V: No-Leaf Clover
“I have been expecting you.”
“I’ll bet you have,” Lucky muttered under his breath.
“Of course I have,” Clover the Clever said, responding to a statement that there was no way she should have heard. “Thy fame precedes thee, and thy personality even more so.”
Lucky Break fumbled with his words, being caught off guard by her response…
**********
“…Twilight? Are you alright?” Celestia asked.
Twilight’s quill was paused mid-page and, if Celestia was not mistaken, mid-sentence. She eyed her mentor with curious astonishment, who gazed at her in return with a mixture of concern and amusement. Finally, Twilight spoke.
“You… you’ve seen… you’ve met Clover the Clever?” she stuttered incredulously. “Creator of the Ruminatic Technique and the Farsight Spell? Author of ‘Harmony in Hearth and Fire’? One of the Founders of Equestria?”
“I have,” Celestia replied, a coy smile forming on her lips.
“Wow…” Twilight murmured. She leaned back, simply contemplating the implications. The gears of her mind were grinding at maximum speed, Celestia could tell. Finally, she opened her mouth, and released a flood of questions.
“What was she like? What did she say? How did she become Canterlot’s presiding magician? Why wasn’t she Arch-Mage? Did she show you any magic? Did you get to see her perform the Ruminatic Technique?” Twilight gasped. “Did she teach it to you? What was-”
Celestia put her hoof up, a motion that Twilight recognized as a quieting gesture. The princess held a gaze of calm focus on her cup of tea, which was now only halfway full. Her horn lit with a deep yellow-orange, a color that always reminded Twilight of the sun. The teacup began to shake. For a fraction of a second, there seemed to be a small distortion in the air, as if reality itself had been torn. There was a crack, and in the next instant, before her were were two identical cups of tea, both filled the exact same amount.
Twilight was stunned. “I’ve never seen anypony do that before… some have even theorized it to be impossible!”
“It can be very dangerous, my student,” she said gravely. A small smile reappeared on her face. “I only use it when I am particularly thirsty.”
She took a polite one sip from one cup, and again from the other.
“When I met her,” Celestia began before Twilight could ask any more questions, “she was very old. She served as councilor to the unicorn Princess Platinum for many years. When the princess passed, Clover herself was given the opportunity to represent her race. She declined, electing instead to pursue the magical arts.”
Twilight had resumed her furious note taking. The scratch of quill on paper almost seemed like a nostalgic song to Celestia, reminding her of days past, when, to Twilight, she was less of a princess and more of a tutor.
“She was actually the one that proposed the foundation of the Royal Magi, with the purpose of bettering all of Equestria through magic. She was due to become Arch-Mage, but when the war happened, the hierarchy elected somepony with a more war-like skillset.
“Clover was always interested in the advancement of magic, even if only for the sake of advancement. However, she never lost sight of what was truly important.” Celestia looked at her pupil.
“In some ways, you remind me of her.”
**********
“Y-yes, well,” Lucky stammered. He paused a moment to collect himself. “I suppose the nature of our visit is just as plain?”
“No,” Clover replied. “Should it be?”
Lucky was again caught off guard.
“Why hast thou come?” she asked.
Lucky cleared his throat, and took on a formal tone. “I attend at the pleasure of the Royal Magi, who-”
“Pardon my manners, Lieutenant,” Clover interrupted, “but it is not thee whom I address.” She carefully motioned to Celestia with a wrinkled, lavender hoof. “You, my dear. Celestia. Why hast thou come?”
Celestia was momentarily surprised. For the course of the entire journey, she had been traveling as something of an afterthought, a mere objective in the completion of Lucky’s errand. Now, someone spoke to her directly, someone who knew her name. It seemed to bring her down from being an aloof observer to a proper participant.
“I…”
Why had she come? Because of the insistence of another. Because she knew of no other option. Because she was frightened. Did she have a real reason, one important to her? Only one thought came to her mind, but that one sentiment burned brightly with purpose.
“I come seeking truth,” she said softly.
“What’s that, dear?” Clover said, putting her hoof up to her ear. “I prithee, speak louder. Mine ears are old, and my hearing faint.” Lucky rolled his eyes.
“I come seeking truth!” Celestia declared, increasing a little in volume and boldness.
The ancient mare gave a slight nod and a subtle smile. “Good.”
**********
“I want your absolute confidence in this.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Upon pain of death, you are to tell nopony.”
“Of course not, sir.”
“I'm serious. Her condition is like nothing you've seen.”
“Pardon? My condition…?”
“I understand. Don't be troubled, doctor to patient confidentiality is of my oath and utmost concern. But if I may be so bold, sir, a moderate abrasion and swelling of the leg is nothing to be ashamed of. Even if my eyes deceive me, I rather doubt you could show me a wound or condition I have not already seen. I have been in the business of medicine more years than even the war."
Lieutenant Break gave the unicorn physician a scrutinizing scowl before speaking again.
“We'll see.” He motioned to the doorway, where a mare stood with a dirty white coat and messy pink mane. She was wearing a hooded, forest green cloak that looked like it had seen better days.
“Your concern is misplaced, Lucky,” the mare said. “I’m sure the good doctor will perform admirably.” Her voice was a pleasant soprano, light and, though perhaps the doctor imagined it, innocent. Even through all the muck and grime, he could not help but notice that the mare was, for lack of a better word, pretty.
The doctor smiled. “Of course, milady. Rest assured, Sir Break,” he continued, turning to the soldier, “that your lady is in good hooves.” He thought he saw the mare cringe at the words ‘your lady’, but she did not say anything about it.
“Indeed,” the mare followed, “you may depart.”
Lucky’s head swiveled back and forth between the two.
“Very well,” he announced, almost haughtily. “My cloak, if you please.” He motioned to the clothing the mare still wore on her shoulders.
“What…?” the mare questioned, surprised at the request. “Yes, fine. Certainly. I have no more need of it.” She unhooked the neck clasp, and flung it off of her back towards Lucky, who deftly caught it with one hoof. She rolled her shoulder blades and slowly stretched her wings, working out the knots of discomfort that came with stuffing them under a cloak all day.
She stretched her wings.
She had wings. And a horn.
The doctor stood in the presence of an alicorn.
He let out a gasp.
“You… you…!” he stammered, staring at the mare, mouth agape. This really was a condition he had never seen. “You…!”
An expression of confused concern grew on the mare’s face. Behind her, Lucky briskly motioned a slash across his neck several times, a signal he knew to beg his composure.
“Doctor?” the mare asked, concerned. The physician shifted his gaze to the pleading magenta eyes of the mare. It was not the frantic motions of the soldier, but the innocent tone of his patient that brought him back to control.
“You… look positively filthy!” he cried, shifting his words to fit his outburst. “Why, such muck is ill-befitting of a lady! Come, let us clean you up.”
He forced a grin at his patient, and then toward the soldier. Lucky eyed the doctor precariously before straightening his chainmail and moving toward the door.
“I'm off to an audience with the Master Clover,” he said, dismissing himself. “If you wish to see her as well, it will have to wait until morning.”
“When will I see you again?” the mare asked. Lucky did not stop.
“I don't know,” he said dismissively. In the tone he spoke, he may as well have added, ‘and neither do I care.’ He went through the door and rounded the corner. His echoing hoofsteps faded into the distance of the castle hall. The doctor and his patient waited until they were completely gone before carrying on.
“Right, let’s take a look at that leg of yours,” the doctor spoke, breaking the silence. “Would you care to sit down?” He motioned to a thinly padded medical bench. The mare hobbled over and sat, offering her leg to the doctor’s care. He began unwrapping the old bandage.
“I don't believe I learned your name. To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“Celestia,” she murmured.
“Celestia, ‘tis a pleasure,” he said. The doctor waited for her to return the question, but she did not, electing instead to blankly stare at the door where Lucky had just exited.
“I am Doctor Cross,” he introduced, taking the initiative, “but you can call me Red, if you wish.” She did not seem to care. His eyes kept flicking back and forth between her horn and her wings. He still could not believe it… this would not bode well for him…
Celestia’s gaze turned back to him, and caught him eyeing her features. She seemed distraught. He looked away, silently cursing his own foolishness and vain superstition. He was a professional, why was he not acting like it? It took all of his effort and willpower not to ask his patient about her ‘condition’, having both wings and a horn, and being markless to boot. He finished unrolling the bandage, and examined her leg.
He cleared his throat. “The wound is not bad,” he announced, trying to regain a form of composure, “but you have been walking on it too much. I will give it a fresh bandage, but the proper thing for it is rest and relaxation.”
“Yes, of course,” Celestia said politely. “My thanks, Doctor Cross.”
A few silent minutes passed. Doctor Cross dabbed and swiped at the splotches of blood on Celestia’s leg. She winced at the pain every now and again, but remained silent the whole time. The crimson stains drastically contrasted with the white of her coat, but after some effort, the doctor was able to clean it all, leaving only an ugly scab. He wrapped a small bandage around it, and examined his handiwork one final time. He nodded in approval.
“Easy enough,” he said dipping his hooves in a small basin of water. “Stay put, I will go fetch a tub of hot water for you to wash up in.”
Celestia nodded, and watched him leave the room.
**********
Cloak still casually draped across his back and chainmail still rhythmically clinking, Lucky strolled down the castle corridor. His chamber was far from the infirmary, but he did not mind. It gave him time to think, time to plan. Time to sort out everything that was happening. He did not look forward to the inevitable meeting with Master-Adept Clover. It also did not ease his mind that Celestia had to leave his sight. If ponies found out before they were supposed to…
He passed a pair of patrolling guards. They stopped and stood at attention, smartly saluting as he strode past. He nodded his acknowledgement, and walked on, not breaking stride. Even out of formal attire, they recognized him. There was hardly a pony in Canterlot who would not, even if his fame was earned riding on the coattails of a pony much greater. Surely, tales of his feats could be heard now and again, but mostly he was known as the face that always appeared beside the Maiden’s. At the tactician’s table, in rank and file, during parades, and most importantly, in battle. Constantly by her side. Right where he should be.
That was all about to change. He could picture it now. Once the council learned of his survival, they would no doubt name him as Commander. He would elect Apple Crumble as Lieutenant-Commander. There would be a ceremony. Of course, they would all politely congratulate him, thank him for his service, perhaps even tell stories of his conquests. But behind his back, he knew their whispered conversations would be much different. They would all make known their pity for him. ‘Poor colt,’ they would say, ‘what a shame, she was a great commander.’ Rather than celebrating his success, they would mourn his loss, and Lucky would not blame them for it. He would likely do the same thing. His ceremony, he knew, would be every bit as sorrowful as her funeral had been.
He finally reached his suite. He nudged the wooden door open, and stepped inside. It was a rather humble living space, but he counted himself fortunate to have it. Real estate inside the palace was extremely limited, and therefore extremely valuable. It was also rather minimally furnished, but that was of his own doing. There was a dresser for storing clothing, a chest for storing personal equipment, a full mirror, and a modest bed. In the corner was a tub of clear water, no doubt brought by one of the servants after he had requested a hot bath. He dipped an experimental hoof into the basin. It was ice cold.
The only visible decorations were the ornate, purple curtains drawn across the window on the far side of the room. He was actually not in Canterlot very often, and did not mind the plainness of the room. Indeed, sometimes he actually thought he preferred it.
Lucky tossed his cloak away, and it gently floated to the floor. He began working his chainmail off, unhooking clasps and untying straps all over his body. Finally, it came loose and fell to the floor in a great pile of metal and leather, ringing with a series of rapid metallic clinks. He shook his mane, and shuffled over to the full mirror to inspect himself.
He was dirty. His mane was messy, and his coat was unnaturally flat and strangely patterned from wearing armor all day. On the battlefield, it would have been nothing. In Canterlot, it mattered. The citizens were certainly not high-and-mighty, like some ponies were in other, more western cities. Many of these ponies were still the original inhabitants of the area, farmers, laborers, and the like, grateful for their castle but humbled by their origins. Still, when it was possible, they preferred to keep the ‘messiness’ of the war outside of the walls, wanting very much to keep alive the image of a safe and secure mountain fortress.
Lucky met his own gaze. His sky-blue eyes were not the same color they used to be, he realized. Perhaps he was imagining it, but some of the vibrancy seemed to have bled out.
Staring into his own, war-weary eyes, a thought struck him: could he ever really replace Daylight? As a commander, maybe, but he would never fully escape her shadow. The ponies serving under him would always wonder what she would have done, what decisions she would have made. So would the hierarchy, and so would the citizens of the kingdom. So would he.
Even still, he was an able leader, a brave soldier, and a clever tactician.
As a commander? Maybe.
As a hero? As a legend? No. Never. He doubted anyone would ever tell his story. He would be lost in the annals of history, like so many others.
He sighed. Now was really not the time for reflection. He ambled over to his dresser, and retrieved a long haired brush. He had work to do.
**********
“Forgive the delay,” Doctor Cross apologized as he returned. “There was an incident in the garden.” He magically maneuvered a large wooden basin into the room. Curls of steam rose from the hot water inside.
“You would scarcely believe it! There was this big, stray cat…” His words trailed off as he realized he was talking to an empty room.
“Celestia?” he called. There was no response.
**********
“Enter.”
A pair of great wooden doors swung open, groaning with effort and age. On the other side of the entrance stood an unusually clean Lucky Break.
“Lieutenant, thy presence one most welcome. It has been much too long. Thy dress is impeccable. Come closer, I beseech thee.”
He stepped through the enormous arched doorway. It was true. His dress was impeccable. He had bathed, his coat had been groomed, and his mane brushed. Weeks of dirt, sweat, and bloodstains had all been scrubbed out. The only marks of battle the soldier still bore were the irremovable scars and his seemingly perpetual war-face. His outfit was trim and tidy, an official Commander’s jacket colored in a bright red. It served no purpose except to look nice and display rank.
Gone was Lucky, the traveler and escort; now entering the room was the acclaimed war hero, Lieutenant Lucky Break, second-in-command of the Maiden’s Battalion, and second most famous soldier in Canterlot.
“Well met, Master-Adept Clover. May all the Gods’ good greetings be upon thee.”
“Well met, Lieutenant Break, and to thee likewise.”
Lucky continued further into the room. It was big and dome shaped, and his hoofsteps echoed off of the ceiling. Clover hardly ever left Canterlot, but why she got such a spacious chamber was beyond him. Depicted on the rounded ceiling and walls were elaborate star charts, permanently painted into the metal and stone. Shelves lined the edges of the space, filled with books, scrolls, and strange contraptions with unknown functions. To one side, there was a large desk messily covered in papers and notes, and next to that, a small door that went Clover’s living quarters. In the center of the room was a large telescope, elevated on a platform and deployed through a collapsible opening in the roof. This was not merely the Master-Adept’s office and workshop; it was a grand observatory, one of only four in Equestria. Of those four, hers was almost certainly the greatest.
“Thy quarters are as impressive as ever,” Lieutenant Break said, taking on a polite tone and adopting a formal, archaic syntax. He may have held contempt for the Master-Adept, but he let none of it show through. Although it was steadily waning, Clover still held significant sway in both the Equestrian Hierarchy and the Royal Magi. Of the former she had many connections; of the latter, she was the co-founder and a veritable second-in-command. To bathe, groom, and dress was an effort well worth Lucky’s time. Anything to avoid treading on important hooves.
“As is thy bearing,” Clover responded, not actually looking at him. She peered through her telescope, while simultaneously taking notes with a magically levitated quill. “Even at this, the late hour, and after such travel, do thy manners pass well. ‘Twas my fear to find thee in fouler spirits.”
“I am nothing if not well-mannered, Master,” Lucky responded tactfully. Oh yes, he thought, I can play this game just fine.
It was indeed late. A full moon and a sky full of stars were clearly visible through the opening in the dome, casting a soft white glow into the room. If the position of the moon and the dark circles beginning to form under Lucky’s eyes were anything to go by, it was right around midnight.
“I am sure thou didst not come to enjoy my company,” Clover spoke, taking one last note. “Please, Lieutenant, sit.” She motioned to her desk, the same strewn with inky parchment and wrinkled scrolls. “I shall be but a moment.”
The Lieutenant did as he was asked. Clover stepped back from her telescope, and off of the elevated platform. Her horn began to glow with a deep purple magic. The telescope, enveloped in a swathe of telekinetic power, lowered and withdrew, while a large sheet of perfectly shaped metal was simultaneously drawn over the opening in the ceiling. For several seconds, the room was an echoing chamber of metal hinges and rolling wheels. Eventually, it stopped, and the two were left in relative darkness, the only light coming from Clover’s fading magic. Only a moment later, magical lanterns hearkened to an unheard cue, and lit up, illuminating the room in a fluorescent white light.
“Now then,” Clover said contentedly, “let us begin.” She began walking over to her desk.
Everything Clover did was slow, and it annoyed Lucky to no end. She moved slowly, she spoke slowly, and when she did speak, she was slow to find the topic. Lucky was a stallion of action. He was either in a battle, training for a battle, or otherwise making preparations for a battle. Even sleep was a tactically rationed resource, as he allowed himself enough to stay alert, but never over-indulged.
It was a full ten seconds before the ancient, trembling mare had moved to her desk. Inwardly, Lucky was screaming at her to hurry up. Outwardly, he held the poise of a veteran diplomat.
“So, Lieutenant,” Clover said seriously. “How dost thou fare?”
“I… pardon?” Lucky asked, surprised.
“The affliction upon thy face is apparent. Thou dost bear the lines of a pony much older. Such symptoms bode ill for a colt as young as thyself. I shall ask it again: how are you?”
“I am… well, Master,” Lucky managed, struggling to keep his tone. “Mayhap I bear stress, but thou shan’t find a pony that does not, nowadays.”
“Dost thou speak of me?” Clover said. Speaking over his subsequent protest, she laughed and continued. “Fret not, my wrinkles bespeak age. Forged in the fires of wisdom, are they.” Again, she chuckled dryly, the kind of sound only an old pony could make.
The Lieutenant’s composure slipped just a bit, as his expression allowed a subtle twitch of annoyance. “Forgive me, but do we not treat for matters more urgent?”
The Master-Adept frowned. “The young ponies today, always in such haste,” she muttered. “Very well, allow me to… debrief thee.” She said the word with an air of disdain.
She sighed. “Begin thy report.” Lucky cleared his throat, and drew himself up, pulling his Commander’s jacket straight.
“The weapon…” Lieutenant Break began.
“The mare,” Clover corrected.
“The alicorn,” he rephrased, his voice straining. “Aside from a small injury on her right foreleg, she bodes well. She is acceptably fit, if not somewhat weak, and she bears no illnesses. She is not quite the legend the Magi made her out to be, but I am confident that given enough time and training, she will be ready for deployment in-”
“Lieutenant, allow me to halt thy report for a moment,” Clover said, cutting him off rather suddenly for someone who spoke with such slowness. “Thy desire is to make her a soldier, is it not?”
“Indeed it is,” he responded cautiously. “For this purpose was she born.”
“I see,” Clover contemplated. “Has she told thee as much, then?”
Lieutenant Break hesitated. “No, she has said no such thing.”
“Then how hast thou found such knowledge? I know that thou hast gifts, Lucky, I myself have helped hone them. Has mind reading been added to the repertoire?”
Lucky gritted his teeth. “Indeed not.”
“Then again, how dost thou know?”
“A quill’s purpose is to write, and a sword’s purpose is to slay. I do not give thought to ask my blade if it wishes to perform,” Lucky stated confidently.
“Is she a piece of shaped metal, then?”
Lucky stared straight ahead, his expression having reverted to his default stoic scowl. Eventually, he answered.
“No.”
“I see,” Clover repeated contemplatively. “Tell me, Lieutenant Break, how does she fare?”
“It is as I have said, her condition is quite healthy-”
“Not her bodily condition, Lieutenant. As a leader of ponies, surely thou doth understand the importance of morale. How does she feel?”
Lucky let out a small growl of irritation. “Can you not ask her yourself?” he said, his tone less than amiable. Clover cocked a questioning eyebrow at him. Lucky sighed, and again tempered himself to calmness.
“She is confused, Master. Just as they had predicted, she has no memory. I believe she feels the need to prove herself in the face of uncertainty. Earlier today, she tried to fly simply because I spoke in jest that she should not.” Not wanting to add to the incompetency of his ‘weapon’, he did not say how embarrassingly she had failed.
“She is without purpose, Master. I merely aim to give her one.”
“Wrong, Lieutenant,” Clover interjected. “Thou art wrong. She has purpose, one methinks you would fain approve. Seated deep in her heart, she feels the absolute desire to destroy Discord. She will not rest until this very thing has happened, for she cannot. It is impossible. Thou wouldst sooner sleep upon a bed of coals. Her waking mind may not know it yet, but her nightmares shall drive her to the uttermost revenge.”
Clover adopted a distant expression, looking past Lucky at some unseen thing. “’Tis a most unfortunate shame.”
Lucky’s gaze could not have been more intense. “Unfortunate? Shame? Do we speak of the same Discord?” he asked wildly.
Clover eyed him curiously, but he made no motion to pardon himself. “I should hope so. Our kingdom has warred for fifteen years. Mayhap thou art in need of a history lesson?” she calmly teased. “Yes, ‘tis a shame. Or dost thou enjoy nightmares?”
The mask of stoic diplomat had been dropped completely. Behind it was a soldier, incredulous and desperate. Behind it was a pony who reached for the perfect tool, one to solve all his problems, only have his wrist slapped away like a disobedient colt.
“My life is a nightmare! And what would you have her do? Would you have her sit behind the frontlines? Would you have her lounge in the farthest castle in the farthest land, idly wasting her time away? Would you have her, have her find love, and start a family, and, and, and weave baskets? While our armies work and fight and die to protect her against a war we may every well lose?” His voice had risen to a wild, out-of-control roar. He slammed his hooves on the desk. “What would you have her do?”
The giant observatory doors burst open, and in rushed a pair of unicorn sentinels, horns glowing and swords at the ready. Lucky’s gaze swung around to face them. He was panting. His chest was heaving. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. In his anger, he realized that he had stood from his seat and had his hooves firmly planted on Clover’s desk. There were small cracks in the marble.
“Master-Adept! We heard shouting!” one of the guards called. “Is everything alright?”
Lucky looked back to Master Clover. She regarded him with an impassive coolness. It was impressive, considering the size difference between the athletic, powerfully built earth-tribe stallion Lucky, and the frail, elderly unicorn Clover.
“I do not know,” she murmured. “Is everything alright, Lieutenant?”
Lucky shifted his gaze from her, to the guards, and back again. His breathing slowed. He slowly slid back into his seat, dusted off his hooves, sniffed once, and quietly hung his head. So much for courtesy, he thought. All that dressing up for nothing. There were indentations of his hooves imprinted on the desk.
“All is well,” Clover called to the guards. “The Lieutenant and I are simply chatting. You may leave.”
One of them cast a wary gaze at Lucky, who remained silent. “Yes, milady.”
The guards nodded, and their swords slid back into their sheaths. The pair of them exited the room, pulling the doors closed behind them, but not before eyeing Lucky suspiciously once more. The doors closed with a thud.
There was a brief, contemplative silence before Clover spoke.
“I am rather fond of this desk, Lieutenant.”
There was no response.
“You bear a love for your country that few share. Would that all ponies were as passionate as you. Perhaps then, such drastic measures need not be resorted to.”
Lucky did not reply, but he noticed her language reflected a dropped premise of formality.
“I am going to ask you to do something for me. I am going to ask you to think.”
Lucky raised his head and looked at Clover, hesitantly but inquisitively.
“Think,” she began darkly, “about what Discord really is. Think about his true nature. He is anarchy incarnate. He spreads chaos as far as his claws can reach. He frolics in the pandemonium by day and slumbers in the bedlam by night.”
Her tone had become one of teaching, a cross between a tutor and a storyteller. “This war, the one we find so awful? The one that causes the death of so many innocents? The one we fear may never end? The very war that we, with all our hearts and souls, do so vehemently hate?
“This very same war does he love. What is war but civilized chaos? War is his game, and you, Lieutenant, are just another player. Though you are a skilled player indeed, you cannot beat the master in his own theater.”
“What then do you propose?” Lucky said, finally breaking his silence. “Shall we lay down our weapons, disarm our ships, and open wide the gates of our castles?” He tried his best to make his tone even and emotionless, but it still betrayed some residual anger.
“I propose nothing of the sort,” Clover responded matter-of-factly. She rose from her seat, and slowly shuffled towards one of her shelves. “Nor do I berate the bravery of our soldiers. They serve our nation the only way they know how.”
She reached the shelf, and retrieved a device of unknown purpose, and idly examined it. It featured a long, thin metallic tube, leading into a box of curious metalwork and set in a stock of wood. In days past, it had been a weapon. Now, it was a relic. “I merely suggest, Lieutenant, that this war will not be won in a military campaign. The tragedy of Hieyuma, at least, has proved as much.” She set the device back down.
“They were magic-less, powerless creatures,” Lucky declared. “We will succeed where they failed.”
“You are correct, they were without magic,” Clover agreed, “but they were not without power. I saw their works with these very eyes, and they were mighty works indeed. Their ingenuity was unparalleled, their industry was without compare, and their motivation was extreme. Within years of first contact, those clever Hieyumans had a military might beyond measure.
“And yet, when it came time, all of their brave soldiers and all of their ingenious machines amounted to naught. Why is that?”
“I thought I spoke it plain,” Lucky said dismissively. “They lacked the proper magic.”
“I happen to know that you dislike magic, Lieutenant, nearly as much as you dislike me,” Clover said, not with bitterness, but more like stating a fact. “Why then do you put so much faith into it?”
He answered with a noncommittal grumble and looked away.
“Discord cannot be put to the sword, nor shall the gallows ever see him swing. You would find more success in trying to slay a shadow. It simply cannot be done.” Clover again stood from her chair, and began to lecture, pacing back and forth. It was an old schoolteacher’s habit; she outgrew the occupation, but never the routine.
“Of course this put the hierarchy ill at ease; what army can be mustered against a foe that cannot be slain?” she asked hypothetically. “And again, what army can be mustered against a foe that is without mercy, a foe that will not accept surrender?
“No mortal endeavor could save our nascent kingdom, or our precious hierarchy. And so what did they do? They turned to the eternal problem solvers, the Royal Magi. Magic is undefined; its very existence is a science that is very much unexplored.” She paused.
“Trust me, I know. They do not call me ‘Clover the Clever’ without reason.
“In their desperation, the Magi did a very dangerous thing. They assumed. They assumed that in the massive, unseen equation that is magic, there was a solution. They hoped that somewhere, wedged in between the unknowns and only just out of our grasp, was a force that would put everything right. A spell, a savior, a something that would reveal a way to defeat the Madness.”
“Old hag,” Lucky said contemptuously, his previous humility forgotten. “You bore me with stories I have long since been told.”
“Then hear me now, and hear me well!” Clover spoke suddenly. “As a Master Adept and as the oldest hag of them all, I can say this with confidence. Magic is not the weapon. It is the catalyst.”
“You speak in riddles!” Lucky replied with frustration.
“Then you have a new language to learn, don’t you, young Lieutenant?” she retorted with a surprising amount of spirit for one so old. “And it would do you well to learn quickly, because the only two tongues you seem to speak are military strategy and foalish disrespect.”
“Perhaps I am inarticulate, but at the least my vision remains!” Lucky cried. “You lack faith in weapons of magic, crafts of your own art, when not an hour ago walked before you the very exemplar of such things, perhaps the greatest proof one could afford to show!”
“Oh? Mine eyes are indeed failing me then, if I missed such a thing. It must have been hiding behind that frail little alicorn.” Lucky fell silent.
“Tell me, what great feats of magic have you witnessed? What earth-shaking, god-slaying spells have been performed? Have the stars been moved? The mountains made flat, the plains made oceans? Oh happy day, because if so, she has an understanding of the basics, and may move on to learning the magic to defeat Discord.”
Her statement was not particularly loud, but it seemed to echo around the room long after it had been said.
“She will learn. She must.”
“She will not.”
“What then?” Lucky beseeched. “Name the weapon, and I will move earth and sky to retrieve it!”
“It is no weapon,” Clover solemnly spoke, “it is a tool, and it has yet to exist. From a set of base elements is it made, akin to the pieces of a puzzle or, indeed, like the materials of a sword.”
“The elements, then. Where can I find them? And who is to forge such a weapon?”
“Tool, Lieutenant,” she corrected, “A tool. The blacksmith, the mare shall indeed be, but she is not the soldier you believe her to be.” Clover paused, looking at Lucky to see if she had his undivided attention. She did.
“The elements cannot be found, leastwise not in the method you suppose. The pieces are granted, one by one, only to those who are worthy of them. To those who find true Harmony.”
Lucky did not respond. His eyes grew dim, and his expression distant. Clover did not interrupt his contemplation. Finally, he spoke.
“…Harmony?” he whispered.
“Indeed,” Clover answered, slowly nodding her head.
Another moment went by undisturbed. Clover was beginning to think he might see reason, when without warning, Lucky jumped out of his chair, violently scooting it back and nearly tipping it over.
“I can stand no more of this jest,” he bitterly declared. He pointed an angry hoof at Clover. “You preach a religious fallacy that I refuse to hear for another moment. Victory precedes Harmony, and it is victory I will find.”
He turned on his hooves and made for the door.
“All the swords in the world cannot buy you your victory. Would you disregard your only hope?” she called mournfully. “We seek for the same thing. Stay and hear me, or the only thing you shall find is pain.”
Lucky stopped, but did not turn. “I will stay only to hear you confess where Arch-Mage Shimmer has gone. Perhaps she can provide proper aid.”
“Lieutenant Break… Lucky. Please.” It was a delicate plea, trembling and quiet.
“Enough! Your next words had better be directions or a dismissal.”
Clover only responded with a sorrowful silence.
“Bah!” Lucky exclaimed. “A pox on you, old hag. I will find the Arch-Mage one way or another, and it will be my action that saves our great nation, not your lunatic ramblings. Victory comes first. Victory has always come first.”
He resumed his furious departure. He took a dozen steps, and was just outside the doors before he heard another halting question from the Master-Adept.
“Do you remember the Maiden’s last request?”
He stopped in his tracks, this time slowly turning to face her.
“What?” he whispered dryly.
“Daylight. Do you remember her last request?” Her words, though nearly a whisper, rung with the bass clarity of a church bell on Sunday morning. It shook Lucky’s heart with the same vibrato.
He could hear some sort of clamor on the other side of the doors. He ignored it. Clover stood on the other side of the room, waiting for a response. His throat was dry. He licked his lips and swallowed.
“How dare you,” Lucky whispered hoarsely.
Clover titled her head in question, a somber expression still on her face.
“How dare you!” Lucky shouted angrily. “How dare you even speak her name! You! Who would cast away our only hope! Who would squander our resources and doom us to oblivion!” His voice was rough and thick with emotion. “She was my master and commander, and my best friend. She told me in confidence, in private, and you dare ask me if I recall? Who are you to know such a thing? Do you spy on ponies by night with that, that damnable spyglass?” He pointed a quivering hoof to the telescope in the center of the observatory.
It could have been the same outrage as before, but Clover knew better. This was not the righteous fury of a headstrong patriot. It was the mournful cry of a bitter heart.
“The Farsight Telescope is far smaller and weaker than you suppose,” she said calmly, “and nay, I do not use it for such purposes.”
“You lie!”
“You are avoiding the question. Do you, or do you not remember Daylight’s last request?”
“I remember! I remember her damned request! And who do you think you are, to tell me what that was?”
“Lucky,” Clover said, trying to calm him. “Please. I am not one to play foul. You know this.”
“No, I do not think I do. Not anymore.”
“Lucky, she confided in me as well,” Clover said. Lucky had a malicious riposte already forming on his lips, but stopped cold. “Lucky, she asked me the same thing she asked of you.”
He was speechless.
“Understand, I can only do so much. I am old. I am weak. Daylight knew this. But you...!" Clover trailed off, not finishing her thought.
"She confided in me for this very purpose. Your heart is so full of bitterness, Lucky, and she knew that.” Clover gave the Lieutenant a pitiful look. She saw past the athletic stature and the ornate uniform and the earth-tribe soldier who was ready to give it his all. What she saw was a child, a foal, afraid and alone. She knew Lucky hated her for this very reason, that she saw past it all.
“She knew you so well, Lucky. She cared about you, far more than you realize. She knew you would be like this. Such bitterness.” Clover shook her head sorrowfully. “If it is as you say, if you truly remember, why then do you so blatantly disobey?”
“That is… you… you’re not…” he stammered. He again heard something behind the doors, voices speaking to each other. It was distracting, but he paid it no attention. He awkwardly recovered the only way he could: through a retort of animosity. “You know not of what you speak, villain.” His face was a mask of stone.
“The times were few and far between where I disobeyed an order from Commander Daylight. Some of her strategies were difficult, some were even absurd, but they were never impossible. I always had the... good fortune to carry them out and live to tell about it.” He paused. “But three things stop me from completely fulfilling her final utterance.
“First, it was not an order. It was a favor. I am not honor bound to uphold it. Second, she is dead. Her appeal has died with her, and is no longer relevant. Third, the latter half is impossible.”
Clover’s countenance fell with each reason, but the third seemed to crush her completely. “Impossible, Lucky? Surely you do not think that.”
The doors swung open. Lucky did not notice.
“I do, because it is.” His voice rose, laced with furious contempt. “That creature, that alicorn that calls itself Celestia is a tool in the clothing of a mare! She may move to the music, but this is merely a marionette’s farce. Your hoof is steadier, but if you refuse to grasp the strings, then I will. When this war is done, and we are victorious, the kingdom’s gratitude shall not fall upon the sword, but rather the one wielding it.”
Lucky gave Clover a vicious look, who failed to notice it. She seemed to be looking past him, worry etched into her ancient face. This irritated him.
“That mare is a weapon, and naught else!” he shouted.
His voice rang throughout the dome. Clover was aghast. Lucky sneered, thinking he had debated the Master-Adept into silence. He inwardly reveled in his victory. He was ready to announce his departure when he heard a quiet sniffle directly behind him. He froze. How could it be?
He slowly turned around to face Celestia. Shocked sadness was etched into her every feature. Her eyes were red and glassy. Her mouth was opened in distress. She closed it in a doomed effort to mask her sorrow. Tears formed hesitantly in her eyes and rolled freely down her cheeks. She was trying to summon the words to speak, but the only noises she was able to make were stifling, choking sobs.
Lucky’s gaze met Celestia’s. She flinched at the contact. His eyes searched hers, for what, she did not know. After a moment of grievous tension, she shut her eyes as tight as she could to break the stare. She turned and galloped out of the room, repeatedly stumbling on her hurt foreleg. The hall echoed with a poorly concealed lament. Lucky did not call to stop her.
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445107 its cool, but its too big! i know you like to write and make a good story, but as a fanart it should be shorter, the grammar is good and so is the story. thats all
This story is now a favourite of mine.
580613
I'm glad you like it! I'm afraid it got severely overshadowed in EqD's most recent story updates, what with Anthropology and Background Pony and the like. It feels nice to get at least a little attention, though.
Lucky, you're a jerk.
And man, talk about Mewtwo-esque angst.
Oh Lucky....
I'm certainly going to follow this story as it develops.
I'm assuming that Clover is expecting Celestia to use the power of friendship to forge the elements of harmony... Makes sence, since supposedly Clover is the first Unicorn to discover that power.
581276
You are 1000000% right
581276
)
The angst is reaching mewtwo-level proportions! Take cover!!
(...Actually, I’m not sure what you mean by that.
582463
You know, Mewtwo was created instead of born and raised, and he was created with the purpose of merely being a weapon, or at the least a tool. I'm getting similar vibes here, although the implications of Celestia's creation are far less malicious. Still a rough deal though. We all know it turns out just fine in the end, but this kind of story can only get darker.
581085
Ouch, a 2100 upvote story and a 1300 one.
You're doing good though, keep it up!
586042
Yeah, I know. He's supposed to be fondly recalling memories to provide some context and backstory for the reader, while remaining indifferent and bastard-y to stay in character. He comes off as a little too friendly as a result.
*A week ago, time to write chapter five*
Me: WELL WHY DON'T WE FIX THAT?!
Amazing story!
Wow. This is a wonderful story!
I really want to know that final command....
580078 You realize this is one of the shorter stories on this site?
Also, great job on the story, I eagerly await the next chapter.
588604 shortest? look i read plenty of stuff over here and its true i found longer than this but 30000 words for a fanart? not even my little dashie! whatever, someone better makes a dramatic reading out of this
594980
>30,000 words
>Not even halfway done
=D
But Feesh is right. There are stories, good ones, that are way longer than mine currently is. I aspire to the same kind of greatness, but I also realize that length can be a turn-off for some people. Thanks for reading, though!
594980 I didn't say shortest, but its is shorter than a lot. For example, the majority of stories I'm currently tracking are well over 100 000, some even breaching 200 000.
594980 I highly recommend a little story called Fallout: Equestria *620,000 words cough cough*
580078 It's funny that you say fanfics should be short, seeing as this fandom produced probably some of the longest fanfics ever?
That mare is a weapon, and naught else!” he shouted
_____________________________________________
Ohhhhhhh, Somepony needs a buck to the head to help him think.
I long suspected that Clover either created or at least theoretically defined the creation of the Elements of Harmony based on her experience with the Fires of Harmony that first Hearth Warming Eve. I had wondered if they were originally an older relic, lost and recovered time and again over the millennia. However, in this story, it seems that she is their creator and, by definition, one of the great magicians of Equestrian history, equal likely even to Starswirl himself.
I'm starting to wonder... Is Lucky the Element of Loyalty? There is so much in him that reminds me of Rainbow Dash's personality - the brash, tactless and cruel persona that is motivated by his love for justice, friends, loved ones and the right path.
Told you.
"Victoria intra bellum, armonia postea" won't save you now. Sure, you can fight the armies. Until you have a better solution, it's quite necessary to fight, unless everypony is to get very good at running. But anypony who knows what they're talking about could tell you that if anypony knows threats that cannot simply be fought, it's Clover. You know you should listen when she says that war only makes Discord stronger. You know Daylight knew.
Oh, and I guess you probably weren't related to Daylight by blood. My mistake.
This is one of my favorites now as well!OH CELESTIA!*runs after her*:
Hieyuma - magicless, with ingenuity, industry, and military. That almost sounds like the usual description for hu-...
You clever writer, you.
Well damn thats impressive.
oh.
OH.
Well damn. I just cried a little there.
597062
Greatness? I'm only this far in and I'm confident you've achieved greatness already.
Lucky is certainly holding onto a lot of anger. His conversation with clover was very well done. Clover is very likable in general, she goes straight to the point, trying to help Lucky understand first in the language he knows best, and then with emotional appeal. She doesn't seem to know him very well, else she might have avoided bringing up the religion he so scorns. Then we wouldn't have gotten such a delightfully entertaining debate though. With this chapter, and clover, you've earned yourself another like and favorite from me.
I hope the Hieyumans end up being a griffon empire or something.