Author's Note
So this was kind of personal but then not personal. I, like Shining, have battled PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression. I have not been involved in combat as he has, so I cannot attest to all the ways it can change anybody. But I wanted to acknowledge that trauma changes everyone in some way. Thus this little ficlet was born.
To any Military Veterans who may be reading this: Thank you for your service and keeping all of us safe. I cannot imagine the depths of your personal sacrifice, but I thank you for making it. Thank you all, and I wish you all the blessings life can give you.
Enjoy, folks!
Battle Scars
There is a particular set of standards one has to meet to be a royal guard, and more yet to be the captain of it.
You must be prepared for battle, you must be willing to risk everything for the country and ponies you are defending, you must be quick to react when needed, and you must always put other ponies ahead of yourself. It is a heavy weight to bear, and not everypony is made to bear it. But from the day I turned seven and told my Mom I wanted to be a royal guard, I knew I wanted to be that.
I trained hard. Every day after school, I’d work to build my strength. I learned how to fight in different styles. I honed my magic. And I was, by my standards, miles ahead of the rest of my class. Before I graduated school, I applied early to train at the Royal Guard Academy in Canterlot, and was accepted. I remember my mom crying the night before I left and her hugging me like she’d never let go, and her saying I’d better be careful because she was not going to let me go if I wasn’t otherwise. I’d promised her, and I’d left.
Training for me wasn’t all that different from what I’d been doing all those years to prepare. A lot of exercise, learning reflexes, protective spells, how to fight. In fact, the hardest part of my training was probably standing still for long periods and keeping a stone face. My body wasn’t used to that. But eventually, it wasn’t too bad. I passed training with flying colors, and I was made a Royal Guard and eventually Captain of the Royal Guard.
But, as many ponies can tell you from any experience, training for something is not the same as actually doing it.
This title had been well earned through hard work and preparation, but nothing ever prepares you for what defending a palace actually looks like.
It started out like any other day, all of us at our posts, muscles tensed and ready to move if needed, but standing still at our place as always. A slight quaking of the ground, getting worse every moment. We all saw an Aeternae coming for the castle, and armed ourselves accordingly. In Twilight’s fillyhood, she’d made me memorize a book of monsters, so that if I ever had to protect her from one, I could use the right spell. I knew what the Aeternae was though nopony else did. It’s scaly skin looking like metal plates, and those razor sharp teeth… I’ll never forget those teeth. Those teeth that could chew through a guard’s armor with a horrible shrill noise. The roar that came from it’s mouth that was so loud I could have sworn it could crumble a city. I stayed, though whether it was brave or foolish to do so remains to be seen.
Stallions were taken that day. Good stallions with families and friends and ponies who cared about them. The Aeternae was defeated by a few cannons to the teeth, and a bit of magical aim helping some spears and swords to find the heart of the beast beneath the outer armor. The grounds were cleaned up and replanted, lives mourned and then laid to rest. The world moved on from it.
All, it seemed, but me.
That day was the first time that my perspective on my chosen line of work really shifted. In my colthood dream, It had always seemed that being a guard meant protecting others at the cost of your own safety. And, to some extent, it still is that. But it also means watching ponies you love like brothers march to their death, even though it is for a good reason. The jaws of death often came to devour the ponies of Royal Guard, the grim reaper demanding they pay the toll. It’s not as scary to face your own mortality as it is the mortality of those you care about. That thought has stayed with me all these years.
Immediately after the attack, when work was over, I’d gone home, and been unable to sleep. Insomnia kept me up all night. I couldn’t sleep, so I worked out, trying to burn off my energy in any way I could. eventually, at around one in the morning, I fell asleep, where nightmares woke me every two hours until it was time to wake up.
The part of being a member of The Royal Guard in any capacity, a soldier in any war, that they don’t talk about is how it affects you and how it can change you. That day with the Aeternae was my changing point. I still kept up my duties, I still served my country, but I was a different stallion.
I requested to patrol other parts of the castle. I couldn’t bear to be around that section of it, and avoided it when I could. Otherwise at work I wasn’t really any different. The real portion of me that changed was inside of me. I had nightmares for weeks on end, tried using sleeping spells to sleep without dreaming. Luna came to me several times, but I didn’t know what to tell her. I felt ashamed at my weakness. But it wasn’t the only reason I felt ashamed.
I developed a serious phobia of using the toilet, or more specifically, the sound that came with flushing it. The noise was so loud that I couldn’t Handle it. The sound made me recoil, and I’d see myself staring into the bloodthirsty jaws of that monster. I’d cried, huddled in the corner of my bathroom the day the noise first got to be too much, because all I could see was one hoof of a fellow guard dangling from those horrible teeth like spinach in ours. Because of that, I learned to soundproof the bathroom so that I wouldn’t have to hear it anymore.
My anxiety, that had been nonexistent before, was now constant. Things had to happen in a routine every day, and I needed to know what would happen every minute, because not knowing would spiral me into panic attacks where my chest was so tight I couldn’t breathe and I was shaking violently as if in a seizure. Obviously on the job, I didn’t necessarily have that luxury, but when I was at home, and I did, I made sure I had it down pat. For the first time I understood why my sister (and to a lesser extent my father) Could love schedules so much.
I had a lot of nightmares. I’d seen a psychiatrist and they’d given me a little pink pill to help stop them. Some days it helped, other days it didn’t. They gradually upped my dosage until I was at the strongest one available. It helped mostly, but not always.
Most days, I just wanted to lock myself away, so I could not have to go out. Everything could be consistent, there would be no danger, it could be… Okay. But on the few occasions I was able to do this, I found myself longing for company. It was a paradox that could not be defeated. It frustrated me so much I would scream and cry into my pillow.
One weekend, I wasn’t able to stand the loneliness anymore. I decided to visit my parents. I would have visited my sister, but Twilight possessed an energy level that would not have helped to calm me. My Mom and Dad have been, from the moment I was born, a calming presence, that grounded me and made sure I was alright. In their eyes, no matter what I was going through, I would always be the same.
When I got there, I was surprised to find that in all the time that had passed since I had last been there, it still looked the same. It hadn’t changed at all, but I had a lot. And then, when I got in the house, Mom wrapped me in a hug that still smelled like the perfume she’d worn since I was a baby. In her arms, there was a momentary flash of who I’d once been before all this happened. It sparked some hope inside of me, that maybe I could be like that again.
Mom and Dad and I had all sat at the table and talked, but I knew that Mom could tell something was wrong with me. She wasn’t pushing it because the timing wasn’t good. But she would. Inch by inch, perhaps, but she would. But I really liked the fact that Mom didn’t do it when I wasn’t prepared for it. She didn’t push it out of me when I wasn’t ready. She would ask when she thought I was- and sometimes she knew when I was better than I did.
It happened when we were having dinner.
Mom had made one of my favorites for dinner. She made baby carrots, some cauliflower bites, a veggie salad, and my favorite chocolate cake with vanilla frosting for dessert. I’d stared at my dessert and remembered all those birthdays from when I was a kid, all the laughs and smiles. It was my undoing, and I broke down sobbing. I cried for the loss of who I was, I cried for all the anxiety and nightmares I’d been suffering, for all the sleep I’d lost, and for the stallions who had been lost alongside me. Mom just held me for a long time and let me cry. Maybe it was a relief to her, because I can remember that when I was a child, I wasn’t one to easily accept comfort. To know that I was now must have been both a great relief to know I could in fact accept it, and a horrific sort of glimpse into how much I was hurting.
I’d cried until I didn’t have any tears left, and fallen asleep in her lap as I had done as a child. How she hadn’t moved in all that time was a mystery to me. But that was the first decent sleep I’d had in months, so I was grateful for that. I’d talked to her that morning and told her everything that had been going on. She made us coffee while we did so, and we talked. She gave me some solid advice. Well, as solid as you could get for somepony who hasn’t been in combat.
“The fact that you are remembering those stallions will mean more to their families than you could know. Talk to them or write them letters to let them know you’re remembering their loved ones. And as for everything else… I’m not an expert, sweetie. But I can tell you that even though you won’t be the same after these experiences, it doesn’t mean good things will not still come to you. Just take it one day at a time, and it will eventually get better. But it wouldn’t have if you hadn’t spoken about it. You should always talk about these things, Honey. If you don’t, you’ll never grow from them.”
It was probably the best advice I could have gotten. I hugged and kissed my Mom, said goodbye to my Dad, and I went back home.
Mom’s advice made me realize that I’d been going through my days trying to pretend like nothing changed me. But that was wrong, because this did change me, and the only way I was going to move past it was to deal with it, knowing that it would never completely go away, but it could get better.
I wrote letters to the families of those who were killed by the Aeternae attack, expressing my sorrow to them. I took a brief two week leave from my job, and I went to a hospital where I got on psychiatric medications for my nightmares, as well as my anxiety and depression, and got therapy for the first time in my life. The first week was a haze of adjusting to new medications, but after that, the next really helped me get better. The flashbacks didn’t happen nearly as often. I could flush the toilet without needing a soundproofing spell, even though I was scared to death to do so the first time. I could sleep through the whole night without interruption.
The scars in my mind went from bright red to fine, thread-like lines that could only sometimes be seen. I returned to work, different than when I left, but somehow better for it. I made it a point to say a prayer for those stallions, and all of the stallions who had been lost fighting for our great country, to let them know that I appreciated all they did, and that they were remembered in the rest of our minds. When I got frustrated, I took breaks. I ate and exercised well. I began to take care of myself, instead of being plagued by survivor’s guilt. Because of that, I began to do better, and became Captain Of The Royal Guard. I found love, and I became… Not who I was before, but a stronger version of myself. I wouldn’t ever be who I was before that happened again, but I had gotten my joy back, and myself back. Mom was right- there were good things coming to me.
The battle scars from that day will not ever go away, but I know now that I can still see beauty in life despite them. I am more than my scars.
I am a survivor, and I will live my life that way in tribute to all those who did not get to survive like I did.
