1000 years since the end of the Great War
The war was ancient history, the suffering of a generation lost in the dust of history. Stories and accounts of the most brutal conflict in world history, distorted by retellings and embellishments. It’s details turned into books, board games, drinks and computer games. The suffering of those who endured it forgotten.
Its heroes and its villains have faded into: obscurity, myth, legend or forgotten entirely. Names like Soarin and Trimmel are household names, dropped in casual conversations, and at the centre of carefully woven tales. Thousands of tales of courage from thousands of unknown soldiers told at bedtime, or sung in nursery rhymes.
Equestria is gone, its pride and dignity forgotten. Its greatness taught to eager foals in the classroom, or debated by scholars in dusty universities. Old monuments which hundreds laboured over, great cities built by the sweat of thousands, and a civilisation millions bled for; rots in forgotten forests and empty graveyards. Crumbled ruins used as tourist attractions, memorials to war’s long past covered in vines, the names printed on having been long worn away by the greatest of killers, time.
Few still remembered the blood and the screams, but those few never forgot. Those cursed with immortality couldn’t forget, they couldn’t if they tried. It was impossible to truly forget ponies disappearing into the smoke, friends never returning and family being torn apart by bullets and shells. The enemy, wearing the faces of the fallen, rolling into cities and leaving behind a wake of death.
On a lonely hill overlooking a crystal blue stream, covered by an old oak tree, stood a single pony and a single grave. The grave was in pristine condition, some doubted it had really been there for a millennia, its stone showed no age, and the writing on it still perfectly legible. Neither rain or wind stained it, it wasn’t chipped or slanted; it was just perfect.
The pony overlooking it appeared like a statue. Her snow-white fur contrasting the blue skies and bright green grass. Her ethereal mane of many colours gently fluttering in an invisible wind. She wasn’t covered in any jewellery or royal attire, the citizen of Hippogriffia watching with an unreadable expression. A pair of large wings shifted uncomfortably at her side, ears twitching slightly at the rustling leaves in the old oak tree and the trickling of water from the nearby stream.
The gravestone stared back; the words printed on its face cutting deep into her. Words that this pony had tried to avoid for a millennia. Words which she had read about, been told about, and seen in her sleep. Words she hoped to never read, words whose existence and meaning she had run from.
Blueblood Solar
983-1013 CE
Field Marshal of the Grand Army of Equestria
Died fighting for Equestria during the Great War
'How can a pony die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods'
Celestia felt tears threaten to fall from her eyes as she kept staring at the gravestone. The enchanted stone blankly stared back. She knew that no matter how much she begged and pleaded, there would never be a response. Blueblood was long dead, he wasn’t ever coming back.
History was kind to Blueblood, they still told stories of him. Stories of his battles, his life in the Equestria of old, his wealth which eclipsed entire countries. Celestia liked to pretend that he was still alive, that the stories were his adventures abroad. She’d been in denial for a thousand years, it had to end. Her nephew was dead, the last descent of her parents was dead, and had been for a long time.
Celestia always had a frayed relationship with Blueblood, his family were direct descendants of her father and her only family outside of Luna who hadn’t been swallowed by time. Bluebloods arrogance and brash nature had always brushed Celestia the wrong way, but she’d still loved him. No matter what he did, she’d always loved him. Despite that, she’d left him behind, she’d left him behind to die with so many of her ponies.
Memories ran through her mind, their final conversation.
“Auntie you can’t leave!”
Tears threatened to fall from Celestias eyes.
“It doesn’t matter what you feel, what you do now is what you’ll remember for an eternity.”
Water started to stream down Celestias face in neat channels.
“If this fight isn’t worth dying for, then nothing is worth dying for.”
Celestia heard sobs begin to escape from her mouth, begging the unpleasant memories to stop.
“Every 10 minutes we hold the changelings back, another ship with a thousand souls escapes. It’s a trade I’ll make any day.”
Celestia collapsed onto her knees, sobbing as tears streamed down her face freely.
“If that’s your choice then go; and farewell Auntie, we shall never meet again.”
The last time she’d seen him was from the deck of the retreating ship carrying her and Luna. Manehatten was burning around him, guns roaring and ponies screaming. Families and refugees crowding the docks, trying to get on any one of the ships bound for New Mareland. As artillery began to land on the docks, he’d turned and galloped back into the chaos of the city, never to be seen again.
Perhaps that was the worst part of it, her nephew’s final fate being a total mystery. All anypony knew was that he was killed in the fighting and taken by some unknown mage to be buried in an enchanted grave on an isolated hill. He could have died in agony, or been killed instantly by an artillery shell. Whatever happened was lost to time, existing in noponies living memory.
Celestia cried his name up to the sky, crying in anguish for the family she lost. Even after all this time, she’d never come to terms with his death. He’d stayed behind and defended the city to his last dying breath, hundreds of thousands escaped that day thanks to him. Foals still ran in the streets and played; their lives owed to a pony who’d died so long ago. But still, Celestia couldn’t believe that Blueblood was really gone.
Every day since then Celestia wished she’d stayed with him and died in Manehatten, how many more could have escaped the Changelings, how many more foals would be playing in the streets today? Maybe she could have kept him alive, maybe he would have joined the ELF and led the rebellion to victory, maybe Equestria would be free today. If only he’d had more time.
Or perhaps she should have grabbed the unicorn in her magic and dragged him aboard the ship kicking and screaming. He would have hated her for as long as he lived, but he would have been alive. Blueblood might have finally settled down, found a mare who could love him and started a family. So many regrets, so many missed opportunities, all lost to time.
The Alicorn pushed herself to her hooves, casting the guilt from her mind and wiping the tears from her face. Turning her head sharply and facing the stream and valley beyond it, Celestia gave a sad smile. The ancient Alicorn turned her head again and looked at the lonely grave “It’s a nice view nephew, I’m sorry you never found anypony to keep you company.” She spoke, no reply came.
Celestia took a few slow and respectful strides towards the gravestone, she placed a hoof on its stone crest and brushed it across the top. Lighting up her horn, a single rose appeared in her magical hold, the former Princess of Equestria gently placed in on the ground just ahead of the grave. “I’m sorry nephew, I’ll let you sleep now.”
In a flash a magic, the Alicorn disappeared. All that remained was the lonely grave on a peaceful hill, and a single rose. The birds sang and the leaves rustled, water trickled and fish jumped. Time continued to move on its endless march, and the world forgot that another pony had ever been there.
Author's Note
I had this lying around on my laptop, its an edited version of a cancelled chapter from my ongoing EAW series. Hope you like it. If anyone on the EAW team reads this, I love your work and I love the mod despite having never seen MLP; keep up the good work chaps.
