under his breath.

"Only a fool would say he is ready for an exact moment. A lord must be ready at all times!" he shouted. River grew furious with every word he uttered; the peace that was between them was supplanted by a thick layer of rage.

"I've faced death countless times, each time more ready than the last!"

"Remove that delusion of yours, young Swirl. That is precisely the attitude that got your father murdered!" his voice boomed across the ivory-white halls of the Senatorum. Silence reigned supreme between the two. River stared at him with contempt, but one quick glance from the aged stallion was enough for him to back away from his aggressive stance. Stormsword gazed upon the murals above them, depicting the spirit—Twilight Sparkle—watching over the ponies of the Senatorum with closed eyes. Tears swelled in River's eyes, for no inexplicable reason. He lowered his head. The earth pony looked at him with pity. "You are probably the most pathetic pony I've ever met," he replied bluntly.

"Then teach me..." he whispered quietly, beads of water dropping onto the ground. "Teach me how to be ready."

Stormsword shook his head. "No. You must learn that on your own," he produced a small handkerchief from his right pocket and handed it to River. He blew his nose against the soft fabric. When he gestured to returned the item, Stormsword refused. "That doesn't mean I won't guide you, though. But understand that every action you make will be paid in blood," River shivered. For a brief second, Stormsword's ancient eyes glanced at River emphatically. "Who knows, perhaps one day you would make Equestria great again?" He smiled at him slyly and trotted deeper into the building, leaving the cyan unicorn to himself.

River stared at the departing pony. He lifted his hoof in contemplation. How did he know what I said? he pondered. As he turned towards the door, he glanced at Stormsword one final time. The light from the window panes threw his shadow across the hall, and for a moment Lord Stormsword stood as tall as a king.

Author's Note

hii i hope yall enjoyed the first chapter. its been a while since ive written anything so excuse me if the chapter was a bit rusty.