Blight of The War Horse (Reforged)

“Darling.”

“Darling.”

“Darling!”

Olive Branch’s minor ire simmered to an ember once the titanic mare beside him jolted sharply, her previously unfocused eye widening and peering down at him with an unreadable expression. “Geez, ya silly mare, I said your name about six times now!” He said, grinning.

Storm Breaker broke her prolonged one-sided staring contest, letting her half-lidded orb fall to the ground outside Golden Oaks Library, where both stood.

“...Sorry.” She mumbled.

Flashing a quick frown, he diverted all attention to the library door swinging inward, where Twilight and her assistant emerged. “Now that we triple-checked everything is in order, I think it’s time!” The bookworm mare excitedly announced, a hint of sadness lining her tone. “I know we didn’t start on the…best of terms, but it was nice to have you around. It’s a shame you have to leave now- you do have responsibilities in Canterlot, after all -and I hope you feel one hundred percent! Oh, and thanks for helping to save Ponyville, Storm Breaker.” Ending her parting words by smiling up at Storm Breaker, Twilight’s cheerful expression somewhat faltered once the looming mare’s face stayed motionless.

“...No problem, too bad none of the pansy guards could keep up with me when they attacked…” She ‘joked,’ attempting to chuckle while smirking weakly, only to sound like a half-hearted snort.

Coming back to the recently rebuilt countryside town of Ponyville for a final time after finishing the last of his paperwork in Canterlot two days ago, Olive Branch was concerned.

Not about Ponyville itself. Moreover, Storm Breaker. He could’ve chalked it up to a simple case of boredom or some sort of cabin fever on a town-wide scale; however, they exclusively applied to the first two weeks of the titanic mare’s discharge from the hospital the few times he saw her. Afterward, the loudmouth, temperamental, and lively mare he knew unexplainably transformed into a quiet, detached shell, hardly aware of anything and having tendencies to get lost in the clouds.

Had something terrible occurred while in his absence? Of course, Twilight told him about her accident in the Everfree with three fillies in a letter, but a rough tumble hardly warranted such a drastic shift in somepony like her.

Even though he didn’t see the full extent of her damages, Storm Breaker must’ve suffered worse, as much as he hated to ponder such a thing.

Keeping these thoughts locked away behind his collected grin, he coughed into his hoof, “Heh, heh, ain’t that…true.” He awkwardly replied, breaking the equally sour air cast over their heads. “And Mrs. Sparkle, we were just doing our duties as guards- there’s no need to thank us. Now, if you’ll excuse us, my partner and I gotta get goin’- justice waits for nopony!” He joked humbly.

While he hated breaking off a potential conversation, Olive Branch cared more about Storm Breaker's unusual attitude and quietness; waiting until he was alone with her would provide a perfect chance for questioning.

Also, he had been waiting thirty minutes outside the library for thirty minutes waiting for them.

“Um, okay, I understand.”

And so, waving goodbye to the unicorn and dragon duo, the two guard ponies walked casually side-by-side through the relatively busy- but not crowded -streets of Ponyville. All the while, Olive Branch discreetly examined Storm Breaker, gauging her reactions to several happenings along their trail—ponies waving to each other, crates dropped from wagons, idle conversations, and the like.

Nothing.

Not a flick of the ear, shifting of the eye, or twitch of the face, everything appearing to have frozen in a state of unfocused, indifferent ice. When his friend’s stubborn tantrums unfairly warranted Olive Branch with foalish silence, there’d always been some sign she was listening to him or the surroundings while on patrol. However, this time, it felt like dragging around a moving statue. Did she know if Olive Branch was there, even when he occasionally yanked her aside to prevent a two or more pony collision? She scared him, honestly, more than her anger.

Could it be she was mad? The countless mares he knew and had relationships with in his youthful years gave him the silent treatment if he upset them- and maybe a slap for good measure.

But the warrior mare wasn’t the quiet, non-vocal type when it came down to expressing her grievances, and nothing hinted at any sign of aggression. “So, darling, how’s Ponyville treated you?” He asked. There was no point in pondering a question with an obvious answer, but anything to break the silence.

Turning a corner, Olive Branch close by, Storm Breaker hardly looked at him, “Fine…I guess. Everypony here’s pleasant and nice.” She replied absentmindedly, side-stepping a distracted couple close to hitting her.

That’s not what he expected.

Storm Breaker didn’t outrightly hate Ponyville but never fully tolerated it to an extent; Olive Branch knew this, making it all the stranger hearing her compliment the countryside town without so much as a sarcastic tone. And her voice…“That’s good to hear. Sorry I couldn’t follow through with our promise to get a ‘victory feast’ like you wanted, but when we get back to Canterlot, I’ll talk with Celestia about it. How’s that sound? All the chicken and mead you want.” He smiled kindly, nodding his head to a passing pony.

“It’s fine, I’m not hungry.” She muttered.

“Oh, already ate?”

“...No.”

It sounded so empty.

Dropping his smile, Olive Branch intended to push his disguised interrogation further, only to stop verbally and physically when a small pegasus skidded to a stop before them, panting heavily. “*Huff* Hey…there. *Huff* I *Huff* almost missed *Huff* you!” She puffed, kneeling over in exhaustion.

“Wow there, kiddo! Take a second to breathe and try not to pass out.” Olive Branch chuckled, waiting for the purple and orange filly to rest.

Taking a minute to catch her breath, the filly’s sweat-covered features shot up to meet Storm Breakers with a mix of determination and fading panic, the warrior mare portraying a sense of shock. “Sorry for being late- my friends told me you were leaving soon while Mrs.Cheerlie was teaching. I couldn’t sit back and not say bye and thanks before you left!” If his memory wasn’t failing him- he prayed to Celestia it wasn’t -Olive Branch noticed her fitting the description of one of three fillies in the letter Twilight sent him on the chariot ride to Ponyville: Scootaloo.

“There’s no need, kid.” Storm Breaker said, her voice raising slightly in volume for the first time since this morning.

“Huh?” Scootaloo tilted her head in confusion.

An uncomfortable gaze appeared in Storm Breaker’s shifting eye as it tore itself away from the filly, “I- you…Everything I did doesn’t deserve praise.” The mighty warrior mare, fumbling her words, almost looked to cower under the filly’s gaze, but Olive Branch guessed she wasn’t used to being complimented. “I still have more than enough…debts to pay off.” She grimly added, Olive Branch frowning internally.

“Aw,” The small pegasus whined, humming to herself until she perked up. “Well, will it be okay if you hang out with me and my friend some more, ma’am?” She asked innocently.

Rather than join in on Olive’s surprised laugh, Storm Breaker flinched, a brow raised. “W-Why?” She muttered.

Scootaloo didn’t hesitate to answer, “Because you’re cool!”

Did Olive Branch mistake the rolling wind for somepony gasping?

“Sure, what went down in the forest was scary, mostly when the big Ti…uh-” Scootaloo flinched suddenly, nervously glancing to Olive and back as her drawn-out sentence slowly resumed, “-...T’u’mble- yeah, big tumble -messed you up. I thought nopony would come to help if you hadn’t forced yourself to escort us out. Otherwise, I think that night was the best I had in a while because of you.” The filly’s body rushed forward and collided with Storm Breaker's left foreleg in a tight embrace. “So, please come back soon.” She begged, squeezing her eyes shut.

Olive Branch, meanwhile, stayed glued to his partner’s expression. Bewilderment’s a new one the old stallion saw her wear, but there’d been a trace of sadness and…guilt.

“Y-Yeah got ya’.” Storm Breaker replied, patting Scootaloo with her free hoof stiffly.

Soon, the short reunion between the two had to break, with Olive Branch waving the filly goodbye as she did the same, walking further until they entered the marketplace. Teeming in swarms of busy-body and easygoing shoppers, passing by the massive hoard proved unexpectedly easy for the duo guards. As they walked, more and more royal guards dressed in bandages and donned repaired armor marched, throngs of ponies waving and thanking those who protected them- including Storm Breaker. Olive Branch began to theorize that whatever happened to his partner, maybe it involved her soul and Fluttershy’s getting swapped with how jumpy Storm Breaker appeared, even if she tried to hide it.

Her problem was stage fright? No, not likely. Vanguard knights weren’t very social from what history books entailed, but Storm Breaker was more reserved and stoic at times rather than shy; More accurately, if his compliments upon their first meeting meant anything, defensive. Although, he couldn’t blame her. Ponies were running away at the sight of her only a month or two ago, and now overwhelming shouts of praise must’ve felt like drowning.

Walking the rest of the Market's distance to the town’s border where the train station resided, the colorful locomotive pulled in with a shrill whistle, hot steam bellowing onto the platform.

“All aboard!” The conductor shouted, peeking out of his cabin.

One by one, the guards loaded themselves on board, the small army of gold-plated armor shrinking in size and stuffing the first three cars by the time Olive and Storm were left alone. “Heh, lucky us, we got the last for ourselves!” Olive exclaimed, a flash of his horn producing a blinding light that faded to reveal his trusty keg.

Nothing in response.

The caboose ached in uncomfortable silence as the train slowly increased in speed, Storm Breaker looking out at the passing scenery from the window she sat by, Olive next to her.

No words exchanged, no looks given, only the sound of his occasional guzzling and her overly-controlled breaths- it might as well have been empty. How should he approach this, he thought. There was no backing down now; he’d blown off Celestia’s student, the only element of harmony available to see them off, to get to this point. Why was he so hesitant, then? He again looked to Storm Breaker, but her features were facing away from his view, and he returned his eyes downward. Nevertheless, he could see it. Her hoof pawed at the faux leather seats, ears occasionally flicking, a heavy spike in her breathing chest.

Guard, royal advisor, and captain, none of these career masks he donned at one point or another would help Storm Breaker; this wasn’t an interrogation.

She needed a friend.

“Darling,” He hesitated, her ears swiveling in his direction, betraying the mare’s eerie stillness, “Is something the matter?”

Sagging of the shoulders, a dipping of the head, and a sigh- Storm Breaker didn’t turn, but she spoke.

“...I’m fine.”

Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, Olive Branch licked his dry lips and scanned her from the corner of his vision. “You sure? Because, where I’m standing, I’d thought somepony stacked a ton of bricks on your shoulders by how you’ve carried yourself recently.” Silence, “Tell me, as your friend, if something is wrong, Storm.” He said.

“I don’t…have friends. You’re my supervisor, and I’m Celestia and Luna’s guard dog.” She spat weakly, but her tone wavered apprehensively.

“If this is about your ‘Vanguard pride,’ there’s no shame in telling me how you feel.” Olive Branch shot back firmly, not in a harsh manner.

Good, her head raised a little, and Olive Branch steeled himself for what she would say.

“Olive Branch…” Unfortunately, he couldn’t completely hide his shock upon hearing his name spoken by Storm Breaker. “Do you think I…could change? Be a normal pony?” She questioned in a reserved voice. Still stupefied, the old stallion hesitated to answer her until he shook his head to quell his shock.

She only called him a coot, “Ah, so you did know my name, good.” He playfully chuckled, regretting his attempt to lighten the air when she flinched, “Sorry. Darling, what do you mean?” He added.

Storm Breaker didn’t say anything for the longest time, and Olive didn’t oppose, letting her breathing slow down before she sighed. “I’m tired. All I wanted before joining the guard was to forget everything terrible and find some semblance of peace.” A shutter escaped her, “Awaken and sleep next to somepony I love, eat and drink with friends, and not have to worry about ponies stabbing me in the back. Then, go to bed knowing that, come morning, the next day will be just as good as the last.” Storm Breaker shook her head, “But, no, I can never. And those dreams burned asunder. This world is terrible everywhere I look: this anger guides my heart and blinds my gaze. When you see an earth pony and unicorn having a simple chat, I see it as a violation of nature. I was reborn and bred to hate my enemies; peace and tranquility were never on my mind until I came here. And I hate these feelings, this pain, because of it.”

Her hoof rose slowly, hovering over her chest, “I lost everything that defined me the second I awoke. This world’s meant for Equestrian ponies. I’m nothing more than a terrible relic, a monster fooling itself into believing it deserves something when it couldn’t retain anything in the first place.” She said quietly, dropping her limb.

Rising his own, Olive Branch’s hoof brushed her shoulder, a shudder causing her fur to stand. “That ain't true, darling! You’re no monster. And those dreams aren’t dead; Equestria is the perfect place to realize them. You’ve made decent progress; you just had trouble adjusting initially.” He said, shaking her shoulder lightly.

“Yakshit, I don’t know what I’m doing!” She hissed meekly.

“And that’s okay!” He instantly retorted, raising his voice faintly on accident.

“I won’t try to guess what has gotten you shook- still, I’ve got a good idea. And I’ll tell you again that I and everypony else- Twilight, Celestia, Luna -want to help you improve. And, Tarturaus, there’s no such thing as ‘normal’ ponies, darling-” He chuckled, “-nothing about Equestria is normal.” Leaning his side against Storm Breaker, his hoof slithered from one shoulder to the opposite shoulder blade, “Nopony is perfect, darling. Those ‘terrible things’ you mentioned will haunt you till the day you die.” A melancholy smile crossed Olive Branch, “The only thing I can say is: all you can do is move on, to let go of that heavy burden and vileness so you can grow and live. Trust me, I know it hurts, but time heals all wounds,”

He dropped his keg gently to the rocking ground, twisting his waist to hug his partner, “Especially with your friends by your side every step of the way.” He spoke softly.

Now getting a better look at his distressed partner, Olive Branch’s sympathetic smile sank.

A torrent of wetness streamed down her cheeks, her scarred mouth pursed tightly as she sniffled, a violent tremor running throughout her body. “... I trust you, but things the warrior in me wants to do to for saying that makes me ill.” She whimpered. Then, the thought-to-be-believed mountain of a pony crumbled under the weight of her own woe, prisoned sobs banging forcibly against her locked lips as she doubled over in her seat, cries muffled, her hoof-covered head pressing against the back of the upfront seating.

“Oh…I’ll call you in sick then, darling.”

Closing his eyes, all Olive Branch could do was rub her back in comfort.

Sneaking through the door belonging to one of the most powerful ponies in Canterlot wasn’t on Trotselot’s list today- his bucket list, specifically.

Incidentally, it also led straight into the same pony’s office atop his bank, like prying open the cover to a heated wood stove, the stench of staining cigar smoke flooding the posh stallion’s muzzle. “My word…!” He gagged, swatting a hoof in the air. Stashing the key he swiped from the receptionist in his breast pocket, Trotselot entered and shut the self-locking wooden barrier, resisting the urge to cough and alert anypony nearby of his espionage.

“Now, if I were important, highly illegal, documents Iron Hoof wouldn’t want anypony to see: where will I hide?” He asked nopony in particular.

Most would’ve started at the large, flaunting desk imported from Griffonstone, but the posh stallion knew Iron Hoof wasn’t naive- most crime lords weren’t. And since the floor was made of carpet, there was no point in pulling back any loose floorboards, leaving his search to begin by knocking lightly on the walls.

Trotselt remembered when he first met the withered sack of decaying flesh and bones: the day he got kicked out of Van Horn University for not-so-pleasant reasons. Back then, emotional, angry, down on his luck, and recently stripped of his source of materials and homing, let’s just say he got a bit desperate. His mother and father disowned him, having traditional, outdated views on what a stallion should be, spitting on his desire to create clothing instead of taking on more ‘masculine’ and noble-like paths. So no family insurance. Any friends he had couldn’t be trusted, if he could even call those stuck-up asses friends. In addition, slowly falling to the break of stress chipped his natural charm to fiddle with foolish bit-loaded tramps looking for attention.

The school’s scholarship was his only consistent source of income, and it was all but ripped away.

Looking to the past, Trotselot would prefer jumping off Canterlot Castle’s highest peak than ever speak with Iron Hoof. A vicious cockroach he was, a paranoid, psychotic pony bent on holding anything to his family’s name and wealth at any cost, even if it meant defying everything a pony was. It’s either a case of disposophobia or a pony stuck in the past.

Knock! Knock!

Nope, not a single false panel or hollow point in the walls or behind paintings. “...Maybe.” Looking up, Trotselot saw a small vent over where the desk’s leather foreleg chair sat. Rounding the desk and positioning the luxury seat, he devoured the great pleasure of creasing the expensive material with his unwashed hooves as he stretched upward. Using his wings would cause too much noise.

Unhooking a latch securing the vent cover, the sheet metal face fell, and a gush of warm air impacted the posh stallion.

Did he regret his life choices? Not really. Maybe? Trotselot knew he had an idiot streak, and tricking more innocent, kind lovers for whatever task he needed to complete stung his heart, but it’s dog-eat-dog in Canterlot’s noble void. Learning his silver tongue from his whorish mother’s tricks she used on her secret ‘Stallion friends’ helped as well. Commoners hated performing menial jobs to pay the bills, and Trotselot hated his lifestyle to keep afloat. Major celebrities and artists today can’t have holidays or sick days- the smallest amount of falter in an ever-growing field of relevance would eat a pony alive.

If he kept staying with Iron Hoof? Well. Keeping the lights on and bits flowing would be the least of his problems if the pruny bastard got bored of him.

“Ah ha!” Trotselot cried, only to slap a hoof against his mouth and go rigid.

…Good, nopony heard him.

Feeling something brush the tip of his hoof, he doubled his efforts and quickly dragged the item, a cylinder-shaped box, out of hiding and stepped down. “Let’s see what ol’ Hoof keeps from me.” He snickered, twisting the cap off using his wing and shaking rolled parchment onto the tidy desk and away from the overflowing ashtray.

First meeting Silver Lace and Brandy in-pony during their first meeting was rather interesting.

Going off his immediate observation, Silver Lace put on a front of seriousness and professionalism that the dumbest hillbilly bumpkin could tell was fake by how she looked at Iron Hoof. She was madly, hopelessly, in love. Unless the master of seduction and desire lost his touch, Trotselot would have to ignore her rump shifting every time he spoke or a subtle lip-bite when he’d look in her direction. Other than her filly-like affections for the vile demon, Silver Lace was every bit as cruel as Iron if past rumors of her company's poor business and work practices were true; no wonder he bothered to have her around.

Brandy, however, is a long-time friend of his. Broken ponies usually tended to drown their sorrows with whatever bits they managed to find, and he so happened to wander inside her bar.

She had charm.

Trotselot’s eyes, his hooves unfurling the scrolls under his gaze, widened in shock as they scanned over drawings and cursive lettering. They dated back decades, but each of the ten sheets was a catalog of clients who loaned under-the-table funds from him, everyone having the amount, date of withdrawal, and…order of execution. There was a column for payment dates- mostly empty, but he couldn’t say the same for executions.

Then, nearing the latest dates, Trotselot’s eyes stop alongside his breathing, feeling a lump form in his throat upon seeing his name on the list.

Client name:
Sway De Trotselot

Date of withdrawal funds/amount:
-10/12/978, 12:56 pm ($4,000)
-1/22/979, 11:00 am ($5,000)
-1/31/979, 3:00 am ($300)
…
…
…
-5/2/1001, 6:39 pm ($500,000)

Date of payments:
(N/a)

Order of execution: …

Trotselot breathed a massive sigh of relief at seeing the last box lacking even a dot of ink, his legs turning to jelly. “Thank Celestia.” He sighed. It looked like Iron Hoof saw something worth keeping, considering Trotselot spent most of his time plotting against him in secret rather than spying on the savage mare.

“Huh? Fine Point, you idiotic mare! I told you to keep my office unlocked when I arrived.”

Shit.

Hearing the enraged, ragged voice of Iron Hoof behind the rattling handle of his office door, Trotselot swiftly rolled the catalogs into his dress coat, replacing their container in the vent, and made it toward the windows the desk faced before the clicking of a lock reached him. “Who’s in there?!” Iron roared, the posh stallion practically smashing the windows off its hinges as he pushed it open and flew off just as the door slammed open. Not looking back once, Trotselot rocketed down the street, narrowly avoiding ponies as he escaped.

At least his cutie mark was related to being a spy.