Book Two: Chapter One: The Brief Calm
Myths and Birthrights
By Tundara
Book Two: Duties and Dreams
Chapter One: The Brief Calm
It is a universal truth that the death of anyone young and filled with the vibrancy of life is especially hard on those left behind.
Rarity’s death, and subsequent funeral, in particular, caused an entire nation to mourn. In the days that followed the Element of Generosity’s sacrifice, the papers ran article after article listing her many accomplishments. The precise nature of her death was widely speculated upon. Few could accept the official story of a sudden, swift illness claiming the hero. How could a pony who’d faced the god of chaos, invading armies, and single-hoofed driven off a clan of Diamond Dogs suffered so mundane a fate? The more suspicious elements went so far as to claim a cover-up, that Rarity had died on some clandestine mission for the crown.
These theories never gained much traction, and by the time she was laid to rest, only the most suspicious or cynical of ponies continued to make such claims.
The funeral was held in the traditional unicorn manner on the sunny morning of the first of May.
Blossoms from the nearby orchards danced over the hills in soft pink swirls, teasing the mourners with how beautiful a day they’d been granted for such a somber occasion. Acting early, the weather team had made certain the skies would be clear of any obstructions or blemishes that rolled off the Everfree Forest.
Almost everypony in Ponyville were gathered in the fields near the library to pay their respects. Ordinarily, the wake would have taken place in the town’s temple, but Ponyville possessed none. Since the graveyard was too small to handle so many mourners, they’d had no choice but to move it to the fields nearby. Between the pavilions and banners erected to support such a large number of ponies, it was easy to mistake the gathering for that of a fair. All of Ponyville’s most prominent were in attendance, from the Mayor to fellow members of the local business council and her many, many friends. Others came from further afield too, traveling from Manehatten, Bolton, Canterlot, and all points in between. There was even a contingent from Vanhoover. Ponies from the world of couture fashion mingled among farmers and nobles leaned against local labourers with the dress uniforms of military officers from the Royal Guard and Navy sprinkled throughout.
The officers in particular caused a low hum of conversation. Everypony in town knew Rarity as an exceptional and dedicated dressmaker, but none had suspected her ties to the military.
“What would they have made of this?” Magnum mumbled to himself, head turning a little to the conspicuously empty place beside him where Bonnie should have been.
He’d been the one to make use of the curulícum Rarity used to send letters to her mother to inform Bonnie of all that had transpired. Thousands of miles away, off the coast of Trotugal, Bonnie mourned in her own way; by getting hooves over head drunk and shouting obscenities at her crew. At night, as the bottle of rum was emptied, she’d slink into the cabin and send a small letter through the enchanted flames of the exorbitantly expensive candles.
Magnum nodded as First Sea Lord Jib Sail moved along the line to give condolences.
“A great tragedy, and all Equestria grieves with you, miss Belle,” Jib Sail said a little stiffly on reaching Sweetie.
She returned his words with a mute nod.
The ancient mariner then moved off to join Lady High Admiral Melee Lulamoon, who conversed in a somber tone with the High Arbiter of Celestia’s Judicators and the Commandant General of the Cloud Conclave.
In the week since Rarity sacrificed herself to stop Serene, Sweetie had not spoken a word. She’d locked herself in her sister’s home and sat staring at the photos of her and Rarity. Pictures, in grainy black and white, or touched up with a painter’s brush. Pictures of them at the Sisterhooves Social, sitting at a cafe sharing a milkshake, or Luna’s first Nightmare Night in Ponyville. Rarity had fussed endlessly over her costume that year and missed all the fun with Princess Luna. The one that drew Sweetie’s attention most, however, was one of the oldest.
Corners faded, Rarity sat on a cushion next to a bassinette. She was no more than a little filly, cherubic white with her mane seeming black in the old style photo. Time and the sun left once crisp contrasts blurred, and the edges were almost lost in a hazy grey. But the little bundle in Rarity’s hooves was easy to identify. It was the oldest picture of Sweetie, taken shortly after she’d been born.
Fresh tears prickled underneath her eyes, and she scrubbed them away with a furious swipe and sniff.
“Here, deary, take this,” the next pony in line said, offering a folded kerchief out for Sweetie.
She didn’t say thank you, only looked up and found herself in the shadow of Fancy Pants. Tears rimmed his own puffy, red eyes, and his mustache quivered with barely suppressed emotion. Her mouth opened to say something as she returned the kerchief, but no words came, and she slowly slid it shut again.
“I understand, I understand,” Fancy leaned down and wrapped a hoof around Sweetie to bring her into a soft hug. “You need not say anything until you’re ready.”
He broke the hug after giving her a final, comforting squeeze and moved off to join the others.
Sweetie stared after Fancy Pants, and didn’t hear or see the next several ponies that spoke to her.
Thought slipped away, falling deeper and deeper into her melancholy. Her every aspect spoke volumes of the grief tearing her young, innocent heart asunder. On that day, such a beautiful blue to any other eye, all the disc was grey, dull, and empty.
Sweetie frown only grew, a line of carriages pulled by members of the Royal Guard rolling along the lane.
Her jaw tightened as the doors to the trio of carriages were opened. Celestia and Luna descended from the first carriage; their heads held high, but their normal smiles gone. Both wore a wreath of white lilies in place of their usual tiaras. They were followed by Cadence, Shining Armour, and Tyr from the second carriage. As with the elder princesses, Cadence and Tyr also wore lilies. Sweetie narrowed her eyes a little at Tyr, then widened at the sight of the filly’s restored wings. A tight knot of rage twisted her guts at Tyr’s presence. Why, she screamed in silence, was she even allowed to show her face when she was the one who’d brought all the recent troubles down on Equestria. The rage only grew, then fell into a cold nothingness as Iridia, Twilight, and Fluttershy descended from the final carriage.
Fluttershy was the last to emerge, her head held low and uncertain, brilliant teal eyes shifting from side-to-side, searching for someplace to dart and hide. A futile desire, as all attention was fixed on the royal entourage and drawn to her stunning beauty. Petals fell in floating waves from mane and tail alike, so they filled her wake in dancing splashes of red, pink, white, yellow, and blue. Even they could not steal attention away from the spiral horn peaking out from her mane, try as Fluttershy might to hide it beneath a hat.
The princesses and queen gave their condolences to Magnum and Sweetie, and then went to stand on the other side of the funerary scaffolding that would become Rarity’s pyre.
Twilight lingered longest. The princess’ eyes were red and puffy, and she tried to speak several times before her words finally came.
“Sweetie… I am so, so sorry. This is my fault.” Twilight sniffed, but no tears fell from her eyes. “If I hadn’t left when I did, if I’d been here for you both, I could have, no would have, saved her.”
Still, Sweetie could not say anything. She could not even give a smile or frown, only drop her gaze to the space between her hooves.
Twilight was wrong. It wasn’t her fault. It couldn’t be her fault. She didn’t bring the shades to Equestria. She didn’t protect them with silence. She didn’t survive.
Sweetie glanced up as Fluttershy took the spot Twilight vacated, the Taigan princess lead to the others by her mother’s wing.
“Sweetie.” Fluttershy’s voice was soft as it had ever been, but held a far greater force since her ascension. Rather than words, Fluttershy attempted to give Sweetie a hug. A hissed intake of breath, sharp recoil, and furious glare halted her attempt. After a few moments lingering in silence, Fluttershy retreated with a soft, “I understand,” and went to join all the other alicorns.
Nostrils flaring, Sweetie turned and marched away. She could not be there any longer. She could not bear a moment more in her presence.
Her departure did not go unnoticed, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo slipping away from their families to follow. They caught up to Sweetie just as she reached Rarity’s shop.
“Ain’t you going to stay for Princess Celestia’s eulogy?” Apple Bloom asked, coming up to lay a comforting hoof on Sweetie’s shoulder.
Sweetie just shook her head and shoved her way inside. The showroom was half packed and filled with boxes all sorted by destination. Some articles were destined for storage, while others had been set aside by Magnum to be donated to charity, or earmarked for rich collectors willing to pay a high premium for a bauble once belonging to Equestria’s hero. Yesterday, a similar box with an odd smattering of Rarity’s possessions had been sent to Notre-Dame de la Chanson. Rarity’s old, worn scissors, the first gem she’d found, a lock of hair taken from her tail. Within the temple’s vaults they’d be placed as holy relics.
Snorting, Sweetie began to put everything back where it belonged. Her friends, thankfully, didn’t protest and instead set about helping.
An almost comfortable silence settled on the trio as the worked, rehanging pictures, laying the last dress Rarity had made out on a mannequin, and others on the racks or displays. Sol moved by small degrees from one set of windows to the next, and the day began to close.
Just as supper time approached, there came a knock at the door. With a look Sweetie told her friends not to answer. Stock still the trio stood, staring at the doorknob in silent anticipation.
“Girls?” Twilight asked, her voice drifting through the window. A twist, the chime of the doorbells, and the princess stood illuminated in the doorway. Behind her, peeking around the corner, Fluttershy could just be seen along with a small contingent of guards in the street. “How are you doing?” Twilight asked, stepping inside, closely followed by Fluttershy.
“We’re okay, honest,” Apple Bloom indicated Scootaloo with a tilt of her head, who just gave a grim nod in return.
“Sweetie?” The question came from Fluttershy, so soft as to almost be lost in the silence that gripped the shop.
Rigid with furious loathing, Sweetie didn’t so much as look in Fluttershy’s direction, shoving a photo album stuffed with dress examples back onto a shelf.
“It’s okay to be mad.” Twilight came up to Sweetie, steps silent, and extended a wing. Her touch was ghostly, tingling through Sweetie’s coat.
A projection, Twilight hadn’t left the Bellerophon. The attempt Sweetie made to throw off Twilight’s wing was futile, passing through the princess’ illusionary body. Her rage spiking deeper into her chest, Sweetie snapped, “Leave me alone.”
“You’re hurting,” Twilight stated, but didn’t try to follow Sweetie as she backed away. Instead, her large, lavender eyes offered her deepest sympathies as she said, “And it’s my fault.”
“Your fault? No,” Sweetie growled, then thrust a hoof at Fluttershy. “It’s hers! She killed my sister. Rarity is dead because of her!”
“Sweetie, you know that isn’t true.” Now, Twilight did approach Sweetie again. “Fluttershy is as much a victim as Rarity. And how can Tyr be considered to have had any part in what happened?”
Twilight failed to notice the grimace that twisted Fluttershy’s face, but Sweetie didn’t. Scrunching up her eyes with incredulation, Sweetie stood rigid as she shot back, “That crazy filly brought those spirit-shade-things here! One of them attacked you, remember? And Fluttershy threw Rarity off the cliff! She killed my sister!”
At this declaration, tears began to stream down Sweetie’s cheeks, and she was wrapped in the embrace of her friends. She refused to sob. But, the tears could not be contained.
Sharing concerned looks, Twilight and Fluttershy were at a loss as to how to help.
Listening from the other side of the door, Celestia turned to Magnum, “Mr. Belle, I think it might be best if you and Sweetie come to Canterlot for a little while. A change of environment will be good for Sweetie. As it would for every pony else. Arrangements have already been made for the Apple sisters to spend time at the palace. If Scootaloo comes, Sweetie will have the support of all those who love her, with none of the terrible reminders.”
If Magnum ever thought to argue with the princess, his concerns were not aired. Truthfully, it struck him as an excellent idea, and after bowing he gave unconditional agreement to Celestia’s suggestion.
In the valley below, winter was all but forgotten beneath the growing balm of early May. Not so up in Canterlot. Despite the rapid approach of summer, a cool mountain wind fell from the Canterhorn down into the streets of Canterlot’s Western District. Confined within those narrow alleys and avenues, it picked up speed, ruffling Applejack’s loose golden mane as it howled by on its journey towards the city’s edge and spilled into the valley below. She hitched her light jacket up a little further to ward off the chill, and stepped out from the crowd of similarly dressed ponies.
Wide steps rose beneath her hooves leading towards the entrance to Notre-Dame de la Chanson, or, in the Equestrian tongue, Our Lady of Song.
She was the oldest building in the entire city. Older than the university, older than the city, older than even Canterlot Castle built following the War of the Sun and Moon. Half the temple thrust out onto a natural ledge while the remainder was sunk into the mountain itself using a combination of natural caverns and carved chambers. A terrace extended from the ledge, giving the city its distinctive look hanging over the Equis Valley.
On Sundays, the entire temple would fill with the faithful and resonate with their song until the heavenly sound flowed out into the city and the valley below, for which Notre-Dame de la Chanson was given her name.
Applejack slowed to take in the broad face of the temple, the one hundred and one etched carvings of ponies going about the daily life of Equestria at the time of the temple's construction. Most of the acts were simple, from washing clothes in tubs to tilling fields with simple hoes. Surrounded by the smaller reliefs stood six rearing representations of the Saints of Harmony, one each on either side of the great, iron banded solid oak doors. Passing through the Earth door, Applejack said a silent prayer to Saint Cookie before she stepped into the entrance to the grand chapel.
Above the central, Unicorn door, a great rose window let the light of the noon sun into the heart of the temple. Each pane of glass, stained wonderful blues, rich purples, or vibrant reds, showed the scenes of Hearth's Warming, from the exodus out of the Old Queendoms, to the trials of the three tribes, the Earth Ponies and Unicorns in their ancient ships and the Pegasi dragging their ancestral cities, to the banishment of the Windigos by the Saints, ending with the spread of the message of Harmony to the newly united ponies.
Slowing her strong stride, Applejack found herself confronted by the statue of the sisters. In marble painted by the light cast by the North Rosette, Faust and Iridia stood entwined, frozen in the act of dancing around the other. For the longest time, Faust had stood alone on the raised platform, as she did in every temple across Equestria and the Old Queendoms. How the priestesses had replaced the previous statue stymied Applejack.
Unicorn magic, no doubt.
She shook her head at the change. There’d been too many in recent years.
Before she could begin to move, her eyes were drawn from the statues to the ceiling. Painted frescos taken from the holy books of Names, Sol, and Selene covered the entire surface. It was here, in this singular sanctuary, where Celestia the Goddess took precedence over Celestia the Princess.
Portrayed as a young maiden, her mane a fluffy candy-pink, Celestia played in green fields with several foals. Much of the scene couldn't be seen for the scaffolding reaching up towards it as skilled experts performed the necessary acts of maintaining the frescos. If not for the repair work, two additional dark toned fillies would have been visible chasing after Celestia.
The images merged into those of Celestia as she looked during the war against Nightmare Moon. Her mane and tail raging infernos of flame licking the air and eyes burning embers of barely restrained vengeance, she was an avatar of power, unfettered and raw. Coronal Edge at her side, she cleaved through a nameless black mass of shadow as fire poured from her horn.
Midnight blues swirled around Celestia's white coat with a moon half hidden by the Mare-in-the-Moon in the next fresco. A tear clung to Celestia's cheek as she gazed up to the moon, a song clear upon her lips, as she mourned the war, and the loss of her sister. She was joined by Cadence, the Goddess of Love stern faced, and refusing to gaze up at the night. Around them Equestria mourned, heads bowed low.
The final fresco was the founding of Canterlot, and Celestia as its protector. Sheltered beneath her wings were ponies, all reaching up towards the goddess. Through a break in painted clouds shone a beam of sunlight, the golden pillar pointing the way towards the Canterhorn, the mountain devoid of the city.
Applejack wondered at the authenticity of the scenes. All the stories she’d learned as a little filly were changing. First Luna’s return, and the re-introduction of the Book of Selene. The tales contained within that book… A shudder ran up her spine. Now, Iridia had re-appeared, and just like her niece, not as the monster that formed the core of so many cautionary tales. Twilight possessed the original Book of Spring, but would it too see wider distribution? What portions of history had Princess Celestia twisted and distorted to protect her herd’s perfect image? In the harsh light of truth, what would be revealed?
Snorting, Applejack dropped her gaze from the ceiling and started ahead, passing a series of alcoves along the nave. Here stood statues to the remaining alicorns, each painted with such life-like precision it seemed they would step off their plinth at any moment. Before each statue was a low, plush bench on which to kneel while praying and a little area for offerings to be made. Dozens of candles flickered, inset into the polished granite wall. Behind the statue reared a tall window of stained glass facing towards the west.
Here again Applejack was confronted with change. Celestia, Luna, and Cadence were familiar, and Twilight’s statue expected. The statue of Tyr, however, came as a surprise. But, it was the statue of another, unknown dark-coated filly beside Twilight that pulled at Applejack, altering her course down the center of the nave to the alcove.
The statue had not been present at the elaborate funeral held just a week prior, when the ‘relics’ belonging to Rarity had been sent down into the vaults, and an empty casket placed in the crypts. Or, maybe she just hadn’t noticed. Everything about the two funerals were a blur.
“The Dreamwalker,” spoke somepony at Applejack’s shoulder, making her jump.
Biting back a sharp retort, she turned to find a stout unicorn mare gazing up at the statue. Her bouncy brown mane was held in a gold and emerald shawl that flowed down to her withers. Her large hoop earings showed her to be a mare of some wealth, while her face had the weathered, serious look of a pony that spent a life well lived in the sun.
“Alanotte,” the mare introduced herself with a stiff nod, Applejack responding in kind.
“Is she one of them that fell with Tyr?” Applejack jerked her head towards the statue.
“Fell? Oh, no. She is a legend in Old Queendoms.” Alanotte came up to stare at the statue. “The Springbringer’s first daughter. Saint Clover was tricked into helping a terrible pony steal her immortality. It cost Clover her sight. The story says, as she’d been blind to his intentions, she became blind to the disc. A lesson on the dangers of Pride. Too much of it in that era, and it cost the disc gravely. I did not expect the sisterhood of Equestria to put her statue out.”
“Twilight has an older sister?” Applejack tilted back her hat and took in the statue a little more, noticing details she’d missed before, like how similar the eyes were to Twilight’s, or the spiral of her horn. “Ain’t no stories of her out here.”
“If the stories can be believed, it would be a difficult subject for Celestia and Luna.” Alanotte shrugged. “And the princess has a habit of hiding that which causes her pain, rather than confront it in the open.”
“Now, ain’t that the truth.” A low, disappointed chuckle worked it’s way from Applejack. “How do you know so much about this?”
“Well, as its keeper, I studied the Book of Spring until I could recite its passages from memory. The book covers only the first thousand years, and isn’t concerned with history but parables and lessons. Some practical magic too. It gave me a hunger to know more of the old stories, so I sought them out. Celestia could not wipe all knowledge that she deemed troublesome away in the Old Queendoms as she did here in Equestria.” Alanotte wore a motherly smile, and there was little disapproval in her tone.
“Hmm,” Applejack didn’t try to hide her growing frustration. Her mane prickled with a rising heat, and a bitterness coiled across the back of her tongue.
“I am happy to get to speak with you, Lady Apple,” Alanotte continued.
The heat flared a little higher, and Applejack snapped, “Ma’am, please don’t call me that. I ain’t no ‘lady’.”
Alanotte’s smile didn’t waver, little offense showing on her face. “If that is what you want.”
Applejack wasn’t surprised when she was followed from the statue.
“Equestria is so different from what we hear in Zbori.” A pause, one intended for Applejack to ask some follow-up that she refused to voice. When it didn’t come, Alanotte continued regardless. “We do not do the rite of Names as you do,” she indicated with a nod where a group of priestesses were tending to the main altar.
Situated at the far end of the apse, flanked by stands for the choir on one side and an old brass organ on the other, tubes snaking up the walls, the altar was being attended by a few sisters under the direction of a mother. Soon, mares from the surrounding countryside would flock to the temples to participate in the ritual in which they’d learn the names of their unborn foals. While most villages had at least a shrine to the Namegiver, few had a proper temple. Even Ponyville lacked such a place of worship.
A little smile crept at the corner of her mouth as Applejack thought back to when she’d gone with her mother for Apple Bloom’s naming. They’d taken a train to Manehatten and visited one of the many temples the city boasted, spending a few days with her cousins in the Orange clan.
It was one of the last memories she had of her mother.
“What’s so different about how we do things?” There was just the slight hint of reproach in Applejack’s tone. “We’ve done things the same as always, far as I know.”
“In Zbori and Elesia it is not done in the temples, but the fields outside. And all at once. Hundreds, or even thousands of mares, all sharing the same experience of hearing Her voice whisper the little ones’ names.” Alanotte grinned, and Applejack found herself liking the gypsy, her anger giving way at last to something softer. It was a little bit like she were looking through Granny Smith’s stories to her ancestors when they’d wandered across the Heartlands.
“So, what are you doing here?” Applejack asked, turning down the transept towards a private side door that lead to the reliquaries and crypt.
“Sight seeing, I believe you call it.” A long laugh broke from Alanotte. “I have little to do. My daughters, sons, nieces, and nephews are all training with the Nightguard. They try hard to be ready to serve the Nightwatcher when she returns. An old dame like me? My time has come and gone. I performed the task appointed by the gods and brought the Nightwatcher the Book of Spring. All I have left is to pass what I know to my apprentice. What of you? What brings you here?” She waved her hoof around the main nave, with its benches capable of holding thousands of ponies.
Applejack stopped at the small, plain door. She wondered what she was doing as well. It wasn’t like Rarity was buried in her tomb. After Serene’s destruction nothing had remained, not even ash and dust. Even if the casket weren’t empty, Rarity would have long since crossed the rivers of the dead to Elysium.
Tears prickled her cheeks, then ran freely in thick rivulets that left her fur matted as a heavy sob broke from Applejack. The crying came as a shock, as she was far more angry than saddened by Rarity’s death. Her loss was wrong and unjust. Serene stole Rarity from everypony, leaving a gaping wound behind. None had been hurt more than Sweetie Belle, and it filled Applejack with so much anger.
Yet, here she was, sobbing like one of those flighty, dainty nobles she disdained so much.
A hoof wrapped around her shoulder and before Applejack could offer protest, she was brought against Alanotte’s neck. Warm, spicy scents crawled up her nose, and the gypsy matron’s mane tickled her face. There was strength too. Despite being older, though not old, a long life of moving from town to town had left her strong and sinewy beneath her coat. For a fleeting moment, Applejack thought about her mother.
“Thanks,” Applejack sniffed and rubbed her eyes clear as the tears subsided.
“It is alright. My daughter was a cryer too when she was pregnant.”
With a searing flash, the anger took hold again.
“I ain’t pregnant!” She snapped, pushing herself away.
“Oh, child, I know a pregnant mare when I see one.” Alanotte half turned to show her cutie mark, a large foal rattle sitting in a bassinette. “I have been a midwife since I was nay higher than my mother’s knees. In all those years I’ve learned that looks can deceive, and moods are shifty things regardless, but the flow of a mare’s magic is always correct; and your magic is flowing to your baby.” She leveled a hoof at Applejack’s ever-so-slightly growing sides.
“But, I weren’t with no stallion this season,” she growled, hackles raising further.
“That doesn’t always matter. I’ve known mares get pregnant over a month before and after the season.” A hoof came forward to pat Applejack on the withers then stroke her mane. “It is alright, child. You must have already known.”
Did I? Applejack asked herself.
With everything else that had happened, she’d hardly considered the season at all. Had there been any of the usual symptoms? The heat and itching. The primal thoughts and desires. She couldn’t recall. Her heat cycle never was all that strong, and with work, she’d always had a distraction. Something else on which to focus so that it was little more than a slight annoyance crawling across the back of her neck.
Sitting down with a heavy thump, she gazed down at her fuller waist and belly.
The rich, creamy foods served in the palace could not explain her weight gain, nor the odd cravings that had been growing in regularity.
A whisper could have knocked her flat in that instant as so many little things all fell into place.
“I’m pregnant?” The words tickled across her tongue as if they were from some foreign place. She gasped, hiccuped, covered her mouth, and then in a stronger voice through a growing grin, said, “I’m pregnant.”
And then, the fears came crashing down around her withers like boulders in a landslide. She’d never even talked about foals with Soarin. He was so intent on his career, and she had the farm to run. Did he even want to have foals? And, Granny Smith! Granny Smith was going to be so disappointed. She always said to find a good stallion and settle down, and then have the foals. Not the other way around.
Tears of joy and sadness threatened to spring anew, her throat tensed, and her head spun with conflicting emotions. She tried to shake away the twisting cloud, find a point of stability on which to rest, but all she could think about was the foal inside her, and what it meant.
The disc welcomed Fleur with howlings winds, groaning wood, and water dripping onto her nose where it had wormed through the Bellerophon’s overworked sides. Blind panic gripped her throat, and she reached for her husband in reflex, seeking the comfort of his warmth and strong legs.
He was not there, of course, back as he was in Canterlot so far away. All she found was dank, musty air through which to flail her hooves as her cot swung on the upwards roll of the ship. The roll proved unfortunate, tossing Fleur onto the floor of the cupboard sized cabin. On the way her chin struck the narrow desk with a sharp crack. Spots burst in front of her still sleep blind eyes, pain flaring through her jaw.
Groaning, Fleur didn’t move from the damp wood decking until only a dull ache resided in her jaw. Running her tongue along her teeth, she was surprised to have avoided chipping or dislodging any. Or biting her tongue.
Stepping out of the cabin, she was almost tossed against the wall by another lurch and shudder that worked it’s way through the ship. Taking extra care, hooves spread wide, Fleur at last managed to make her way aft towards the princess’ cabin.
After knocking, and a thin, reedy voice answering, she stumbled her way through the door.
The grand cabin was far more cramped than Fleur remembered. A second, large bed sat snug above a cannon on the port side, a twin to the original Twilight used. Magical lights glowed along the beams, casting a steady, yellowish-pink light that gave everything a jaundiced look.
Around a long table sat Princess Twilight with her friends, as well as her guards. It was the pony at the far end of the table to really drew Fleur’s attention.
Fleur never imagined she’d see Faust Invictus, the fabled Queen of All Ponies, outside of a painting. She was… smaller than Fleur expected, only a little taller than Twilight. Where as Twilight was still growing into her new position as the Goddess of the Stars, Faust had no such advantage.
Her dark, ruddy red mane was slicked to one side, the ends curling up in a tight bounce, showing off the sleek lines of her neck. There wasn’t the peytral omnipresent in artwork and busts of the queen, nor was there even a crown. Yet, no pony would deny at a glance that this pony stood above all others. Jewels were unneeded when her eyes shone so bright, like a pair of the most brilliant blue diamonds.
It took somepony clearing their throat for Fleur to realise she was staring.
“You’re awake!” Twilight motioned for Fleur to find a seat at the table. “We were just talking about...” Fleur tilted her head as Twilight’s voice trailed away. The princess twitched, a scowl briefly appeared, and then shifted to a forced smile. “Things. About things like, um, Zebrica.”
Head resting on a hoof, Rainbow snorted and rolled her eyes. “You really are a horrible liar, Twi.”
Uncertain, Fleur hovered for a moment longer, just enough time for the ship to give another lurch and almost launch her onto the table. Several telekinetic auras flashed around the table, grabbing a hold of Fleur and various cups, plates, and a game of Stones set between Twilight and Faust.
“Can’t you do anything about this weather?” Rainbow complained as everything was settled back in place.
“We told you we can’t.” Twilight snapped back, ears flicking into a flat line. She quickly looked away, out the broad, black windows that ran the breadth of the ship’s stern. “Well, yes, we could, but it will have consequences elsewhere. It’s like—”
“Butterflies flapping their wings. I know. You’ve used that analogy a dozen times today.” Rainbow rubbed her temple with a hoof and leaned back against the wall.
“It’s a simile,” Twilight quickly corrected, then her attention went back to Fleur. “You better sit down.”
Pinkie scooted a little tighter against an already squished Rainbow Dash, waving a pink hoof at the open spot at the table. It was a tight fit, with so many bodies pressed up against each other or wedged against the wall so not to be tossed about.
Not looking up from the stones board, Faust said, “We were beginning to fear there’d been a miscalculation. But you seem to have weathered your own, personal storm at last.” Her voice was every bit the match of her stately air. It was obvious where Celestia had come by her royal demeanor and presence, and Fleur couldn’t help but be enthralled.
“Uh, Oui, Your Majesty.” There was no room to bow at the table, so Fleur settled in a deep nod instead. “I am uncertain what happened. I remember being on the island, fighting the golems, ponies screaming, retreating towards the beach, the stench of mud, silt, and drying seaweed… then nothing. We won, I see, but, how?” She shook her head sadly.
“Well, after I woke Faust, Leviathan took my eye,” Pinkie let out one of her a jovial grins, split by a happy giggle, and pointed to her eyepatch, with its gold embroidered skull and crossbones. “Faust and Twilight cast a spell to put the big meanie to sleep and keep her locked up for the next really, really, really long time, then we came whooshing up to find the island sinking and everypony leaping into the boats to get back to the ship with you and Rainbow all tired and bruised from fighting a different big-bad that almost—”
It was at this point Rainbow shoved her hoof into Pinkie’s mouth, ending the tumble of words before they could grow to a truly prodigious length.
“I used that spear you summoned to defeat that three-legged demon.” Rainbow flashed a cocksure grin. “He did something to you. Looked like he was draining your magic, or something. You feeling alright?”
Fleur just shook her head, at a loss to comprehend the stories.
Was she alright? Now that the confusion of waking from a deep slumber had passed nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There were a few little pinches and aches in her back and legs, nothing a long massage couldn’t remedy, however. If she’d been anywhere near her regular masseuse. Quickly, she closed her eyes and ran an imaginary hoof over her magical reservoir. Here too things were normal, her magic a calm silver lake. Far larger than it’d been before all the craziness of Athena, and being host to the shade of a goddess, but placid once more, rather than tossing and in turmoil.
And then it hit her; silence. No distinct hum at the back of her head. No continual shifting tides of anxiety, despair, and anger. No voice. No presence slinking along the contours of thought and memory. Only an emptiness.
Athena was gone.
Shooting from her spot, Fleur took to pacing, her thoughts too quick and wild. She needed to move, body filled with a sudden energy. Electric jolts rippled down her legs. Tail snapped and whipped. And her breaths came in quick, staccato gasps through mouth and nose.
Was the goddess really gone? She needed to make certain. Holding her breath, she prodded the recesses of her mind where Athena liked to lurk.
Silence.
And Power.
Fleur almost tripped, though not by any machination of the Bellerophon and the storm. Her magic responded to her inquiries in a surging tidal flow. Over imaginary banks it gushed to reach her, eager to be formed and shaped in whatever ways she required. Whether a simple extension of her will in the form of an aura, or a true spell, her magic yearned to serve. It filled her gut, heart, and head with a shimmering song, and then stopped, waiting like a well-trained dog would the command of its master. The image expanded, solidified, the dog taking shape and gaining colour until it were a great, white mastiff, huge in the head and shoulders, but with calm, discerning eyes.
She’d never tried to picture her magic as an animal before. If she had, it wouldn’t have been some war-hound, but a little, sweet papillon like the one her father had kept as a companion. Yet, this felt right, like there could have been no other expression to her magic.
As unbidden as the mental image came, it vanished. Her magic quieted, dormant once more, yet always at the ready.
“Fleur?” Twilight’s voice drifted across the great cabin.
Shaking off the thoughts, Fleur gave the princess a poised smile, and said, “I am, how you say, fine. Je suis mieux que bien. Athena… I can’t hear her anymore.”
Twilight and Rainbow shared surprised looks, while Faust merely stared her flat, porcellian stare. Every bit the equal to Celestia, Faust was utterly unreadable. A slight tremor trickled down Fleur’s back. There was something to Faust’s gaze, but what, Fleur could not place.
It was Pinkie who spoke first. “That’s so sad,” she said, vanishing from her place between Rainbow and the guards and appearing next to Fleur. Hooves wrapped themselves about Fleur’s neck, and a face buried itself into her mane. “She was one of the nicer ponies from Gaea. She meant well, even if she made a big, bad mistake and hurt you.”
Pinkie squeezed Fleur tightly, and refused to let go.
Rigid, and uncertain what to say, Fleur looked to Twilight and Rainbow for help.
They merely shrugged in return.
“Uh, merci.” The thanks were mechanical. Rote. Lacking anything beyond the slight discomfort crawling over Fleur’s coat at the contact. She was relieved when Pinkie was plucked up by Twilight and floated back to her spot at the table. In an attempt to brush past the topic, Fleur sat back down as she asked, “What of everypony else? Did the good marine captain manage to get the crew to safety? How— How many did we lose?”
An icy veil fell across the cabin. Rainbow’s ears dropped. Pinkie’s mane lost what little bounce it had retained. Tears unable to be shed welled in Twilight’s eyes. And shame weighed heavily on the four guards wedged silently together at the far end of the table.
Realization dawned at once, and Fleur gave a soft, “Oh, mon dieux,” and covered her mouth in shock.
A heavy weight crashed down on Fleur’s heart. She’d liked the stuffy marine captain from the few little interactions they’d shared. Walls of station and protocol had prevented her from really getting to know him, or any of the officers on board. Twilight and her group were separated from everypony else, even though they were so close to one another physically.
Only the doctor seemed able to bridge the divides, and this by his peculiar combination of being not only a gentlestallion, a medico, but also a level of societal ignorance that both fascinated and, at times, appalled Fleur.
As if he were privy to her thoughts, the cabin door was pushed open and the good doctor stumbled into the great cabin. At his side came his tiny assistant, a filly rarely seen outside the medical bay, her nose usually pressed into one of her master’s books when she weren’t helping tend to the invalids.
“Madam, there you are!” he cried out at once, piercing Fleur with his watery, grey gaze. With him came the captain’s steward carrying a tray of cold mash and coffee. “Set it down on the table there, Barrel,” he said to the cantankerous old steward, indicating a free corner. Ignoring the stewards profanity filled mutterings as she set the tray down, he fixed everypony with his gaze. “Come now, not this again. It is of paramount importance none of you dwell on things. The mind is an amazing organ. Its propensity for self-destruction equalled only in its capacity to sustain and rejuvenate. Lady Belle would not wish you to wither away in mourning. What is it you say all the time, Lady Pie? Smile, smile, smile?”
The cold weight in Fleur’s heart only grew, a terrified quaver in her’s voice as she turned to Twilight. “What does he… speak?” Fleur’s Equestrian faltering in the flurry of building dread.
Twilight bit her lower lip and looked away, tears growing, but not spilling. Her own voice trembling, Twilight said, “She died protecting Sweetie, Applejack, and Fluttershy.”
“No, she did not.” Faust interjected with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I still see her thread bound to your own. It is surrounded by darkness, and it frays and shifts whenever I try to peer at its strands, but, it is not yet broken. Rarity is alive. I keep telling you this.”
“And I was there when she was buried!” Twilight snapped back, her mane crackling at the edges with a cold fire.
“A useless gesture,” Faust shrugged.
The ship lurched, kicked by a particularly strong wave.
Twilight let out a throaty growl, turned her gaze out the stern windows, and shot a bolt of magic into the churning ocean.
Almost at once the storm began to lesson, the seas calmed, and a sliver of sunlight peaked through a crack in the clouds.
“Well, that was unnecessary.” Faust gave a disapproving click of her tongue. “Acting out will solve nothing. My little Tia taught you this, Twilight. Now, some poor village on the isle of Stall is going to have four days of horrific weather, instead of just one. A mother and her filly will drown, and a father of four crushed by a tree. You are a goddess. Every action has repercussions.”
Twilight stared, aghast, her mouth working slowly, but no words coming forth.
Brushing past Twilight, and making for the door, Faust said, “Do not worry. I will clean up your mess. But learn from this. We must take great care when and how we exercise our powers. We can’t ‘act out’, as you say in this age.”
Then the Queen of All Ponies was out the door. A moment later a flash of potent magic struck Fleur’s senses as Faust teleported away.
Between Roam and Thul, at the southern end of the Thulean Sea, where it meets the greater Mareteranian, lay a series of dividing islands. Of these islands, only one was devoid of any sort of habitation, or even life. Rocky and bare of even weeds or a blade of grass, the place reeked of unnatural energies, all emanating from the solitary edifice at its precise center.
There stood the Golden Gate. A device more ancient and less understood than any other on Ioka’s disc. Many had attempted over the years to pry open the gate and discern the secrets it contained. Their bodies lay twisted and abandoned among the scraps of their camps.
Spectres and ghouls roamed the island underneath cover of the night, their twisted, malformed shapes acting as sentinels. Unable to find their way to the banks of the five rivers that carried the souls of the dead to Tartarus, they were forever trapped, and loathed all living things. In times past, necromancers and other foul practitioners of magic had come to the island in attempts to command the ghosts, only to join the dead.
Heedless of the danger and the lessons of their predecessors, adventurers still returned, each certain that they would be the ones to crack the mysteries of the gate.
Just such an expedition had set ashore at the first crack of dawn’s light. Their ship, the Crawler, a fleet winged forty-two gun frigate, rolled at anchor on the unsteady currents that surrounded the island. Battle scars marred her port bow where she’d intercepted an Equestrian merchant ship two days prior, a large gouge taken from the capstan and figurehead alike. In the brief, but bloody, battle, the Crawler had boarded the smaller, lumpish merchant, and taken from her a precious relic, and two captives; Doctor Yearling, and her friend, Dean Periwinkle.
Both of Equestria’s prestigious Honigwein College, it was the natural course of their affairs to be captured mid-point of an adventure. The two had become used to the occurrence, much like they were to having lunch at noon, or tea in the early afternoon. It was, therefore, with a level of stoic acceptance they sat in the launch as it went ashore, and were then marched to the island’s heart and to the wide dais on which the Golden Gate stood. It was equally natural that there should be a row of stakes already set into the ground, and that they should be tied to them with tight knots.
“How do I allow myself to be talked into these things?” Dean Periwinkle bemoaned, and tutted. “This is your fault, you know. Before I met you and your wife, the worst I had happen was a chipped hoof.”
“Oh, you love the adventure, Peri.” Yearling attempted to stretch her wings, but they were bound with unyielding leather straps and brass buckles. “Besides, we’ve been in far worse before.”
“Oh, yes. And that is a rather sad commentary, don’t you think, on our lives?”
“Silence,” snapped their enemy of the week, one Commodore Canard.
“We must leave this place!” Dean Periwinkle rubbed his left cannon, ears pressed flat to his head beneath his hat. “Nopony who stays the night is ever seen again.”
“Listen to him, you fools. These are forces no pony should play with,” Yearling added from the next stake over. “You have no idea what you’ll unleash!”
Spinning to thrust a hoof towards the crescent moon hovering in the west, close to her solar sister, Commodore Canard snarled. “We know precisely the forces with which we deal. The disc needs protecting from the arrogance and whims of a pair of gods that act for their own amusement. Now, tell Mrs. Do to come out of hiding, or else.”
“Oh, please. Do you know how many military leaders, cultists, and corrupt business ponies have threatened me, my wife, or our friends and colleagues?” Yearling rolled her eyes. “I think you make a second baker’s dozen.”
From the top of the ridge overlooking the Gate, Daring Do wetted her lips and planned the route of her attack. First, she’d grab the guards by the cannons and knock them unconcious. Then she’d take out the ponies setting up the tents. Slide between the large crates of gunpowder, setting a long fuse burning on the way, and conk the heads of the next two guards together. About then she’d be seen, and it’d be a running fight across the camp. The gunpowder would explode as she reached her love, and best friend, and after cutting their bonds with the small knife she kept on her for just such occasions, they’d head towards the boats in the chaos. Commodore Canard would make to intercept them, of course, and Daring would be separated from the others as she engaged in a drawn out hoof-fight with the power-crazed pony.
Plans made, she was but the beat of a hummingbird’s wings from setting them in motion, when there was the prodding of a crossbow at the back of her head.
“Ah, it’s one of those adventures,” Daring muttered to herself, and raised her hooves in surrender.
Lead down to the camp by a contingent of a good dozen rough looking stallions, Daring was in short order tied up next to her wife.
“You’re getting slow, dear,” Yearling teased. “Twenty years ago we’d have been half way back to the ship by now.”
“We’re not going to have this argument again, are we?” Daring rolled her eyes. “I’m as fit and fast as ever.”
“Mm Hm.”
“I am!”
“When we get home, we should again discuss retiring for good.”
“We don’t need to retire. There are plenty of ruins still to plumb, and many years for us to explore yet.”
“Dear, your wings pop every time you try to pull a sharp turn, and my knees aren’t what they used to be from all the jumping off collapsing bridges or over cliffs. And all this with your scarf of rejuvenation.”
“Are you two quite done?” Commodore Canard snapped, marching primly back and forth in front of his captives.
“No, but we can postpone our domestic disharmony a few minutes.” Yearling stuck out her tongue at the commodore.
Joining in, Daring attempted to make a rolling motion of her hoof, and only made the ropes binding her creak. “So, get on with your monologue. We know how you sort love these moments.”
Stopping in front of the impertinent duo, the corner of an eye twitching, Commodore Canard leaned in so close the stale whisky on his breath could be smelled. “I do not need to monologue! You will complete the ritual to open the Gate, or I will kill the good Dean, and then your wife.”
“And you complain about the princesses.” Daring grunted. “Well, I refuse to help.”
Smirking, Commodore Canard asked, “Who ever said I was speaking to you, Mrs. Do?” Then, turning to Yearling, “I’m not a patient enough stallion to wait much longer.”
Giving Daring an apologetic smile, one only her wife would notice all the little subtleties and message contained, Yearling relented. It was the same smile Daring had herself given Yearling in their very first adventure. A life-long love was forged on that smile, and the sacrifice Daring committed to save Yearling. Well, attempted to commit. Daring was all too stubborn to allow something like a crystal skull and crumbling temple to get the best of her.
Yearling gave the instructions with just enough reluctance to avoid suspicion that they were false.
After the instructions were complete, Commodore Canard made some glib, unimportant remark, and turned to perform the ritual to unseal the gate. He raised the Icon of Nimrud, recited the incantations, and waited with a stern, suspicious frown.
And, of course, nothing happened.
He spun, hoof raised to strike Yearling and demand an explanation.
The grinding of gears ancient beyond reckoning stayed his hoof, and brought every eye to the gate. Crawling blue magic covered the aurihalcum ediface, shooting small sparks across the stones towards the gathered, awestruck ponies. Dirt and dust cascaded in a choking wave, revealing ancient, black runes. Cloudless lightning cracked across the sky.
A deafening boom followed, and then, one by one, the locks clanked open. The gate swung wide to a yawning, empty mouth containing a sheet of impossible black.
Everypony present stood stock still for several moments, just staring, stunned by the gate opening.
Daring’s heart sank. How, she silently fumed, how had he managed to activate the gate? The translations of the ancient Marelantian texts had been purposefully incorrect. It was impossible Commodore Canard’s ritual could have opened the portal to the Underworld.
“I have done it!” Commodore Canard shouted in glee, throwing his hooves up into the air with a long cackle. “The power to best Celestia is mine! Ha-ha-ha! All hail the Empire of Great Hackney, and it’s new king!”
“Hail Canard! Hail Hackney!” shouted the soldiers to the clash of hooves.
No sooner had the declaration been given than the gate rippled, and from the void emerged first Zeus then Hades. The godly brothers sauntered onto the disc. Their ancient eyes swept over the scene before them, then Zeus turned to Hades.
He spoke in a rolling boom, like two storms meeting over a golden plain, in a language utterly alien and unknown to the ponies of Ioka.
Hades responded in a hissing sneer, upper lip curling as he surveyed the ponies gathered around the dias. Unlike like his grey brother, whose entire face danced with a combination of mirth and worry, there was only a cold fury behind the bright blue eyes that shone like lantern wisps in the black night of a primordial forest that was his coat. His posture was rigid and commanding, and Daring had no doubt that the pair were dangerous.
Nothing had ever stepped a hoof through the gate before. To the best of her knowledge, it’d only been opened once before by a mad cult. The same cult whose journals Yearling translated to start this latest adventure. The cult that had been destroyed by what they’d attempted to pull from Tartarus.
Something told Daring that very soon Commodore Canard would share the same fate as those ancient cultists.
Possessed by his sense of grandeur, Commodore Canard puffed out his chest and marched up the steps to meet the brothers. He grinned wide, and barked out, “So, you two are my prize? Not what I was hoping for, but a pair of bound alicorns to strike down the sisters in Equestria will suffice.”
Zeus frowned, and lightning crackled within his eyes. He spoke again, followed by a thundering laugh, and began to ignore Canard. Marching in a wide circle, he surveyed the skies, as if searching for something among their blue expanse. At last he found what he wanted, a long stretch of rainy clouds no more than a budding squall to the south of the island. Closing his eyes, Zeus fanned his wings to their full breadth and raised his face almost in prayer of the distant cloud.
Daring had to blink as the cloud began to shift, change, and grow. A fierce chorus of lightning lit the squall’s underside, and sent jets of plasma from its top. She shivered, not out of fear, but out of a sudden chill that permeated the air, whisking through the wide canyon from the open portal. The wind stank of death and things fouler than mortal minds dared to imagine.
“Cease what you are doing and listen to me. I brought you from Tartarus, I—” The remainder of Canard’s ranting ended in a strangled cry. He clutched at his throat with his hooves, eyes bulging from his head, and back legs kicking in wretched spasms. Behind Canard, the hackney soldiers took a uniform step back.
“We will not be the ones who cease doing anything,” Hades huffed, stepping over to the choking stallion.
Beside him the air swirled and from a tear in the fabric of reality appeared a tall, silvery bident. Daring recognised the weapon from the same cultist texts that had come into Yearling’s possession all those months before. Inscribed in runes in the language of the alicorns, the bident hummed with potent magic. Hades caressed his bident with a gentle aura, and with a resounding clang, brought it down beside him.
His furious gaze swept across the soldiers, driving them all to the ground. Seething disgust twisted the corners of the dark alicorn’s mouth into a grim smile. Slowly, he extended his wings and took a deep breath.
“Cover your ears,” Daring hissed out of the corner of her mouth to Yearling and Periwinkle. Neither questioned her, all of them clapping their hooves over their heads.
When he spoke, Hades words were filled with raw, primal power.
“You sought to steal into my domain? To take from the land of the dead? How foolish the ponies of Ioka must be.” As if formed from the claws of a frozen lion, Hades’ voice tore through the soldiers. No response was intended to be received. This was about domination and sending a message.
The wise did not toy with powers beyond their ken.
Screams ripped from the soldiers. They writhed and tore at their ears. Tears streaming down Periwinkle’s face, he collapsed against his bonds, while Yearling and Daring were forced to grind their teeth and bit their tongues to hold back pained howls.
“If it was admittance to Tartarus you desired, you needed but ask,” Hades purred the poisoned words and marched among the dying ponies. He stopped at the edge of the dias, and turned towards where Daring, Yearling, and Periwinkle were bound. He continued to stand there staring at them until the soldiers all ceased their struggles, and lay dead.
Daring winced at the click of Hades’ metal shod hooves stopping just in front of her nose. He bent down, and lifted from her neck the Celestial Shawl. Around and around the golden fabric was twisted and caressed by his aura. A sniff crinkled his nose and he thrust it back across Daring’s withers.
“Who gifted you with that?” He demanded, his voice no longer carrying the deadly power used against the soldiers.
“Queen Iridia, as a gift for inspiring her daughter,” Daring answered, seeing no reason to lie.
Not when extra-planar entities had an irritating habit of; firstly, knowing when a pony was lying to their face; secondly, a tendency to get angry over even minor annoyances; and lastly, usually outright destroyed anypony they encountered that they found irksome. As the unfortunate Commodore Canard and his soldiers had just discovered. It was, therefore, prudent to not aggravate any such beings.
He considered her for a few seconds before he responded with a clipped, “Indeed? And where can I find this queen?”
Again, Daring saw little point in lying. “West, across the ocean, in Canterlot with the rest of the royal herd.”
“Ha-ha! A herd, you say?” Zeus appeared beside Hades, his grin broad and blue eyes sparkling with potential adventure. “Come, brother! Not a minute is to be wasted. There are trails to blaze, and legends to spread. The great gods Zeus and Hades have arrived. Myths tower among you, Ioka! So marvel, as we spread our names across this terra ferma. Look out, here we come! Ha-ha-ha!”
Zeus skipped across the ground between the soldiers’ bodies, tossing his mane as his laughter grew into a booming thunder that echoed up into distant storms.
Rolling his eyes, Hades trudged after his brother. If he didn’t keep an eye on Zeus, his brother was liable to break into song. Or worse. He could already hear the thunder of the storms turning into a roll of drums, and was pretty sure the wind caressing the distant waves were creating a harmony of flutes. Ah, and now Zeus had procured a guitar from one of the piles of provisions. Yes, a song was not far off at all.
Behind them they left the trio of academic adventurers tied to the stakes and staring as the first refrain of the budding music was carried across the island in a jaunty tune.
“Dear, I think this has been the strangest end to one of our little escapades yet,” Yearling said, to which Daring just nodded as the gate slammed shut with the deafening boom.
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The epilogue was nice: a clear, unambiguous improvement over the version of the brothers entrance into Ioka present in the last version.
I will reserve judgement on the situation with Fleur and Athena for now: I want to see where you go with it.
I couple of other things:
Is Rarity now a Saint in this setting (for the time being; we all know she's coming back)?
I would rather like to see Celestia's eulogy to Rarity. I don't suppose you have it typed out? If so, could I please see it? By PM, if you don't want it in the comments. I do apologise for being a nuisance, but I'm thoroughly curious.
Who is "is very"?
Also,
You accidentally the verb here. I I remember seeing a "wor" in the same section I'm pretty sure was supposed to be "work"
I don't remember when Fluttershy was given Goddesshood in this one, so I may have to re-read that. I wonder if Athena did the same, although unintentional, most likely.
7911934
"Is Very"? You mean Rarity? Yes, she will be. There is a process, though, so it's not instantaneous.
The eulogy is something I found rather difficult to write, hence why it isn't in. It is one of those things that is better in the imagination of the reader, as I have strong doubts of ever being able to live up to the expectations of what Celestia would say.
7912009
Fluttershy got her horn in chapter 17.
7912009
7912379
Well that was a bloody stupid typo. Corrected to Rarity.
Understandable about the eulogy.
A little 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' there at the end, and I approve. Curious what happened to Athena, I don't think she sacrificed herself in the same way Artemis did, so probably not the last we've seen of her.
Of course Rainbow doesn't know she's pregnant yet, so that's going to be a thing, might help explain her sea sickness, but I doubt it... and of course Faust. Ugg... at least we know Celestia comes by it completely naturally if Faust is her dam.
Ouch.
Poor Sweetie, she believes her sister is dead, though can't blame her Rares didn't exactly travel to Gaea in a way a normal pony would survive. She needs rescued soon.
7912534
Yeah.
7912481
It is safe to assume Athena will appear in some fashion.
Rainbow is aware of her pregnancy after Faust mentioned it in chapter 18.
7912561
Poor Sweetie indeed.
I've been rather mean to her and Rarity. 
Another excellent chapter. I thoroughly enjoyed how D.D. and co. kept commenting on the tropes inherent to their present situation. Best kind of comedy relief, not so over the top as to ruin the story, but still a welcome breather from the drama. The Zeus and Hades of this iteration are quite a bit darker than the last, after what they did to the admittedly deserving cultists, and especially Rarity and Trixie. Speaking of which, I still need to read The Rariad. Kinda been holding it aside since it looks to be a shade
darker of a fic than I prefer. Once what these two asswipes have done comes to light, I hope they get several alicorn sized horseshoes up the ass. Hope to see more soon.
7912620 Well all the elements bonded with alicorns so far are either ascended or preggers with alicorn foals. Maybe a nice pair of wings and a crown and Rarity will forgive? :P
This was a great chapter and everything was well written. I liked the part with Applejack in the temple and her annoyance about Celestia's lies is somewhat understandable. I also liked the part with Hades and Zeus and Daring's comment about how gods tend to destroy anyone they find annoying.
The word destained is probably an error and it is unclear what it should be so you should fix that.
That was a nice funeral. Rarity would have loved it... Except for what some ponies wore, I assume. It always happens.
That's a beautiful temple, and I love how you describe it. If I ever decide to try my hand at making buildings in 3d programs, I would like your plans and notes on it. What is described in the chapter is too much for a single drawing.
And the brothers are back. I do hope you're not going to try to kill off Faust again.
It's kind'a weird that Twilight just adamantly, flat-out refuses to believe Faust, the god of knowing-stuff-when-she-wants-to, when she says Rarity is still kicking.
Sweetie, though... girl's having a rough time. Their mom's probably hating herself a little, too.
7915318
I think it is a bit more complicated than that. Faust can't or refuses to give any more detail than Rarity's thread being unbroken. We also all have our own quirks when it comes to grief. There is also more going on with regards to Twilight on the subject. She needs to believe that Rarity is dead, otherwise she's abandoned her friend to a fate worse than death. She isn't alone in doubting Faust, I might add.
If you don't mind mild spoilers, an excerpt from chapter 3; “It is alright, Twilight. I’m actually relieved that you aren’t believing mother without evidence to support her claims. She is only trying to help, in her own way. Mother is a meddler, afterall. It is unwise to doubt everything she says as equally as it is to trust her at face value.” ... “Take the time to heal your own heart. Holding such anger as you do is dangerous,” ...
Bonnie takes the news rather poorly, yes.
7914295
Seeing the temple in 3d would be rather neat! I think I'll keep the sketches and notes private though. They're rather embaressing in quality.
7913576
Stupid spelling errors...
Nice catch, I'll correct it.
7912802
See, I don't see Zeus and Hades as any darker than before. I actually find them to be both a bit lighter, really. Cultist not-with-standing.
There is so much more of both now in the next few chapters. Zeus and Hades are both so easy to write. I see why 'odd couple' comedies are common and fun even more now after writing the brothers.
The Rariad is MUCH darker. There is one bit of dialogue between Rarity and Trixie in (presently) chapter 4 that I strongly suspect will get me yelled at. It's being a rather tough bit to write, as I don't want to upset people, but I also need to stay true to the characters and setting, and where Rarity and Trixie travel are not pleasant roads. To say the least. At the moment nothing is described in detail, but that could change with time.
7915653
Well, I appreciate you being forthright about it. Though I feel like I may put it off for longer still with that admission. MLP is simply a fandom that I have a tough time accepting grim/dark/gore themes within its fan fiction. I'm not saying I haven't read such stories, but for the most part I avoid them unless an author starts adding in these elements quite a bit later on, and I am already heavily invested. Even then, sometimes I still bow out of them if they become excessively gratuitous. Saw as enacted by ponies is simply not my cup of tea.
Everything about that Daring Do scene was awesome. But now we all must demand to hear that song.
7916649
I can oblige! Been one of the songs I listen to while writing Zeus and Hades. I wasn't shy about the hints for any who've seen Road to El Dorado. Love that movie so much.
7917583 I've already read the first chapter, and I look forward to more!
The Daring Do part was unexpected but very welcome.
I love this story.
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Considering their origins, it's amazing how much levity those two alicorns result in. They really do evoke this sense of zany adventure at times.
Hmm. I can't say that the writing quality isn't as high as ever, but I find myself losing interest with each chapter.
I'm not sure I can pinpoint exactly why, but it might be the lack of focus as of the later half of what has been released so far. The story started off dealing with Twilight's ascension and her learning about her new powers and heritage (with a relatively small sub-plot of the fillies and shades), and now we've got random (or at least, it feels random at this point in time) alicorn ascensions that are barely commented on, multiple pregnancies in a short time, otherworldly adventures with Rarity and Trixie, Zeus' and Hades' adventures, Fleur and her head alicorn, Leviathan and Faust, and more.
I dunno; it just feels like it's lost some of the cohesiveness that was a big draw for me at the beginning, and has added a bunch of new plot lines that don't interest me as much.
Aww I have caught up with the story now!
Excellent world building and a gripping story as well. My only question is where was Zeus when the attack on Tyr and co was happening in their world? If he is so keen to help his relatives that he will make amends with Hades and search multiple worlds for them, then why didn't he just smite the crud out of the attackers in the first place?
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Thanks! I've always enjoyed the world building the most when it comes to writing a story.
On Zeus, I'd rather not give away that tid-bit yet. It's something that will be mentioned here and over in the Rariad.
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I shall look forward to finding out then :)
Thank you for both the reply and for the great stories.
Ok I had to look back and make sure but I think you removed Twilight hugging or attempting to hug Sweetie so that you could remark that she hadn't left the ship a bit later on so it confused me that Fluttershy should attempt to do something the same as Twilight that Twi didn't attempt to do.
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-Clearly they never imagined someone might come through from the other side... Although I would like to know what the Mareatlantians were up to exactly or whether they just had some desire to know a bunch of stuff just to say they did.
I find it odd that Tartarus is one place and yet there are many worlds which are apparently entwined with any number of Alicorns... Can all alicorns get in if they want to?
Also I prefer Hades to Zeus who seems a bit on his horse and in need of being knocked off of it. The former is much more reliable and consistent if a bit intimidating.
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Poor Zeus, never gets any love. It's tough to be a god, especially when you don't cut it with the readers.
When they don't comply with the reader's wishes, they get threats of being sacrificed and stuffed. 
Well, I guess he has to count his blessing, as there are a few of the multitudes who exalt his presence in the story.
Okay... I'll stop now. I really need to stop listening to the same songs on repeat while writing certain characters...
Death is tricky. It's important to note that there are different rules between the alicorns/gods and the mortals. Trixie is the only mortal in all the stories that 'cheats' death, and she doesn't do it alone. She's a rather unique case. As for the alicorns; they are more forces of nature and will be replaced or reform in time.
It works a bit like this; First is whether they are Destroyed and Deceased. If they are Destroyed, as with Astraea by the doshaa, then they are gone. The aether that composed their form will seep back to the shell around the Far Realm and in time a new alicorn soul will form. This is how Celestia and Luna came about.
If Deceased, then they are only half-dead and manifest as a formless cloud of pure aether. In this state they are more vulnerable. They can form new bodies through three established methods; being reborn, remanifesting, or stealing the body of a compatible mortal. Being reborn is relatively quick, safe for all parties, but has a period where the foal is, well, a foal. They also lose all memories, but keep their old domains. Most who chose this route retain much the same personality due to the ties with their domain.
Remanifesting takes a lot of time. Lifetimes, as measured by mortals. It also requires a site or item attuned to the aether of the god. Astraea would have required an object or site strongly connected to the stars from which to draw strength as she formed a new body. Due to the length of time involved and how vulnerable they are during this time, it is only done if a secure location can be found to hide.
Stealing a body is the quickest, but has a stigma of taboo about it as the mortal soul will be consumed in the process. There are only three confirmed instances of it occuring; Athena-Fleur, Serene-Rarity, and Archemmon. He is the God of Order, and had been a powerful king when the previous God of Order went a little teensy bit crazy and tried to release the Quus and ended up being torn apart by the protective magics around the Far Realm. Coincidentally, this was how Discord escaped.
As for mortals; they are a confluence brought about by the four-way war between the Gods, Archons, Demons, and Quus before the formation of things like time and space. They are trapped in a cycle of life on the mortal realms, dying and travelling to Tartarus or (rarely) Elysium, and then being reborn. It is widely accepted by all the pantheons, demons, and spirits that the number of mortal souls is finite and fixed in number, they merely shift worlds.
The spirits, like Orenda the Kitsune, or the fallen stars, are NOT mortals and are more akin to the alicorns. But, lacking the same strength of magic and aether they can not remanifest or be reborn, they simply cease to be. Few spirits are immortal, and will age and die with time. Kitsune can live for millenia or more, as an example, gaining strength and tails with every century.
Phew, long response. Sorry, felt like doing a big share on some of the setting details. I know I've covered a lot of this stuff before.
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I suppose he's all right as a character, but seems to have a lot less redeeming qualities than most.
Thanks for the explanation even if it seems a little wonky in places. E.g. 'strength of magic and aether' seems like a very fuzzy concept. How can magic and aether have strength at all and if that's all they are then sufficient scattering should destroy even the 'gods' an inadequate kill should leave the 'spirits' free to possess a mortal/remanifest to some degree albeit with a bit less success.
Also, I would think that an alicorn/mortal soul fusion should result in an alicorn who remembers all the memories of both and maybe exhibits some of the stronger traits of the mortal. In essence this means that they are technically both of them but modified much more strongly by the alicorn such that the 'they' would seem like a substantially different version of the mortal to other mortals. I.e. they look quite similar and have some of the same personality quirks, but also a whole host of new memories, grudges, feelings, etc. Kind of like how we'd describe someone we knew reasonably well but hadn't met in person for 20-30 years except that those changes are much faster and more solid.
P.S.
It may be easy for you to keep this straight, but it's a little hard as a reader because those details are mostly invisible behind the scene drivers.
just read this and I have to say well done,
I cant wait for more, and why do I have feeling that both Faust and Iridia are going to kick Zeus out of the castle but welcome Hades.....
well I for one cant wait to see what happens next,
So Hades and Zeus are on Ioka. And they know the general direction of their destination and that there is more than the original sisters they know of. Word of them based on Zeus's intentions could reach Canterlot before they get there.
And Equestria has been shaken by Rarity's passing. Those close to her emotionally devestated. Especially the rest of main six and Sweetie Belle.
how dare you kill rarity!!!
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I get that, a lot.
I'd recommend checking out the Rariad if you want more Rarity.
I don't really get Twilight's reaction here. If it was anyone other than Faust telling her Rarity was still alive I would understand not wanting to be given false hope, but since it's Faust I would be desperate to believe her and have every reason to.
This line doesn't work very well because Faust used the phrase "act out" two paragraphs before.
7944099 Which of those kinds of resurrection happened with Namyra?
Is this a regret animation reference
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Nope, not a reference. Just a combination of events from the show fitted into Myths altered version of history with Rose and stained glass windows.
Knowing what I know about the mythological Hades, I strongly suspect that Rarity's not done in this fic yet. Of course, getting her back won't exactly be a walk in the park, either.
Right, Orpheus?
...and Sweetie's a rather musical little filly, too, now that I think about it. Cutie Mark Crusaders Tartarus Invaders, yaaay?!
*reads on*
Dang, girls. It's a regular ponedemic of pregnancies all of a sudden. Soarin, you dog you...
Twilight, if you're going to be anal about it, technically, it's a simile.
Oh, ma déesse? I don't think I've noticed any male alicorns in your Equestria's pantheon yet. And they haven't met the Brothers Grim yet, even if they're inbound from Tartarus right now...
Hay, when Fausticorn endorses my conspiracy theory, it's time to break out the tinfoil! *makes a boat*
Here, Sweetie, you can get across the Styx with this. Damned souls can't eat you through tin foil! It says so in the Necroponicon!
Yearling: That would be plumb, dear. But that's why I'm the writer in this marriage, isn't it?
I kid, I kid. But it was an amusing typo. Now I have a mental image of Daring smearing plum jelly all over the traps of some ancient ruin, for some unfathomable reason...
Speaking of the brothers... good timing, guys.
And this Canard guy was complaining about the sisters acting foolishly. Just wait until he experiences the alternative!
Translation for Daring's benefit: "This is a hell of a note to retire on, Dear."
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Ahem... *Points towards The Rariad* Recommended after you're done with MnBs.
I think you might be the first person to point that out...
Looks l like I have a couple corrections to make after all this time. 
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I thought it was funny.