> Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam
>  by Daniel-Gleebits
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Let's break a leg!
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sunset Shimmer


The message in the journal had troubled Sunset excessively. 


Dear Sunset Shimmer,

I know that we had planned on your excursion to Equestria in a few weeks time. However, I fear that your visit must be postponed for the time being. Whilst I look forward to your visit, and so do our friends, a most serious rumour has reached Canterlot, and the Princess’ are convening to discuss it. 
I write this to you now in case the situation becomes dire enough that I am forced to take measures. I do not wish to cause you any alarm.

I hope to write back to you with good news on the subject. Until then,

- your friend, Twilight Sparkle


“And ya’ll don’t know anything about what might be going on?” Applejack asked. “Like from when ya went back last time?”
Sunset shook her head. “Everything was fine.”
“Are we really going to have to deal with that Discord guy?” Rainbow Dash asked. “That guy was a different shade of weird.”
“He was all different kinds of shades,” Pinkie observed. “None of his clothes matched.”
“That’s not what I—“
“Um, well, I think he might be nice,” Fluttershy said tentatively. “Deep down, you know?”
“He said that he was reformed,” Sunset said uneasily. “And if the historical record is anything to go by, he would usually have turned this world inside out by now if he wasn’t. Still,” she looked around gravely at them all. “I’d feel better if you guys just kept an eye on him.”


All of their friends were there who could come. Even Aria, her story notebook under her arm, stood in front of her, a frown on her face. All of her friends were frowning actually. Only Sonata, her hand clutched in Sunset’s own, looked eager and determined.
“You’ll text us all the time, right?” Pinkie asked plaintively.
“I don’t think mobile service crosses dimensions, Pinkie,” Sunset said kindly.
“If they did, the roaming charges would be horrendous,” Rarity agreed.
“I have an idea,” Sunset said. She pulled out the magical journal, and tore the page out with Twilight’s message on it. Folding this up and stuffing it into her bag, she handed the journal to Pinkie Pie. “You keep that. If you write in it, I’ll be able to read your messages in Twilight’s journal and reply to you.”
Pinkie’s eyes filled with tears. Before Sunset could read the signs properly, she leapt forward and threw her arms around her shoulders. Then Sonata, Rarity, Fluttershy, and all of her friends jumped in too. Even Aria, looking furtively around to make sure no one was looking, put an arm into the mix and patted Sunset’s shoulder.
“Hopefully we won’t be too long,” Sunset said reassuringly, as they all let go. “If it’s a big problem, we’ll send you a message to tell you about what’s happening.”
“If it’s something big, shouldn’t we come too?” Rainbow asked. 
“Ya’ll just wanna see what pony land looks like,” Applejack said, smirking.
“Nuh uh!” Rainbow snapped, colouring up. “Sounds lame.”
Applejack said nothing, but smiled to herself in victorious silence.
“Well, we’ll see you later then,” Sunset said. She took Sonata’s hand as they all waved, Pinkie clutching the journal and crying loudly over it. For a moment, Sunset gazed at her friends, feeling an unaccountable sense of longing for all of them. And then she saw, just behind them, a fluttering white handkerchief.
“Bye, Discord,” she called over their heads.
“Be well, Sunset Shimmer,” Discord said dramatically, waving the handkerchief daintily. “Our prayers go with you, from your fondest of friends.” So saying he pulled said friends into a patently too large a hug and arranged his pinched face into something approximating elegant despair.
Sunset almost laughed. She looked at Sonata for a moment, and then they both turned, and walked into the portal together, the stone warping and rippling as they passed through. Then, the first strange thing happened. The portal, which felt like cold water passing over them, suddenly began to feel more... solid. Sunset opened her mouth instinctively, before she was sucked in, and suddenly she was floating, drifting as though high above the ground. But instead of falling down, she fell forward, pulled ahead by something like but not exactly the same as gravity, Sonata’s hand the only solid thing.
The world all around her, so familiar to her after her several trips through, was the same blur of lights and wind, like images speeding by her at impossible velocity. Then the second strange thing happened. All of the scenery stopped for a second, blurred and distorted like a photograph of speeding cars in the night. She stopped moving through the void, and her heart leapt into her throat as her lungs suddenly froze. All of this lasted for an instant, and then she fell again, but not in the same direction. She clutched at Sonata’s hand, but her entire body felt like it was being pulled in multiple directions, and when it came back together again she could no longer feel her fingers. She had no fingers!


CRASH!


Sunset’s meeting with the ground was intimate and painful. No sooner had she felt herself exit the mirror then her sense of gravity shifted too. Her hooves were at an acute angle to where they should have been, resulting in her landing hard on her backside.
Groaning and looking around, her first thought was that she was in the wrong place. What she saw was not at all what she had expected to see. And then something else struck her.
“Sonata?” she called. She shivered as her own voice reverberated through the halls of crystal surrounding her. She knew that it was night time and everything, but… everything was so dark… “Sonata? Are you here?”
Sunset moved stiffly away from the mirror just in time to hear the distant sound of Sonata’s voice. The mirror flashed, and with a sound like a cracked dinner gong, Sonata collapsed out of the mirror.
“Ouch!” Sonata moaned, rubbing her underbelly. “That hurt!”
Sunset inspected the mirror. She was heartily surprised to see that it was lying almost flat on the floor, propped up by some crystal debris; that explained the change in the direction of gravity. The mirror also had a large crack down the middle of it, snaking off in two directions near the top. Sunset sneezed as she examined pony-shaped displacements in the dust coating the mirror’s surface where she and Sonata had exited. That was very odd...
“I hit the crack I think,” Sonata grunted, getting to her feet. “It was running into a handrail.” Their surroundings seemed to catch her eye as she spoke, and she suddenly looked around with a gasp of surprise. “Whoa. What happened here?”
“No idea,” Sunset said, looking around too.
Following the example of the mirror, the entire room they were in was dust-covered and crumbling. Massive crystal pillars stood cracked and collapsing under a slightly bulging ceiling. Torn and burnt banners hung sadly from the ceiling and walls, and the decorative windows cast jagged shadows across the moonlit floor.
“Hey Sunset,” Sonata said suddenly.
“What?” Sunset asked, expecting Sonata to have found something.
“We’re naked,” Sonata observed.
Sunset blinked at her. Sonata was observing herself in the broken surface of some kind of crystal edifice. A ring of them stood in the centre of the chamber around what was either a raised crystal dais, or a heavily damaged table. Sunset’s keen eye caught the chipped remnants of some kind of symbol at the top of Sonata’s make-shift mirror.
“Yes,” Sunset said. “Yes we are, Sonata.” She smiled a little slyly. “But it’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked before,” she commented conversationally. 
“Why do you tease me like that?” Sonata grumbled, pouting prettily.
“Because it’s easy, my love,” Sunset answered cheekily, circling the crystal edifices. “Well, this is Twilight’s castle. These are her friend’s thrones. What I don’t understand is—“
“How did they get like this?” Sonata offered. She attempted to sit in Applejack’s throne but instantly stood up again as a jutting shard of it prodded her in a delicate area. 
“Exactly,” Sunset concurred. She moved back towards the mirror, and prodded its surface experimentally with her hoof. To her consternation, the surface was solid. “Something weird is going on.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with the bad thing Discord told us about?” Sonata asked, attempting to walk over the broken table towards Sunset.
“Probably,” Sunset muttered. “I just don’t see—“

KRK... ... KRAK!

Sonata froze. The table below her shuddered slightly, and an enormous crack appeared down its centre with a sound like a collapsing glacier. Both Sunset and Sonata held their breath, staring wide-eyed at the table.
“Sonata,” Sunset said, whispering for some reason. “Move slowly, and carefully, towards me.”
Sonata nodded slowly. She lifted a hoof, and moved it experimentally towards a flat-ish section of the table. The table groaned a little as she set it down. She didn’t move for a full six seconds. Sunset nodded encouragingly. 
“Just keep going like that,” Sunset said calmly, trying to direct comforting vibes towards her girlfriend, willing nothing bad to happen. At that exact moment however, she thought she heard voices, and a clattering as of metal on metal. She turned her head suddenly in the direction of the noise, and instinctively, so did Sonata. The table broke, the middle crumbling away like a thin-ice lake. Both halves fell downwards, carrying Sonata with them.
“Sonata!” Sunset cried, throwing out a front hoof, forgetting she didn’t have hands anymore. Sonata made a noble effort to jump forward, but the momentum was against her. With a shriek of terror, she fell into blackness.
Sunset teetered on the rim, half afraid of more of the floor caving beneath her, but even more terrified for Sonata. The crash of the crystal to whatever surface was below it did not take long to reach, so Sunset reasoned that it couldn’t be too far down, On the other hand, Sonata wasn’t making any noise, which chilled Sunset’s blood.
“Sonata?” she called down. No answer. Sunset tried to ignite her horn... but nothing happened. “Come on...” she grunted. Her horn sparked, and then went out. “What the...” she muttered. A groan from below sent Sunset’s heart leaping into her throat. “Sonata!?”
“Here...” Sonata’s voice echoed from below, dazed and sounding like she thought she was in class.
“Are you alright?”
“I don’t... I can’t move for some reason... and my head feels... feels... you know...?”
Sunset had a sickening feeling she did know. Blocking this unpleasant idea from her head, she made the biggest effort yet to ignite her horn. The immediate effect of this was painful; her brain felt as though it had just stuck a fork into an electrical socket. A wave of nausea and wooziness swept over Sunset, setting her off balance. As her vision reconfigured however, she found that she had been successful. Sort of. Her horn was sparking with greenish light, but it was like a light bulb on its last legs, flickering and giving off only the dimmest light it was able to. By its light however, Sunset could see into the hole in front of her.
“Hey Sunset?” Sonata’s voice echoed up to her. “I see a light... should I go towards it?”
“That’s just me,” Sunset groaned. Her head gave an enormous throb, as though the magic she was expending to keep the spell going was being rebounded. She allowed the light to fade, and being careful of the jagged sides of the crystal floor, leapt down. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she found that the dim moonlight filtering from above was enough to make out a greyish image of the surrounding chamber. And what she found did not make for happy viewing.
“Is it that bad?” Sonata asked. “I kind of hoped it wasn’t too bad, since I can’t really feel any pain.”
“No,” Sunset said slowly. “It doesn’t look that bad.”
“Honestly?” 
“No! Don’t ask me that!”
“Heh,” Sonata chuckled weakly. “You never could lie well to me.”
“I know,” Sunset sighed, setting her front hooves carefully. “Even worse, you know too. Well, to be fair it’s just one leg. I’m pretty sure I can move—“ she shifted the slab of crystal to one side, where it fell glittering to shake the floor. Sunset’s mouth hung slightly open as she stared wordlessly at the leg that had been beneath it, trying to control the sudden cold feeling running up her spine.
“That bad, huh?” Sonata surmised. “I’m not back in Equestria for two seconds...”
“Oh, stop whining,” Sunset said with forced optimism. “I can’t really even see it.”
“It’s pitch dark,” Sonata pointed out.
“And there’s a hospital here in Ponyville. I’ll get you there, they’ll patch you up, and you’ll be out again in no time. Now come on, up you get.”
With a heave, Sunset helped Sonata up by the shoulder, but she must have been more injured than she realised. Sonata took two steps and instantly fell over.
“I might be in there a little longer,” Sonata said in a muffled voice from the floor.
“As long as you can keep joking,” Sunset said robustly. “I know that you’re fine.”
“Do you hear voices?” Sonata asked groggily. “Please tell me you hear those too.”
“I think so. I thought I heard them earlier, but—“ Sunset paused. She frowned. 
“I can’t make out what they’re saying,” Sonata whispered.
“—in id conclave committere” said a far off voice.
“I don’t recognise that language,” Sunset mouthed slowly.
“I... don’t think I have either,” Sonata said.
“What are you thinking?” Sunset asked, catching the thoughtful inflection of her words.
“It seems... familiar. Like, maybe I heard it at school or something. Should we call them and ask for help?”
Sunset hesitated here. She had no particular reason to distrust the voices above, and it was true that they needed help. She couldn’t see the full extent of Sonata’s injured leg in the darkness, but it was bad enough that she couldn’t walk; it’d be slow progress moving without help. On the other hand, something wasn’t quite right. Neither Twilight nor her friends were here. The castle was in ruins, and ponies speaking in a foreign language were moving around above them. Something was wrong here, and Sunset didn’t like it. Even worse, she didn’t like that the mirror seemed to have stopped working; she’d need to get together with Twilight to fix it if they were going to go home.
“No, we’ll get out ourselves.”
“And how do we do that?”
“By trusting our very smart and resourceful girlfriend.”
Sonata stared at her a moment. “Okay, seriously, how do we get out?”
“Oh, ha-ha.” Sunset nodded into the gloom. “There’s a patch of grey over there. Given its general proportions,” Sunset explained quietly, helping Sonata limp towards it, “Underneath the throne room is meant to be the passage to Twilight’s underground laboratory.”
“Why does Twilight have—“ Sonata began.
“Don’t ask,” Sunset said over her. “I couldn’t say. She had one in the library she used to live in too. She mentioned that she used it for experiments involving dangerous magic and research. And Pinkie once or twice.”
Sonata seemed to take a moment to digest that. “Twilight lived in a library?”
“Ah, here we are,” Sunset said, her hopes rising. “Side exit. Glad we didn’t go the wrong way.”
“Me too,” Sonata said with a slight groan. “I think the pain is starting to kick in, and my head feels a little funny too.”
“Well I think it’s bound to,” Sunset said in as comforting a voice as she could, pushing open a large crystal door with her hoof. For such a big thing, it swung open easily and silently. “Pain can do that to y—“ Sunset stopped, her face paling.
“What?” Sonata asked, involuntarily following Sunset’s eyes. “Oh...” she said weakly. 
Sunsets insides plummeted as far as many of the roofs she could see seemed to have done. Rain cast itself down in a steady downpour, flashes of lightning illuminating the inky black and grey clouds above as thunder rumbled in the distance. Ponyville, once a sprawling tangle of quaint country houses and cottages, surrounded on all sides by the gentle caress of nature, was much changed. The cheerful chatter of happy ponies going about their business was entirely absent, as were the dancing lights of the night time houses. All was dark, silent, and despondent, the little cottages and houses broken and crumbling to dust. In a flash of light from the distant storm Sunset saw several nearby dwellings had had their roofs broken inwards, leaving nothing but long, crooked wooden beams like exposed ribs. Like the interior of the castle, the village streets were strewn with broken debris, nothing but broken stones and rotting wood where once colourful stalls and neat little flower arrangements stood.
It made no sense. Sunset simply couldn’t understand what was happening. How could Ponyville have suddenly become a ghost town?
Then Sonata gasped, and Sunset’s insides sank if possible even lower, as the full implications of their predicament was realised. In the full light of the half moon poking through a gap in the dark clouds, Sunset could see Sonata’s injury far clearer than in the basement tunnel. The leg wasn’t simply broken. It was bleeding. 
“I... I don’t... think...” Sonata muttered, swaying ominously.
“Hey, come on,” Sunset said, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice as she held her girlfriend up. “You’ll be fine, you—“ She swallowed. There was no hospital... and no one around but the ponies in the castle. There was no way to get home, and for some reason Sunset’s magic refused to work. As things were, Sonata might actually...
A feeling of dread washed over her. She looked around at the bleak and deserted landscape, searching desperately for hope in this horrible circumstance. How could things have gone so wrong in such a short time? The rain pattered on, uninterested in their plight, until it suddenly stopped in a localised area around the castle. This was so unusual that Sunset glanced instinctively upwards, and whatever remained of her insides seemed to vanish into a pit of horror.


- To be Continued
	
> A Helpful and Irritable Stallion who lives in a Hole
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sunset Shimmer


Sunset moved as quickly and as carefully as she could. The foreign language they’d heard made sense now, and it hadn’t taken more than a second to figure out what had happened to Ponyville. She glanced back with a thrill of fear at what was hovering over the castle, big enough to blot out the rain. A huge black mass, it broke through the thick clouds like a monstrous whale cresting the waves of a dark and churning ocean. Whatever it was, whatever gargantuan creature or machine it could possibly be, it gave off an intolerably loud hum that drove deep into the ears as it lowered itself ponderously towards the ground.
“S-Sunset...?” Sonata breathed. “What are you looking at?” 
“We’re going to find somepony. Somewhere. There has to be somepony around here.”
“There were... in the castle...”
“We don’t know who they were,” Sunset responded hastily. “And if they’re responsible for this...” she glanced around at the houses as they passed them. A tall, pink and brown building stood out as they passed, its cupcake upper floor blown to bits, and its leaning outer walls collapsing with age and abandonment. 
“Then... who?” Sonata asked. 
Sunset didn’t answer. She got as far as what looked like a small square with an oddly empty centre. Sunset blinked. She could have sworn the remnants of the library had been here at one point. 
“Sunset?”
Sunset didn’t answer. Where should they go? Where could they go from here?
“Sunset... eyes shouldn’t be... dark.”
“What?” 
“Just gonna... lie down a bit...”
The sound of Sonata hitting the floor resounded even over the deafening hum and rumbling of thunder. 
“Sonata!” Sunset cried. “Sonata, no! Don’t lie down! You have to stay awake!”
“I’ll just be...” Sonata slurred. “A bit... not long...”
“Get up,” Sunset pressed, trying to get her head beneath Sonata’s shoulders and push her up again. “Come on, we can’t stay here. We have to get you help!”
Sonata didn’t respond. Sunset tried vainly to get her up, but when it became clear that Sonata either couldn’t, or wouldn’t move, she shrieked out in frustration and fear. She looked frantically around, her rain soaked mane whipping her face. There had to be something, anything that could help them. Spotting what looked offhand to be the remnants of a shop, Sunset tore across the street to start searching for anything that could help Sonata not bleed to death. Tearing across a desiccated stretch of earth where the sinews of an enormous tree seemed to have been uprooted, she suddenly felt herself being thrown upwards by the back legs, sending her back end flying upwards and her face slamming hard into the ground.
It was a moment or two before Sunset raised her bruised and aching face from the floor, and found that she’d been flipped nearly entirely over by a concealed trap door.
“Are you the one shouting?” snapped an irritated voice. Sunset stared in perplexity at a dark head sticking up through a hole that the door had been covering. It glared at her, apparently taking in her appearance. Then it looked up at the thing hovering over the village. “Hmph!” it scoffed, and went to close the door again.
“Wait!” Sunset blurted. “Can you help us?”
The head condescended to pause. “If you mean with the bombardment,” it said briefly. “My suggestion is that you run, and run fast before it starts. The patrols will be out after that.”
“Bombardment?” Sunset repeated uncomprehendingly. “No, Sonata’s leg, it’s broken. Please,” she rushed over to the trap door. The head retreated a little, as though it were going to slam the door shut on her. “Please help us; she’ll die!”
The head turned to look sidelong at Sonata’s prone form. Its eyes roved over her broken, bleeding leg illuminated momentarily by a flash of lightning. It paused for a long moment and then gave a disgusted sort of sigh.
“Fine, fine,” it said quickly. “Get in here. Leave her!” it said snappishly, emerging fully from the hole and shoving Sunset roughly away from Sonata. “I’ll get her in. You’ll just make her injury worse.”
Sunset hesitantly lowered herself into the hole whilst the stallion quickstepped over to Sonata and hauled her up. Sunset stood at the bottom of the short steps down to the underground, trotting back and forth with anxiety, ready to catch Sonata should the stallion drop her.
“Back up!” the stallion barked, pushing passed her with Sonata on his back. “Come on. If anything hits that door, a few planks of wood aren’t going to stop you getting blown up.”
“Blown up?” Sunset asked, bemused. “Bombardment? What are you talking about? Do you mean that thing in the sky? What can it possibly do that’s—“ 
Her question was interrupted as the ground shook around her. Dusty soil broke away from the ceiling and fell over the tunnel, and the wooden boards rattled ominously.
“What in the name of Celestia was that?”
“You don’t catch onto things quickly, do you?” the stallion said in an off-beat sort of voice, descending down a circular walkway to a floor below.
“But—wait, what’s going on? Who is bombing us? What have they done to Ponyville?”
The stallion stopped abruptly next to a table covered in workplace paraphernalia, and turned around so that he and Sunset were almost nose to nose. Sunset stopped asking questions immediately. 
“Stop. Talking,” he said slowly, and clearly. “Save life now. Answer questions later.”
Sunset flinched as his horn gave a tiny flash of bluish light, and everything on the table disappeared. With a heave, Sonata was deposited onto the cleared surface. Turning his back to Sunset again, the stallion examined Sonata’s leg closely. Muttering something impatiently under his breath, he gave his horn a wave. 
Forced to be quiet, Sunset’s mind overflowed with questions. In a desperate bid to fill in the many blanks, she subconsciously did what she always did in such situations; she began paying attention to everything around her, looking for answers. Aside from the continued muffled thuds from above and occasional shower of debris, the first thing she noticed was that this mysterious stallion was able to use his magic.
“I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” the stallion said idly, levitating a torn strip of cloth and a makeshift splint carefully around Sonata’s now clean leg. Sunset immediately stopped trying to use her magic, feeling like a chastised child. “You’ll give yourself a headache. Now come over here and hold her hoof. This is really, really going to hurt.”
Sunset did as she was told. Leaning over Sonata’s prone form, she wasn’t sure whether or not she was glad to see Sonata’s eyes fluttering open. Her face was chalky white, but she managed to smile a little.
“Hey,” she whispered hoarsely. 
“You’re going to be fine,” Sunset assured her, eyeing the stallion. With a cursory look at Sonata, he set his front hooves to the break.
“I expect so,” Sonata breathed. “But—“ her words were cut off by a loud and agonised shriek of pain. Sunset’s mouth was dry as she heard the snap of bone, and held Sonata close as she seemed to tense all over.
“Now, that wasn’t too bad, was it?” the stallion said, dropping to the floor. “I suppose you’ll want something for the pain,” he sighed, as though this was inconvenient for him. Setting a splint into place he magiced a clean bandage neatly around the leg. “This really isn’t my day.”
Whilst holding onto Sonata as she sobbed and tried to get control of her own breathing, Sunset eyed their rescuer askance. For the first time, she took in his appearance properly, and noticed a few things she found a little odd. Several of his features – an unusually sharp and elongated snout, large and tufted ears, and a general lankiness of his frame, struck her as somehow... un-Equestrian. His eyes, a bright green, had a natural black outline to them that resembled mascara, but certainly wasn’t. His coat was a uniform dark blue, and his mane and tail trimmed short was bluish-grey, almost white. An equally close trimmed and neat beard and moustache sat sharply around his mouth. His horn was chipped at the back as though it had been struck with something sharp at some point, and most curious of all, he wore a length of cloth around his neck and torso with thin, dark blue lines along the width. 
“Thank you,” Sunset said, after taking all of these features in.
“Oh, you’re welcome,” the stallion said, a slightly sardonic inflection to his voice. “I like to stir up my day every now and then. Take in a few spies, fix a leg. It’s what I live for.”
Sunset said nothing to this. He evidently had a preconceived notion of who they were, and she didn’t think it prudent to correct him until she figured out exactly who he was. Instead, she watched the magic playing about his horn as he searched through a small crate of little spherical bottles. Unlike the glowing aura of Equestrian unicorn magic, the energy of his seemed to rise from his horn in a spiralling effect to match the contours of the horn itself, reaching out like thin coloured ribbons. Additionally, the aura itself was striated with little somethings that Sunset couldn’t make out; something that looked like tiny pictures or letters. 
“Who are you?” Sunset asked.
The stallion shot a side-glance at her. “A deserter.”
Sunset blinked. “Deserter? So, you were a royal guard?”
For the first time, the stallion gave her his full and undivided attention. His head gave a little spasm, and he turned to stare at her with an expression of the utmost disbelief on his face. 
“One moment,” he said, holding up a hoof briefly before trotting quickly over to Sonata. Raising the bottle up, he popped the little cork stopper out, and before Sonata could so much as focus on the object floating before her, shoved it unceremoniously into her mouth. She gagged for a moment, until the stallion held her down with one hoof, and used the other to stroke her throat. She involuntarily swallowed a huge gulp of the stuff, and then lay there gasping for air.
“Could you not be so rough with her?” Sunset snapped indignantly.
The stallion raised a leg to stop her moving forward. “I get the distinct impression you have not the least idea what is happening around here.”
“That’s a keen sense you have there,” Sunset responded acidly. 
The stallion looked her dead in the eye for a second. He seemed to decide something. “Parchment Script,” he said abruptly.
“Sorry?” Sunset asked, taken aback.
“My name,” the stallion said. “In your language, my name is Parchment Script. Or just Script if you’d prefer. And you two are...?”
“I’m Sunset Shimmer,” Sunset replied. “This is my girlfriend, Sonata Dusk.”
Script narrowed one eye. “Your what?”
“Marefriend,” Sunset said after a second or two of puzzlement. “My marefriend.”
“Uh huh,” Script said, still staring at Sunset curiously. “No offense, but you don’t seem smart enough to be spies. That’s a terrible cover story.”
“And you don’t seem brave enough to be a soldier,” Sunset retorted. Despite the fact that this stallion had helped them, possibly saved Sonata’s life, she found that she really didn’t like him very much. Despite Sunset’s animosity, Parchment Script seemed amused; he gave a short spluttering laugh as though of surprised delight.
“That’d explain why I’m a deserter then.” He turned to one of the high bookcases lining the walls of the room. “Wouldn’t it?”
“Can’t you be a bit more helpful?” Sunset snapped, getting truly angry now. 
“Oh!” Script exclaimed. “I’m sorry! No, please, forgive me for not being entirely forthcoming with you complete strangers. I’ve been a most ungracious host, fixing up her leg, giving her some of my very limited medicine, and offering you both cover from a standard perimeter bombardment. Please,” he said loudly, giving a mock bow. “Do find it in your heart to forgive me.” He gave an irritable snort, and went about looking for some book or other. “That potion should kick in any second,” he said to Sonata. “When it does, I’d like my table back.”
Sunset said nothing, but stood with her eyes fixed on the floor, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks.
“We’re... sorry...” Sonata breathed.
Script gave a long-suffering sigh, flicking his eyes at Sonata. “At least one of you has some manners,” he grumbled, setting a large tome on the table next to Sonata. 
“I’m sorry,” Sunset mumbled. “It’s just... we’re a bit confused. We don’t know what’s going on. You said yourself that we don’t seem like spies.”
“I said you’re too stupid to be spies,” Script corrected. “There’s a difference.” He stopped flicking through the book, and seemed to be trying to not roll his eyes. “If I tell you anything, it’s not going to be anything that puts my countrymen at risk. I may have deserted, but I’m not a traitor.”
“Just a general idea of what’s happening would suffice,” Sunset said hesitantly, having no idea what he was talking about.
“Do you know where you are?” Script asked, frowning suspiciously. “You know you’re in the ruins of the Land of Friendship, don’t you?”
“I thought we were in Ponyville...” Sunset said uncertainly.
Script narrowed his eyes at her. “Why don’t you tell me your story first,” he said. “How did you get here? Why don’t you know what’s going on?”
Sunset exchanged a brief glance with Sonata. She was looking a little better, but still pale and tired. She wondered whether to tell him the truth; she couldn’t see how it could do any harm. The portal was closed temporarily, and Twilight had the only means to open it again. What harm could there be?
When she’d finished explaining the brief version of where they’d come from, Script had his eyebrows raised so high, they were in danger of disappearing into his maneline. 
“Let me just sum this up,” he said, holding up a hoof. “You come from a land beyond a magical mirror inside the Friendship Castle. Is that right? I am understanding you correctly?” When Sunset nodded, he nodded too. “Huh. Right.” He paused, his mouth open a little. “If you’re telling the truth, then I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about what’s going on,” he reasoned. “But then, you could just be insane. There is that possibility. Although if you’re telling the truth, that would be really quite fascinating.”
“Do I look insane to you?” Sunset asked, annoyed.
“You were standing under a ventnavis that was in a firing position,” Script said bluntly. “You tell me.”
“A vent—what?” Sunset asked.
“Ventnavis. What you’d call an airship.” He smirked. “Then again, I’ve seen what you Equestrians call airships.” He sniggered. “The huge thing hovering over the village, currently bombarding the area around the castle, is a ventnavis.”
“Us Equestrians?” Sunset caught. “You say that like you’re not.”
“Well of course I’m not,” Script said impatiently. “I’m Roaman.”
“Roaman?” Sunset was admittedly quite astonished. Roam was quite far away across the eastern sea, beyond Griffania, the eastern-most griffon nation outside of the Equestrian continent. Admittedly it wasn’t as far away as Saddle Arabia, but it wasn’t as though one regularly saw either Roamans or Saddle Arabians in Equestria. “What are you doing here? And why are you attacking Ponyville?”
“First of all,” Script said sharply. “I am doing nothing to Ponyville. And the reason that I am here is my own private concern. As for my countrymen, they’re nominally a part of the Magna Badtis occupation army. Or what you used to call the Badlands.”
Sunset puzzled this for a moment. “Roam invaded the Badlands? But what about the changelings?”
“They were driven off or conquered some seventy years ago,” Script said idly.
Sunset snorted involuntarily. “What? No they weren’t. The changelings have been a threat to Equestria for centuries. We hear stories of them growing up; we’re taught in school about past invasions. They were certainly around when I was growing up, and I’m not seventy years old.”
Script raised one sceptical eyebrow. “Okay, get out.”
“What?” Sunset asked, alarmed.
“You’re playing dumb with me. Get out. I have work to do and no patience for this nonsense. Mind the patrols on your way out, they will catch you if they spot you. Oh, and they’ll kill you. Not painfully, I shouldn’t think, but still.”
“No, wait, stop,” Sunset said, stomping a hoof as Script turned back to his book.
“Magic mirrors indeed,” Script scoffed under his breath, ignoring Sunset. “Don’t touch that!” Script smacked the heavy tome hard on the table, making Sonata jump and pull her hoof away from an object leaning against one of the bookshelves. 
Sunset frowned; the object was about the shape and length of a yard stick wrapped in a heavy sort of hessian cloth and tied with a length of string. 
“Sorry,” Sonata said meekly.
Script glared at her for a moment, and then sighed again. He seemed to do little but sigh, presumably at the supremely irritating ponies he constantly had to deal with. “I don’t know about your country’s past dealings with changelings, but the Republic decided to occupy their land precisely seventy three years ago, and completed the conquest sixty nine years ago. The reason that there’s a ventnavis hovering over the desolated ruins of the Land of Friendship is because said land was destroyed and made no-pony’s-land following the aborted invasion of Equestria.”
“What!?” Sunset and Sonata exclaimed at once.
“When—? How did—“ Sunset blurted, feeling the colour draining out of her face.
“Sixty three years ago,” Script said, now almost scowling. “During the time of Neighro. Part of the reason the invasion was called off was because of the turmoil that occurred when Neighro was branded an enemy of the state.” He flicked his eyes between them. “I don’t suppose you’d know anything about Roaman events.”
“I just don’t understand...” Sunset said through numb lips. “I visited Equestria only months ago. None of this had happened. Equestria was whole, I met with Princess Celestia and everything was fine.” She felt her heart squirm a bit more at the appraising look Script was giving her. It had a slight tinge of something to it. Something a little like pity. 
“I don’t see how that’s at all possible,” Script stated flatly. “Unless you’ve been to Roam recently, there’s no way I know of that you could have spoken to Princess Celestia.”
“Why?” Sonata asked, trying to sit up on the table.
“Because she was captured during the Battle of Canterlot, three months before the invasion force was recalled to deal with the civil war. She’s been an official ‘guest’ of the Republic for about six decades,” Script said as though this information was common knowledge. “Maybe you’re smarter than I thought,” he said speculatively. “I’m starting to believe this mirror story of yours. Although you might have mentioned it time travels too. Be sure to mention that the next time you come up with your fatuous story-telling.”
“It doesn’t... I-I mean...” Sunset’s head swam. How could any of this be real? Equestria invaded, Princess Celestia gone, the Badlands conquered by Roam. All of it seemed like a bad dream. And then there was the issue of how and when any of this could have happened. If Sunset hadn’t seen the ruins of Ponyville, she might have thought it all a joke or a lie. She glanced at Sonata, but she was staring absently at the wrapped object Script had told her not to touch. “What about Princess Luna?” Sunset asked swiftly, grasping feebly at a ray of hope in the darkness of her confusion. “Or Twilight?”
“The Princess of Night was not captured during the siege,” Script admitted. “She now rules the Nightlands.”
“The what?” Sunset interrupted. 
“Oh-quite-I’m-forgetting,” Script said in one breath. “Equestria is no longer quite so... united, as you seem to remember. It’s now divided into Equestria proper, ruled over by the Crystal Princess, and the Nightlands, ruled by Princess Luna, where night time and twilight rule, never becoming day. I believe that the Friendship Princess dwells in the Nightlands too.”
“The Crystal Princess?” Sunset repeated, puzzled. 
“The ruler of the Crystal Empire. Some relative of the sisters I believe.” He let out a sound of impatience. “I told you not to touch that!” he barked, trotting over to push away Sonata’s outstretched foreleg. “It’s magical. It’ll knock out my camouflage spell if—“ He stopped speaking as he tried to remove Sonata’s leg, but he didn’t seem able to. He gave a tug, but still Sonata reached out.
“Sonata?” Sunset asked uncertainly, tilting her head to look into Sonata’s face. Her expression was oddly... blank, as though she couldn’t see anything in front of her. She reached forward, ignoring Scripts attempts to stop her. “Sonata, what are you doing?”
“What is this curious feeling?” Sonata asked in a voice that was not her own. “Some buried magic.”
“Sonata?” Sunset asked, waving a hoof in front of her face. “What are you doing?” She stared into Sonata’s eyes. Was it her imagination, or was there a hint of red there?
“Get the bone away!” Script grunted, trying hard to hold back Sonata’s leg. Either she was unusually strong, or he was feeble, because he wasn’t able to stop her inching closer and closer to the package. Sunset blinked, hesitating a moment too long. No sooner had Sonata touched the rough fabric, then Sunset’s senses were overwhelmed by a truly ominous presence. The wrapping tore and burned away, as a dark, fiery aura enveloped it, revealing something long and thin. Script was blown back by the force of the aura’s sudden eruption, flying over the table and into a bookshelf that deluged books upon him. Sunset, not being quite so close, lost her balance and fell back onto the floor.
“Sonata!” she cried as she shook off her dizziness. Sonata was splayed on the table, gasping for air as though invisible hands were pressing down on her airway as the malevolent looking aura surged and pulsed around her. Then Sunset heard the voice again; the same voice that Sonata had spoken a moment ago, only this seemed to come from everywhere; a voice deep in the way that canyons aren’t, a voice so chilling it gave Sunset the impression that it could freeze flames into place.
“Give it to me, you feeble creature,” it snarled. The darkness billowed downwards, enveloping Sonata like a cloud of smoke as she gagged and choked. Her eyes were green, the irises a burning red, purplish smoke intermingled with the darkness like vapours from a witch’s cauldron.
“Sonata!” Sunset shrieked, picking herself hastily up and leaping forward as Script emerged from a pile of weighty books.
“Do not interfere!” the voice snapped, rising angrily. A tendril of darkness whipped out, but Sunset ducked. Forgetting about the block on her magic, she flared her horn, which instantly frazzled out. The tendril wrapped back around and caught her legs, sending her crashing to the floor and into the table leg.
“Damn!” Script cursed. His own horn surged with sky-blue light. With a cry he sent a blast of spiralling energy at the darkness, which recoiled violently away from the impact, the voice giving a terrible cry of mingled rage and pain.
“Who dares—“ it began, in that typical villain’s cry. Before it could get into full monologuing flow, Script blasted it again. The darkness burned like smouldering paper, singing away where the blasts had hit it. It gave a howl of rage and attempted one last lunge in Sonata’s direction, but Sunset pulled herself up, and with a massive effort of will, released a burst of magic that lit the room with green light. The darkness burst apart into a thousand curling wisps, the maniacal voice letting out one last throat-tearing roar of rage as it dissipated like smoke in the air. From the midst of the terrible aura, a long, thin length of dark blue crystal hung in the air. Sunset just had enough time to think that it looked strangely like a bone, perhaps a femur given its shape and length, before it fell to the floor, shattering into a million tiny pieces.
Sunset’s eyes misted over as a wave of nausea and a massive throb of pain pulsed through her head. Through streaming eyes she sought Sonata’s face.
“Are... you okay?” she gasped.
“She won’t be when I get over there,” Script snarled, kicking the books aside as he fought his way out of the deluge. “Ruined! Everything, ruined! Spirits curse the moment I gave into mercy.”
“S-Sunset!” Sonata cried in a strangled voice. “Help... m-my... neck!” She flopped off the table, an ominous red glow emanating from her. Staggering away from Sunset, she seemed to gasp for air.
“What’s wrong with your neck?” Sunset asked, trying to pull her around. “Let me see. Stop tugging or—“ She let go with a cry of horror.
Sonata clutched at the spot as best she could with her hooves, as something pressed upwards from beneath the skin. Something hard. Something that was giving off that eerie red glow. 
“What in Tartarus is that?” Script whispered, staring aghast at Sonata.
Sunset couldn’t bare it. As Sonata screamed, Sunset held her close, trying to help her bare with the pain of the thing forcing itself through her skin. As the red light suddenly died, Sonata let out a single wet cough, and fell forward. Sunset held her up as best she could as Sonata gasped and breathed quick shallow breaths.
“Get back!” Script barked, trying to shove Sunset away.
“Hey!” Sunset cried, pushing back. “Let go of her! Stop—“ 
“Sunset?” Sonata sobbed, tears running down her cheeks. “My paintings.”
“You’re what?”
“My work... I don’t remember... I can’t remember any of them.” Sunset looked her directly in the eye. A blankness had settled there, a dullness reminiscent of despair the likes of which were burned into Sunset’s memory, and which sent a stab of dread into the depths of her soul. The eyes Sonata had had when Sunset had found her on the roof all those long months ago. Something inside Sonata had broken. 
Automatically it seemed, all three of them: Sunset, Sonata, and Script, all looked slowly down. Where the agony of a broken limb had failed, the sight before brought tears to Sonata’s eyes.
Around her neck, held in place by a black strap that was steaming slightly, rested a large, red stone, dangling innocently in the dim light of Script’s lit horn.


- To be Continued
	
> Changelings: Are They Amongst Us?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sunset Shimmer


“Move.”
Sunset barely heard the command.
“Get out of the way!” Script shouldered her out of the way. His horn ignited. Sunset’s heart leapt into her throat.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t remember... how to do it...” Sonata mumbled, her lips barely moving. 
Script didn’t reply, but the ribbons of magical power began to spiral around his horn. The light was strong and hard like shining diamonds.
“No, stop!” Sunset cried. Unable to summon her own magic, she rammed him hard in the side. With a snarl he glared at her. “You’re not hurting her!”
“Are you brain dead?” Script asked impatiently. “Don’t you see that thing around her neck?”
“What of it?”
“Stop being dense!” Script stomped a hoof. “Stand aside now.”
“No!”
“You think you’re being kind?” Script inquired scathingly. “I’ve studied magic probably longer than you’ve been alive. I know a curse when I see one, and to actually manifest a physical embodiment...” He glared at the red stone. “You’ll only prolong her suffering and make her a danger to everypony.”
“Suffering?” Sunset demanded. “I’ve seen her curse before in full force.”
“Then you know the danger it poses!” Script exclaimed.
“Yes, I do. And you’re not harming her.” 
They both stood apart, glaring at each other. Sonata sat, her eyes focused on nothing, seemingly insensible to the argument.
“And what’s to stop me simply moving you?” Script asked, his voice quiet and waspish. “You can’t use your magic with a succendum field in effect, but I can. I could disable or even kill you, and then dispose of her. Problem solved.”
Sunset couldn’t repress a slight shiver. He was right of course; she was powerless right now, and he knew why. Something called a ‘succendum field’, whatever that was. She considered asking him what it was to play for time, but she got the impression he wasn’t the type to be distracted so easily unless there was something he cared about involved. Then it occurred to her.
“What was that crystal bone?”
Script’s eyes narrowed. “Do not try to delay me. Move, now, or I move you myself.”
“That crystal caused this to happen!” Sunset shouted. “It’s your fault. I won’t let Sonata take the fall for your mistake.”
“My mistake!?” Script looked like he was going to choke. Rage suffused his cold expression. “You’ve ruined my research, destroyed whatever hope I had to discover the truth, and you dare to say that it’s my fault?” He advanced a step, his green eyes cold and hard. “I’ll take your refusal to move as a final decision on your part to die with her.”
“I can help you with your research!” Sunset cried in desperation. Script’s horn began to glow again. “Please don’t hurt her!”
“One shouldn’t be afraid to sacrifice for the greater good,” Script said icily, the room bathed in the sky-blue light emanating from the ribbons of power spiralling around his horn.
If Sunset hadn’t felt an overwhelming sense of terror at that particular moment, she might have gaped at just how cheesy that statement was. As things stood however, Sonata was going to be killed; she couldn’t let it happen! With her eyes closed against the bright light, she gabbled “Why kill us when I can help you?”
“And how can a pair of Equestrian spies help me?” Script asked dismissively.
“I’m not a spy, I’m a student of magic! I studied under Princess Celestia!”
To her surprise, she detected a decrease of light through her eyelids, and tentatively opened one eye. 
“Celestia?” Script muttered. 
“Yes, I—“ Sunset went on, but then stopped as Script turned abruptly away. As Sunset watched, nonplussed, he made an entire line of books fly off of one shelf, until he found one that he apparently had been looking for. A large brown book, dusty with age, Sunset just about made out some kind of orange symbol on the front.
“Sunset Shimmer,” Script said, trotting back over, frowning at the open page. 
“Yes?” Sunset answered warily.
“This is you?” he asked, turning the book around. 
Sunset blinked down at the page, and her heart skipped a beat.
“My journal!” she exclaimed, pulling it out of its levitation. “This is—“ she looked at the front cover again. Wiping away some of the dust, she now made out what was clearly Princess Celestia’s cutie mark. “How did you get this?”
“I salvaged all of these books from the Friendship Castle,” Script said, looking over her shoulder at the journal. “This one I found in the throne room next to—“
“A mirror?” Sunset asked, eager to keep him interested and away from thoughts of cold-blooded murder.
“Yes.” Script gave his beard a scratch. “I’m finding that I might just believe you a little,” he said, as though the notion was an amusing one. “If you are the same Sunset Shimmer as in this journal, then it stands to reason that everything you’ve told me is true. Except that I don’t see how you can be, seen as you’re so young.”
“What are you talking about?” Sunset demanded.
“The last entry actually written by Sunset Shimmer was written,” he breathed, flipping the page and indicating the date, “ some seventy five years ago.”
“Seventy—“ Sunset held the page closer to her eye, her heart freezing in her chest. “What year is it now?” She gaped as Script told her. “But... how is that...” 
She couldn’t understand it. It made no sense. She looked to Sonata instinctively. 
“I don’t know,” she said tremulously when Sunset asked her what she thought. If Sunset had felt bad before, she descended a level or two more at the sound of Sonata’s voice. It reminded her forcefully of what seemed so long ago, when she’d found Sonata on the roof of her old apartment. It was the same defeated, miserable tone, as though all hope had gone from the world. 
“Look, it’ll be okay,” Sunset said in what she hoped was a rousing tone. “We got rid of that dumb rock before, and we’ll do it again.”
This seemed to give Sonata pause. Sunset sat next to her and held her close; she knew how mercurial Sonata could be at times, and knew that if she could head off certain feelings at the pass... and sure enough.
“I guess you’re right,” she said with a sniff. She wiped her eyes swiftly and drew in a deep breath. “We got this, right? No problem. Just a stupid rock. Just a stupid rock.” Sonata repeated this a few times, as though she was psyching herself up. Her voice was still tremulous and worried, but it was better than her staring mortified into some unseen abyss.
“Just a rock?” Script said incredulously, a tremor of laughter in his voice. “That’s not just a—“ 
“Shut up!” Sunset snapped.
“He’s right!” Sonata erupted, bursting into tears.
“For Celestia’s sake!” Sunset glared at Script. 
“You think you’re doing her any favours by coddling her like that?” Script asked derisively, as Sunset gave him the evil eye and Sonata dissolved into tears. 
“Giving her hope isn’t coddling her!” Sunset hissed.
“An optimist,” Script sneered. “You. Weeping, cursed, siren-creature.”
“Me?” Sonata asked, hiccupping.
“No, no, the other cursed pony,” Script said breezily. “Of course you! Get over here.”
“Siren?” Sunset repeated, giving Script an appraising look. “How do you—“
“I’ve read every single one of these books,” Script interrupted, waving around at the shelves. “Every single one. You wrote some very telling things in this journal of yours.” He tapped the cover of the journal in question, and then turned to give Sonata a cold stare as she approached. “Where I’m from, we euthanize the cursed, both for their good and those around them. I have a feeling that I’m going to regret letting you live, but if it means completing my research, I ask that you bear the weight of your inevitable doom for a while longer.”
“We broke her curse before,” Sunset intervened. “What would you know of curses if you come from a culture where you murder anypony afflicted with one?”
“Murder?” Sonata squeaked. 
“They’re put down because we know about curses. You didn’t break her curse, otherwise it wouldn’t be here.”
“But my pendant was broken before,” Sonata objected, still sounding rather frightened.
Script paused. One of his tufted ears flicked, and his black-rimmed eyes shot upwards. Above them, thudding dully on the high ceiling, was the sound of hoofsteps. Many hoofsteps. Script eyed the ceiling for a moment and then looked back.
“There’s only three ways to get rid of a curse permanently. You personally kill the one who cursed you, or they release you voluntarily from it.”
“And what’s the third?” Sonata asked hopefully. She shuddered a little at the look Script gave her.
“You die,” he said simply. “Which is of course why most curses have some sort of life-extending properties. The worst curse you with immortality.” He moved forward a step and gave Sonata’s broken leg a sharp kick. She cried out automatically, but then stopped, looking down at it in shock.
“Sunset!” she whispered, as Sunset squared up to Script, her eyes blazing. “My leg... it’s not broken anymore.”
“But that’s...” Sunset muttered, looking at the leg herself and tugging the bandages away. “There’s not even a scar.” 
“You know the Equestrian Princesses if this journal is anything to be believed,” Script said, regarding Sunset shrewdly. “The Friendship Princess at least. And you were a student of Celestia. I’ll make you an offer; you get me in to see an Equestrian Princess – any of them will do – and I’ll not kill her. Do we have a deal?” Script asked, looking at Sunset inquiringly. 
Sunset snorted so hard and loudly that she actually hurt her sinuses. “Excuse me? I help you, and you don’t murder my marefriend?” She told Script to go do something that made Sonata raise her eyebrows sharply.
“Am I to take that as a no?” Script said, sighing loudly. “My social skills were never really any good. I suppose my offer really is more the line of an ultimatum, isn’t it? How about this then; you’ll be wanting to research some way of helping your marefriend out of her situation, I imagine? Well, despite the utter uselessness of it, I’ll help you.”
“Help us break the curse permanently?” Sunset asked quickly.
“Yes,” Script sighed again. “I did mention the only known means by which a curse can be lifted, yes?”
“That just gives us something to work with,” Sunset said, her voice hard.
Script smiled, a one-sided smile that went all up one side of his face. “Oh, I like you. You have a scientist’s mind.”
Sunset was spared choosing an appropriately filthy look to throw at him by the loud sound of splintering wood. All three of them looked up in alarm.
“Impossible!” Script exclaimed. “My concealment spell should—“ his head spun to the remnants of crystal on the floor. He swore under his breath.
“What’s going on?” Sonata asked, blinking as a cloud of dust and wooden splinters erupted into the room at the top of the stairs.
“Over there!” Script ordered in a carrying whisper. “And quiet!”
“Here?” Sunset asked, moving over to the book shelf Script had indicated. 
“Yes,” Script replied, giving his horn a wave. Every book on every shelf, and on the floor, except for the shelf that Sunset and Sonata stood next to, vanished, as ribbons of magical energy curled over them. Then Script waved his horn again in a more complicated manner, and the books on the final shelf shimmered out of sight.
“I can hear somepony coming,” Sunset said nervously. “Soldiers?”
“Yes,” Script answered tersely. “They’ll be on us any second.”
“So how do we—“ Sunset never finished her question. Without warning, Script launched forward, and shoved the two of them roughly backwards into the shelf. Sunset tensed her shoulders, preparing for the inevitable hard contact with the shelf, imagining the individual book-rests jabbing hard into her back. And then everything went dark as fast as a light bulb going. Sunset felt herself hit the dusty floor, and for a second couldn’t understand what had happened. 
A faint blue light shimmered to life above her in the darkness as the smell of fresh earth invaded her nostrils. Sunset blinked and looked around, and found herself in a curiously straight and shapely underground tunnel. She frowned.
“How did we get here?” she asked no one in particular, looking around in confusion.
“The shelf was false,” Script whispered. “It was just an illusion, hiding this exit tunnel. They won’t find it at least until we’re long gone.”
“You built an escape tunnel?” Sunset asked incredulously. “Are you one of those mad-scientist types with an emergency escape plan set up before hand in every situation?”
“Actually this tunnel was here before I moved in, much like that underground room,” Script explained. “Changelings dug it out years ago. You notice the hexagon-shape of the tunnel?”
“That’s not possible,” Sunset said immediately. “Changelings don’t burrow this far north of the Badlands.” She paused as Script gave her a somewhat superior look. “You drove them out.”
“Not exactly,” Script shrugged. “But some rats tend to escape a sinking ship even when the rest drown. And let’s be clear,” he said, as Sunset felt revulsion boil up in the pit of her stomach at his callous analogy. “I did nothing.”
“But your country did,” Sunset surmised. “Is that what your country does to changelings? Genocide?”
“Historically,” Script said airily. “Now, I do believe that the way to the Twin Becks is this way.”
“What if we run into changelings?” Sonata asked.
“I doubt it,” Script said, shrugging. “I’ve never met any down here. It’s probably abandoned.”
“Probably?” Sonata repeated uneasily. 
“So many things have changed,” Sunset said faintly. “It seems impossible that any of this is real.”
“Believe it,” Script chuckled. “Oh, we have to talk, you and I. It’d be fascinating to know what Equestria was like before the invasion. This way, this way, we have a ways to go.”
Led by the blue light of his horn, Sunset and Sonata followed Script through the tunnel, hoping he knew where he was going. Despite the relative elegance of the tunnel, it split off in many different ways, sometimes leading deeper, other times high, and sometimes in contrary directions. There was no randomness to them however; Sunset’s keen eye and mind for spotting patterns figured out rather quickly that the seemingly labyrinthine system of tunnels were in fact well laid out to aid a knowledgeable traveller reach their destination more directly. Each intersection was a crossroad intended for individuals with the ability to fly. At one intersection the three found themselves staring up in wonder at a tree-shaped structure of hexagonal tunnels all branching off from a central hollow, like some great, three-dimensional crossroad.
Somewhat to Sunset’s surprise and delight, she felt a sort of pressure in her head that she hadn’t even noticed was there lift, and her horn sparked. She flared it, and without any fuss whatsoever, it ignited, casting healthy green light over their surroundings.
She was just beginning to properly appreciate having the use of her magic again, when she jumped and looked around as she heard a loud cracking sound. Sonata had leapt back against the wall, staring down at a large crack in the floor. Even as they watched by the green light of Sunset’s horn, the crack widened, deepened, and then the floor fell away.
“Try to remember that these tunnels were made for creatures that can fly,” Script said, supremely unconcerned by the near-accident. “Some of the floors probably aren’t entirely solid.”
“Are you sure that you know where we’re going?” Sunset asked as Script marched purposefully on.
“Yes.”
“Could you give us a little reassurance about it?” Sonata asked meekly.
“Like what?” Script asked. 
“Well, like, a map maybe?” Sonata suggested.
“I don’t need a map,” Script replied bluntly. 
“Oh,” Sonata said, brought up short. “It’s just... I’d feel a little better if we had some idea of—“
“We’re going to a nearby town I know of,” Script interrupted sharply. “I’ve told you that I know where to go.”
“What effective range does that succendum field have again?” Sunset asked icily, giving Script the kind of look that burns.
“Effective maximum range of three kilometres in open air I would say,” Script said speculatively. “Depends on the model of generator they’re using.”
“And how effective is it underground?”
“Getting ideas?” Script asked in a bored tone of voice. “Go ahead. Try your luck. My offer to help with her problem still stands, though.”
“You’ve told me that you think it’s impossible,” Sunset reminded him scornfully.
“True,” Script said, a slightly twisted smile curving the corners of his mouth. “But what is science if not the pursuit of the impossible?”
“Are you a scientist?” Sunset asked, surprised. “You struck me more as a record keeper.”
“Oh!” Script cried suddenly. “Ouch. That was a low blow. As a matter of fact,” he said in a more dignified voice, “I’m an historian.”
“Record keeper,” Sunset whispered to Sonata, who snickered.
“Historians pursue the truth,” Script went on in a slightly louder voice. “It’s a well respected profession where I’m from. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“Oh please,” Sunset scoffed. “Like a pony who hides in a hole underground, stealing books from an abandoned castle, has any room to declare what I’m able to understand.”
“It’s not technically theft if no one owns them,” Script replied idly as they turned a corner. 
“I don’t like you,” Sunset told him.
“Shocking.”
After a few moments of tense silence, Sonata spoke up, apparently trying to dispel the awkwardness.
“So um... the Nightlands? Does that mean that, like, it’s always night there?” she asked.
“No. But it’s never day.”
“That makes no sense,” Sunset said flatly.
“The ponies of the Nightlands suffer when exposed to direct sunlight. Therefore the day time is constantly shrouded in twilight. Lots of pretty oranges and purples I hear. It’s a crime if you ask me, reducing something as fleeting and beautiful as Twilight to something that happens for hours every day.”
“What do you mean about the ponies there?” Sonata asked. “What’s wrong with sunlight?”
“You don’t even know about the plague?” Script laughed. “My word, you are out of the loop. That happened a good decade or so before the initial invasion, just as the Republic was conquering the Badlands. Led to a lot of political strife in Equestria I’ve heard.”
“The plague did?” Sunset asked, confused.
“Oh yes. As I said, a few changelings no doubt escaped, fleeing as refugees across the border. Since the plague hit about that time, a lot of the ponies in Equestria proper consider that the changelings brought it with them. They were probably right too.”
“And why would that cause political problems?” Sonata asked, bewildered.
“Because the Princess of the Night offered them sanctuary.” He gave a little chuckle and shook his head. “How many stories have to be written about bleeding heart leaders being overthrown before the world finally catches on?”
“How long do these tunnels go on for?” Sonata asked quickly, changing the subject and pre-empting what she was sure to be a furious retort, given the sudden tightness in Sunset’s jaw.
“I’ve not explored them fully,” Script admitted, looking around as though he might see a floor map affixed to one of the walls. “As far as the northern edge of no-man’s land, I know that much.”
“And which way is the Nightlands?”
“The Nightlands occupy roughly the south-western third of Equestria. Last Light, the seat of the Night Princess, is situated on the northern-most tip of the border. That, incidentally, is where we’ll eventually be going.”
“Oh. Neat.” Sonata said with false good humour. Sunset looked around to find Sonata shooting her nervous side-glances, and suddenly she felt guilty. How could she be letting her feelings of enmity towards Script make her forget Sonata’s burden?
“How are you doing?” Sunset asked. She raised a hoof and gave the pendant around Sonata’s neck a playful knock. “I remember Adagio nearly taking my hand off when I went to touch hers.”
Sonata grinned. “Oh, you have no idea. More like your whole arm. Which she’d then have clubbed you to death with.”
Sunset laughed. “It’s so weird, thinking how much she and Aria changed after that whole bands thing.”
“Them? What about me?” Sonata asked, raising her eyebrows.
“You didn’t change that much,” Sunset said with a shrug.
“Huh?” Sonata yelped. “But I was, like, evil and tried to take over the world. And said mean things to you.” She paused, and then said in a worried tone. “Do I say mean stuff to you?”
Sunset grinned and nuzzled her. “You’re so adorable. I’m just teasing you. Although,” Sunset gave her a knowing look. “You were still beautiful back then. That didn’t change much.”
“I am adorable,” Sonata conceded, giving her chin a rub. “I suppose that’s why you took me in afterwards, huh?” She gave Sunset an innocent smile. “Trying to keep my cuteness all for yourself.”
Sunset raised on eyebrow. “You’re teasing me back, aren’t you? Well done.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Sonata inquired airily.
“Oh, stop,” Script groaned. “The sexual tension is crushing me over here. When we find somewhere to camp, you two can find a nice bush to cosy yourselves in.” He paused, and then snickered. “Heh. Bush. I nearly didn’t catch that one.”
Sonata turned redder than an entire punnet of strawberries. Sunset’s cheeks too went pink, but managed to stop herself from stammering like a babbling idiot as she said.
“Keep your lewd fantasies to yourself.”
“I don’t like this,” Script muttered, as though not hearing Sunset’s last comment.
“Are you going to tell us what you don’t like?” Sunset grumbled irritably when he didn’t elaborate.
They’d come to stop in yet another high-rising system of interconnecting tunnels. In the light of Script’s and Sunset’s lit horns, they saw a number of dark holes in the blue and green-tinged walls. Script was eyeing one in particular two levels up, shining his horn’s light on it like a search beam.
“That tunnel wasn’t there before,” he said ominously.
“What? You mean it’s new?” Sunset asked, the annoyance vanishing from her voice as tense interest replaced it. 
“If I’m not much mistaken, it is,” he replied quietly.
There was a pause as they all contemplated this disquieting notion.
“Well, we haven’t come across any changelings yet,” Sunset said robustly. “Are we almost out?”
“Yes, the exit is just a short way ahead,” Script answered perfunctorily, as though he wasn’t really hearing her. 
“At the very least we know these tunnels aren’t much frequented, right?” Sunset asked, giving him a sharp look.
“Perhaps,” Script whispered speculatively, almost as though speaking to himself. “But then it’s possibly...” He lapsed into silence. 
Sunset waited for him to go on, but when he didn’t, she turned to Sonata, who still hadn’t said a word since turning red.
“What do you think?” Sunset asked her. “Sonata? Sonata, are you listening?”
Sonata wasn’t looking at her. She didn’t seem to be listening to her either. To Sunset’s bewilderment, Sonata seemed to be entirely focused in staring at the floor. Sunset looked instinctively to where Sonata’s eyes were fixed, half-expecting there to be something written there given how intently Sonata’s eyes were fixed upon it; but there was nothing. But that was when Sunset became properly frightened. If it hadn’t been for the near total darkness, Sunset was sure she wouldn’t have noticed, but there was the merest trace of red marring the blue and green light.
“Sonata?” Sunset said, her throat suddenly dry. “What are you doing?”
“I see something down there,” Sonata said wistfully, not looking up. 
“What is she babbling about?” Script asked, turning around with a scowl. Then he noticed the light too. “What is she doing?” Apparently insensible to this, Sonata raised a hoof. Script gasped. “Stop her!”
“Sonata, don’t—!” Sunset cried, but too late. 
A resounding, echoing crack burst through the tunnel, bouncing back and forth until everything became deathly silent. All of them remained entirely still for a full three seconds. 
“You foolish little—“ 
Then the floor gave in, and they fell, screaming, into the dark depths below.
Sunset had barely gotten out the opening note of her high-pitched ululation, when a sudden impact knocked the breath out of her. The floor they had been standing on had only been a few feet above another below them. Picking herself up gingerly, she shook the dust and debris from her coat and blinked hard. 
“Is everyone okay?” she asked, sparking her horn again. When no one answered, she peered around to see where they were, and nearly jumped out of her skin with shock. 
“Stop screaming!” Script roared. “Spirits preserve me, I forgot how much mares scream.”
“B-B-But...” Sunset stared, her nerves beginning to calm. “Oh, it’s just... me.”
Sunset was staring into the black surface of a large, flat glass. Backing up slightly, the light from her horn revealed it to be an enormous crystal structure, wedged diagonally into the floor of the chamber like a toppling pillar mid-fall. When Script flared his horn too, Sunset found that they were in some kind of six-sided earthen chamber, with an arrangement of flat stones to make the floor. The crystal, the true colour of which couldn’t be made out in the dual lights, reached from floor to ceiling, casting reflections of blue and green across the room. A clip-clopping sound made Script and Sunset turn, both of their lights shining, to fall on Sonata, who took no notice of either of them.
“No you don’t!” Script snarled. Bands of blue energy looped from the tip of his horn, and wrapped like glowing ribbons around Sonata’s legs and neck, pulling her back, but still she seemed insensible to it.
Sunset didn’t understand what was happening. “It’s just a dead storage crystal. Sonata, what are you seeing?”
“It’s been so long,” Sonata said faintly, straining against her bonds. “I’d almost forgotten what the taste was like...”
“Sonata, snap out of it!” Sunset cried, pulling her face around to look at her. “There’s nothing in it, it’s dead.”
“No, it’s not!” Script said in a constricted voice. He gave a tug on the ribbons, but he seemingly couldn’t stop Sonata moving. It didn’t surprise Sunset much; Sonata wasn’t unusually strong, but Script had the frame of someone who neither ate nor exercised much; his hooves slid and slipped on the smooth stones. “The crystal has been forced into dormancy.”
“Dormancy? But why?” Sunset asked, trying to hold Sonata back herself.
“I don’t want to find out. Filthy changelings could have booby trapped it for all we know.”
Sunset didn’t immediately respond to this, but managed to shove Sonata back a little way. She had no love for changelings, but she wasn’t the sort of pony to go around speaking about those she didn’t like as Script was doing. “Let’s get out of here. Can you still find the way?”
“I should think so. We’re only a floor down,” Script said. “What in the world is making her so entranced with that crystal?” he grunted, yanking the magical restraints.
Sunset wondered that as well. When Sonata had had her pendant before, she’d absorbed magic and negative emotions to grow stronger and sow discord in her surroundings. Once powerful enough, she’d been able to charm and hypnotise hundreds of people to do her bidding. But as far as she knew, none of the sirens had been able to use love as power for them gems. Nor had any of them been mysteriously drawn to things in this strange, hypnotic way. It made no sense...
“Halt!” barked a voice from behind them.
Sunset’s head snapped to the source, a tunnel entrance opposite the massive crystal, where two ponies in shining armour were standing in aggressive stances. One in a red tunic was holding a sword in its mouth, and the other, wearing purple, shone a sickly green light into the room that cast distorted shadows across the walls. 
“Disengage your magic and give yourselves up!” the stallion in purple ordered, his smooth silver armour glinting as he stepped forward. “In the name of the Republic, I hereby place you under arrest for trespass and espionage!”


- To be Continued
	
> Operation: Regicide
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Loyal Stride


The Badlands, aptly named in most ponies opinions, was not a sight calculated to raise the spirits of any casual observer. Its mountainous, desolate, rocky landscape was bleached of life for the most part, the colour drained by an unforgiving sun, and the skyline marred by the heat-haze of noonday. It was not difficult for most ponies to imagine why it was that the native inhabitants preferred to live underground.
This was not to say that there weren’t patches of life dotted around this harsh and barren wasteland. Small, defiant patches thrust their way into this parched environment like grass between paving stones, raising green and lapis lazuli blue leaves defiantly towards the cloudless sky. Creatures of this arid environment made regular pilgrimages to these sparse areas, lapping at the underground fed water pools and nibbling tentatively at the equally rare vegetation. One such animal, a lithe, toned specimen, with sharp blue eyes and a snow white coat, lay submerged in the water in between several pale birch trees. It watched, unmoving, as a rock snake slithered along the other side of the pool. The creature didn’t move, all its muscles tensed; only its blue eyes roved from side-to-side as the snake edged closer and closer.
“ACKSSSS!!” the snake cried, as a hoof descended upon its neck.
“Move away,” the stallion murmured, is deep voice carrying clearly through the silence.
“I didn’t mean nothing by it,” the snake said in a twangy voice. “I didn’t ssssee you there.”
“I’m sure,” the stallion said, turning the snake around with a perfunctory motion of his hoof. “Now be on your way.”
“I ccccertainly will!” the snake hissed, speeding away sideways across the sandy plain.
Loyal Stride sat back again, sighing. Inaction didn’t suit him, which – when he thought about it – was sort of ironic, given his previous job. But at least there’d always been something to do there, always somewhere to go. Keeping back baying crowds had been something. But here, in this barren stretch of craggy wasteland... it almost made him want the snake to come back.
He was just debating with himself whether or not to get out of the oasis pool, when a voice from behind made him turn around.
“Apologies, centurion,” said a crisp but young voice. 
“Approach,” Loyal Stride said, waving a hoof.
“Sir.” The young stallion stepped to the pool’s edge. He raised a hoof sharply to his chest with a metallic clang as it hit his chest plate, and then extended the hoof and leg sharply in a neat salute. “General Trotus is requesting your immediate attention.”
“Immediate?” Loyal Stride repeated, frowning slightly. “Did he give details?”
“No, sir,” the stallion said, standing primly at attention. “Merely that he requests your presence as quickly as possible.”
“Oh, very well. Dismissed.”
The stallion did the salute again. “Thank you, sir!” He marched away.
Loyal Stride didn’t rise immediately; he sat for a moment in the pool, wondering. Very few things made the general call for immediate attention these day. They were a garrison army after all, so there was usually very little that required haste. 
But then it was not wise to keep a superior officer waiting, and so rising dextrously from the pool, Loyal Stride shook himself off of the water, and pulled on his red tunic. 
The garrison encampment was a large and impressive affair, situated between two known water sources, and extending between two walls of mountains. Tactically sound stemming from the impossibility of taking the camp by surprise, the camp was surrounded at the front, and on each mountain range, by a series of watch towers. Having been there for several decades, locals from the neighbouring Equestrian province traded with the garrison forces, and set up several shops along the traveller’s camp. The walled off soldier’s camp stood in a perfectly rectangular formation, its neat rows of tents offset by the large red and gold tent situated at the very rear, from whence flew the Republic Banner.
Loyal Stride gazed out towards the tent as he walked the perimeter of the wall. A golden eagle charge on a scarlet field, and the acronym ‘SPQR’ emblazoned below. Gules, Eagle Or Volant, over the motto The Senate and Ponies of Roam.” As was becoming of a true Roaman, the sight burgeoned a measure of pride within his heart.
“Apples!” a vendor bellowed beside him. “Apples for you, sir? Reasonably priced, and the best around!”
“Do not be swayed by him, sir!” cried another vendor. “I can see that you are in no mood for food. How about some fine jewellery for your wife?”
“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, centurion! If what you seek is relaxation, then look no further!”
Loyal Stride ignored the vendors as usual. He sometimes found it a little wearing to always be so easily identified by his rank. Unlike the regular scarlet tunics of the soldiers all around him, his was embroidered with the pattern of gold that marked him for an officer, and the lion’s crest that displayed what rank that was. As such, every salespony in the encampment always fawned over him to sample their wares. 
“Regulations are absolute,” he’d mutter under his breath, as he reminded himself that the camp rules prohibited him from walking about without his preservation of rank. It wouldn’t do him any good anyway; his bright white coat and mane was known to everypony around. 
“Centurion, you should really learn to not be so rigid,” said a voice from ahead of him.
Loyal Stride’s lip curled involuntarily, and he felt the region behind his eyes burn. An automatic reaction born of his years surrounded by politicians kicked in. “Hail, Senator Servilus!” he said, saluting. 
Senator Servilus stopped in front of him, flanked by two straight-faced soldiers in full armour. Their steel helmets and segmented armour glinted in the sun, but couldn’t disguise the sweat sliding down their strong legs and insouciant faces. The Senator, shorter than the rest, strode with a sort of confident, loping grace. Slightly on the paunchy side, his eyes were reduced to narrow slits in the swollen flab of his face, and the white and blue embroidered tunic he wore stretched painfully around his thick neck and vast middle. Oddly enough, taken altogether, all of these ungainly, almost comical aspects formed a rather impressive whole. It was as though taken altogether, the senator was a reflection of what feasting daily on untold wealth and power could do to a pony. Loyal Stride had on more than one occasion wondered whether the sight of such a pony as Servilus should be taken as an enticement, or a warning.
“Enough of that,” Servilus chuckled wetly, waving a hoof airily. “We aren’t in the capital now. We may speak openly, mightn’t we?”
“As you say, Senator,” Loyal Stride said in an expressionless voice.
“Oh, my boy, come now!” Servilus said sharply. “One might be forgiven for thinking that there’s bad blood between us.” He gave Loyal Stride a penetrating stare that contrasted sharply with the warm smile he was wearing.
“You’ll forgive me, Senator,” Loyal Stride said with a slight bow, “but I have an engagement with the General.”
Servilus’s lips thinned. “Whatever good you think holding onto an old grudge will do, it’ll be the death of you, boy. Mark my words.”
With that he strode away as fast as his short legs could carry. His solemn-faced guards marched behind him, their eyes fixed firmly ahead. Loyal Stride watched them out of sight, and then turned back to his intended course.
Odious, corrupt little maggot, Loyal Stride thought, trying to mentally wring the unpleasantness of the meeting from his brain. How Servilus had the audacity to even look him in the eye... The arrogance that sitting on one’s backside all day pretending to exercise power could create, was astounding. 
No sooner did Loyal Stride manage to step over the perimeter of the metal fencing to the soldier’s camp then he sighed internally at yet another voice calling his name.
“Can this wait, Pen Stroke? I have a meeting with the General.”
The mare who had accosted him hesitated in her tracks. Her mouth a little open, she blinked herself into silence.
“O-Oh,” she stammered, brought up short. “Um, yes, it... it’s not important. I think.”
Loyal Stride gave her an appraising look. She wore the deep purple of a commissioned or recruited unicorn, in her case in the form of the traditional half-mantle, which marked her as a commissioned military researcher. Under this she wore the more modern stark-white coat favoured by scientists and doctors. Unlike the regulars of the army, non-combatant personnel were permitted to wear their manes in whatever style and colour they preferred, and were not required to dye them a standard tone. Pen Stroke’s chin-length hair curled thickly in bright green and purple, complimenting her pale green body, but clashing – in Loyal Stride’s opinion – with her solid pink eyes.
“If it’s important, give me a brief summary,” he said, recollecting Pen Stroke’s penchant for downplaying important information out of nerves.
“Oh, well,” she began, glancing over her shoulder. “It’s nothing compared to anything the General has to tell you, I’m sure. Perhaps you should...” she tailed off under Loyal Stride’s unblinking stare. “Well... it’s just...” She cleared her throat and tugged a folded report from her coat. “We received word of an unknown source of thaumaturgic energy in the Land of Friendship. The patrol fleet detected it and is currently investigating.”
“Any word on the source?” Loyal Stride asked, giving the report a brief look over. “Unknown resonance?” he read from the paper.
“The succendum generator wasn’t able to recognise or block the magical effect,” Pen Stroke said tensely. “As you know, it effectively blocks unicorn magic, and can be tuned to block changeling magic, but—“
Loyal Stride looked back at her suddenly. “Alicorn magic?” 
“We can’t rule out that possibility.”
“I’ll bring this to the General myself,” Loyal Stride assured her. “Send a priority-two message to the patrol fleet to abandon the ground search; it’s unlikely the standard bombardment would neutralise an alicorn. Have them standby on advanced air reconnaissance until I order them otherwise. I’ll direct the search personally once I’m finished with the meeting.”
“Yes, sir. But do you know how long the meeting will go on for? Perhaps somepony else could direct the search.”
“Nopony else is to know about this except for the General,” Loyal Stride said, giving Pen Stroke a brief glare of his bright blue eyes. “I will deal with this personally.”
Pen Stroke seemed about to say something else, but whether because of the finality in Loyal Stride’s voice, or because of something else that had occurred to her, she said nothing.
“Keep me posted,” he said, tucking the report away and striding off.
Pen Stroke watched him go, her pink eyes filled with a mixture of concern, and something less definable. Whatever the other thing was, she wasn’t able to take her eyes off of Loyal Stride’s retreating backside until a tell-tale buzzing sound from the research tent called her attention.





The interior of the command tent appeared like a picture from a 19th century European battlefield; except for the electric lighting. Unlike the temporary structure of a battlefield tent, the semi-permanent tents of the garrison army featured an array of more enduring internal structuring; a solid metal mesh interior for the walls coated in fine silks, hanging electric illumination, a tarnished and worn looking writing desk, a slightly dusty drinks cabinet, and a heavy table at the centre, upon which lay a large continental map. Numerous pins and little figures sat upon the map, dotting out plans and points of interest that, despite not having seen them in a few days, Loyal Stride remembered perfectly.
Seated at the desk with a glass of dark, heavy-smelling liquid, sat a thin but athletic-looking stallion, apparently engrossed in a large missive. His coat was sky blue, and his eyes a steely grey. Like all Roamans, his eyes were ringed with black like a thick layer of mascara, and his jaw was sharp and angular. His wings were folded back. As Loyal Stride expected, he wore partial uniform, with a bronze-coloured steel breastplate, matching shin guards, and a blood-red cloak held in place with a broach bearing the imperial seal.
“Sit down,” the General said, not looking up. “Have a drink. Are you thirsty?”
“Yes, sir.”
The general gave a short, humourless laugh. “Strider, please; just for a moment.”
Loyal Stride bit his lip for a moment.
“What have you done now, Trotus?” he asked, leaning on the table.
Trotus looked around. “Such impertinence. What makes you think that I’ve done something?”
“Because you’re drinking,” Loyal Stride said, nodding at the glass.
“Bah!” Trotus drained the glass and set it down hard on the desk. “I’ll be honest; I don’t know what I’ve done. Or,” he said, standing up. “I don’t yet know what is to come.”
Loyal Stride, who’d just poured himself a glass of strong wine, paused with the glass half way to his mouth. He eyed his friend askance. 
“Servilus is here,” he commented casually. “Does it have anything to do with the Senate?”
Trotus, who’d poured himself another glass of the dark liquid, let out a harsh, bark-like laugh of derision. Loyal Stride knew that the news must be bad for the General to be this inebriated. 
“The Senate? That pack of parchment-pushing, civil-dispute settling octogenarians,” he scoffed. He took another gulp of the drink and smacked his lips frankly. “No, this is a military matter. One of the highest level.”
“Highest level?” Loyal Stride repeated. Then his eyes widened. “You mean your father?”
Trotus gave a single, tense nod. A short silence passed between them, during which time Loyal Stride attempted to moisten the inside of his mouth and throat with the wine. It didn’t much help. Whilst in no way a cowardly individual, Loyal Stride did have a certain... reticence in meeting with Trotus’ father again. He and everypony else involved in that incident had been lucky to escape with their lives, let alone their careers. 
“Does he say why he’s coming?” Loyal Stride asked, his tone suddenly appropriate to someone beside the sickbed of a close friend. 
“No,” Trotus sighed. “Which, of course, makes me think that he wants to tell me in person what’s going on. Here.” He threw the missive, which during the conversation he’d managed to fold into a long paper aeroplane, across the room to Loyal Stride. Catching it, he opened it up and began to read. The bulk of the parchment was devoted to various political and social goings on in the homeland, but the seventh paragraph caught his eye as he skimmed down.
“Make all necessary preparations for my arrival,” he read. “All necessary preparations? That doesn’t sound like your father to be concerned with etiquette.”
“Precisely,” Trotus groaned, pressing at the bridge of his nose. “If he wants the camp sprucing up, that can only mean that he’s bringing an entourage.”
“Or an army,” Loyal Stride suggested.
“Can’t be. We’re not at war with anypony over here. The bugs have been all but exterminated or enslaved. Their queen is long since dead. And we can’t be going to war with Equestria, or I’d already know. Preparations for the garrison to march would take far too long.”
“Speaking of war,” Loyal Stride began, pulling the report from his tunic. “The research department received a report on magical activity in no-pony’s-land.”
“The Land of Friendship?” Trotus frowned. “Has communications reported anything?”
“Not that I know of, although they should have already spoken to you about it.” He passed the report and the parchment-aeroplane back to the general. Despite having drunk a decent amount of a considerably strong drink, the General’s eyes moved swiftly and unwaveringly down the report. “Given that, I suggested there might be an alicorn present, and ordered the patrol fleet to stand by.”
Trotus nodded. “Probably a good idea. No sense poking under the stones. We’ll need a wide net to catch a Princess at work.” He yawned widely into his hoof. “Damn Equestrians. Always so nosey about things that aren’t theirs anymore.”
“Catching spies there is one thing,” Loyal Stride said, leaning forward in his seat. “But a Princess... their leadership is already strained.”
“True,” Trotus smirked. “They don’t have that many Princesses left to lose.” He seemed to contemplate this for a moment, evidently amused. Then he blinked, and looked sideways at his friend. “Oooh,” he said, beginning to grin. “Oh, you are good.” Loyal Stride smiled too. “We should really send a thank you basket to Canterlot for this opportunity. What a wonderful gift that would make for father; an Equestrian royal trussed up and ready for extradition.”
“Or execution,” Loyal Stride added.
“Yes,” Trotus said quietly, rubbing his chin. “Yes. And if you go, all will be as it was.” He stood up and clapped Loyal Stride hard on the shoulder. “My friend, you would not fail. You’re my most competent and strongest officer. You’ll go, then?”
“Trotus, I still owe you my life. I’d stand in front of an Onagar—“
“Oh will you stop with that,” the General interrupted half-laughing. “By the Spirits, you were my friend; I would never have let them execute you.”
“You still saved my life at the cost of your relationship with your father. I owe it to you.”
The General sighed. “You’re so old fashioned. Well if it makes you feel better, if you manage to pull this off, you’ll have saved my life several times over. Whatever debt you think you owe will be repaid.”
“At your word, general,” Loyal Stride said, looking his friend dead in the eye. “Although, I should only take a small team with me. We don’t want to scare her off.”
“Then let me make it official!” Trotus cried. Picking up a quill with his teeth, he hastily scribbled a confirmation on the report. Then he set down his glass on the large table, and filled both his and Loyal Stride’s with wine. “Loyal Stride, Senior Centurion to the Third Cohort. I, Trotus Flyvius Vespegasusianus Incultacus, do command you to locate and capture those responsible for breaking their agreement with Roam. Drag them screaming to the feet of the Fifteenth Legion for the greater glory of the Republic!” They both drained their glasses. “And for a little glory ourselves,” he added with a wink.
“I shall not fail,” Loyal Stride said, standing again. “If there’s a Princess in the Land of Friendship, I shall find her and bring her to you. For the Republic.”
“You just wait, my friend,” Trotus said in high good-humour. “A day of reconciliation is not far from us. News that I thought would mean nothing but misery may now prove to be our salvation from watching over this pathetic backwash.”





In truth, this information did have a positive effect upon Loyal Stride. He, like the General, had been feeling the strain of being part of an occupational army. By Roaman military law, all territories of the Republic had to be fielded by a professional legion at any given time to react to invasions in those territories. The Fifteenth Legion, XV Ferreta, was the permanent defence force of the Badlands. A glorified bug exterminator, as one senator had sardonically put it, during one budget investigation. And Loyal Stride could hardly argue with the description; nothing but dealing with raids by bands of disparate changelings, so disjointed from each other that crushing one band merely meant that another was out there somewhere, harassing somewhere else. 
Loyal Stride was sick of it. He was a soldier, not a police officer. He looked around at the bleak, orangey-brown surroundings, and his lip curled. Perhaps he would be done with this benighted wasteland before long, if the mission went well.
“Centurion?”
“Pen Stroke?”
“I was just wondering,” Pen Stroke said as Loyal Stride neared the research tent. “Are you still intent on proceeding yourself? Comms reports that the patrol fleet has officially requested permission to continue the patrol search.”
“Negative. I shall be there soon with my contubernium. Have comms relay that they are to remain in place. And demand to know why the General was not informed sooner as well.”
“I could do it straight from the research tent,” Pen Stroke said immediately. “If it’s still meant to be a confidential message, I mean. The staff are all out on a sample dig.”
“More iron deposits?” Loyal Stride asked as they both turned to the tent.
“Record Strike seems to think so,” Pen Stroke said, pushing through the plastic flaps as Loyal Stride held open the door. “Some of the samples from sector twenty three made them think that maybe we’d overlooked—“ 
She got no further than that. Loyal Stride had taken one quick look around the room, then seized hold of Pen Stroke by the mantle and pressed her against the nearest cubicle divide. She gave a little squeak as she hit the wall, and a little gasp as Loyal Stride descended upon her.
The kiss was long and full of feeling. Both pulled at each other, trying in vain to pull the other closer. Pen Stroke managed to pull away for a split second to gasp
“Strider, we can’t—“ before diving once again. “We can’t,” she moaned again once the deepest of their passions had passed. “You can’t. We agreed.”
“I know,” Loyal Stride muttered, exhaling deeply. “But it has been too long. What’s the point of this pretence if it makes us unhappy?”
“Strider, you’re a high ranking officer in the army,” Pen Stroke said, running a hoof through his short mane. “You can’t be seen having an affair with a unicorn.”
“A high ranking officer of low birth,” Loyal Stride nodded, rolling his eyes. “As my peers love to remind me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Pen Stroke objected as he pulled away from her. “Please, we have our careers to think about. We can’t jeopardise our entire lives for—“
“That’s the funny thing about loyalty,” Loyal Stride interrupted her, angrily. “No matter how loyal you are to someone or something...” he left the sentence hanging with a snort of disgust. “I joined the army first, I owe my life and allegiance to the Republic.” He spoke it harshly, but not to Pen Stroke.
“Of course you do. We all do,” Pen Stroke said gently. “I’m proud of you for it; I honestly am. That’s why you can’t put yourself at risk by being seen with me.”
Loyal Stride gave another snort, which then turned into a short eruption of bitter laughter. “For the Republic, and the ideals it aspires to,” he said, as though repeating some catch-phrase. “And what ideals we fight for. Hate magic in all its forms, and those who practise it.”
“Loyal Stride, you know it’s more complicated than that.”
“Everything always is. But that’s the gist, isn’t it? No matter that Pegasi use magic to affect the weather, or Earth Ponies like me have a magical affiliation to nature. No, we ignore that, we accept that. It’s only unicorns we have to hate.”
“Not so loud!” Pen Stroke begged, glancing at the tent entrance. 
“Sorry,” Loyal Stride grumbled after a short pause.
“You’ve been holding that in for a while, huh?” Pen Stroke said, coyly. 
“Yeah, a bit,” he replied, absently rubbing the back of his neck. “And a couple of other things too. It’s not like we can keep it all a secret much longer anyway.”
Pen Stroke’s lips tightened at this. “I know,” she said, no longer able to meet his eye. “It’d be hard to hide.”
“We’ll deal with it as it comes,” Loyal Stride said bracingly. “Trotus isn’t going to do anything, and just let the others try. Most of them barely remember what the political process is, let alone how to fight in it.”
“It’s a little like our own little country over here, isn’t it?” Pen Stroke chuckled. “With all the ocean between us, it’s hard for anyone in the capital to really take notice of us.”
“Which is the point of exiling us here, of course,” Loyal Stride huffed. “Well, let’s get that message sent. If that patrol jumps the gun again, I’m going to have them all in chains.”
“Be nice, dear,” Pen Stroke warned him, giving him an ironical look. “And come back safely.”
“One thing, though,” Loyal Stride said, for the first time sounding uncertain. He cursed himself internally for his hesitation and ploughed on. “There’s a chance that, given where the anomaly was, it might have something—“
“To do with my brother,” Pen Stroke finished for him, staring hard at a half-written report on a nearby table. “I know.”
“You know what I have to do if I find him.”
“I do,” she replied. She swallowed, and suddenly sounded as though she had a slight cough. “Just... I know he has his reasons for... whatever he’s doing.”
“Maybe,” Loyal Stride replied quietly. “But the law is the law.” When Pen Stroke didn’t reply, Loyal Stride trotted to the door. He looked back once before exiting, and then disappeared beyond the flaps into the camp.
“Idiot,” Pen Stroke sniffed, wiping her eyes hurriedly. “Him, as an uncle...” 





The loud hum of the engine masked the sound of Loyal Stride’s clanking armour as he approached the troop carrier.
“Is it true what they’re saying, sir?” asked Hard Hat.
“That depends who they are, and what they’re saying,” Loyal Stride replied loudly over the sound of the rotors, hopping onto the entrance ramp.
“The men!” Hard Hat called back. “They say we’re off to catch a princess!”
“Whoever told you that had best lay low. This mission is meant to be confidential.”
“Your rigid adherence to regulations is an inspiration for us all, sir,” Hard Hat said, giving a mock salute as he strapped himself to his seat. 
“As it should be,” Loyal Stride said, grinning. “Listen up, mares and gentlecolts!” he called to the group at large. Eight pairs of eyes turned to look at him as the ramp rose and sealed them all in. “Apparently somepony already knows the specs of this mission. Patrol Fleet Diana’s succendum field generator detected an anomalous reading half an hour ago, and we think Equestrian royalty is breaking the terms of our peace agreement. Our job is to get there and apprehend the culprit.”
“Royalty, sir?” a mare with a regulation coffee-coloured body asked narrowly. “Princesses?” 
“That’s what we’re thinking.”
A buzz of chatter filled the confined space until somepony smacked their hooves together eagerly. The metal greaves clanked and ground together as the culprit grinned toothily. 
“Capture or kill?” asked the enormous specimen, in a voice like a bear after a heavy feed.
“Capture,” Loyal Stride replied clearly, staring around at them all. “Whomever we find must be captured alive. Living prisoners are far more valuable.”
“And look better for when the Princeps arrives,” said Hard Hat eagerly.
“The next pony to know things they ought not to is getting flogged,” Loyal Stride snapped, jabbing Hard Hat in the chest. “You all hear me?”
The cabin filled dully with the resentful murmurs of ascension. 
“Damn, sir,” Hard Hat huffed. “Message received.”
“Eyes forward, the lot of you,” Loyal Stride barked. “You think a princess is going down easy? I need you all on task for this.”
This seemed to pump them up a little. The mare next to the first nodded slowly. “I heard their manes float around them like there’s always wind.”
“They’m tall too,” a scrappy-looking stallion opposite her added. 
“I heard they can kill ya with a single look from the eyes,” a dark red veteran growled, indicating his own, narrowed yellow eyes, and glaring sinisterly around.
“They die like any other pony,” Loyal Stride said firmly. “Stick ‘em with a sword, they bleed. Hit them and bones break. All they’ve got is slightly more powerful magic, and how many magic-wielding weaklings have been fool enough to challenge Roam and live?”
The soldiers all grinned and nodded. The two mares gave each other knowing looks and tapped smacked their hooves together with a loud clang. The dark red veteran sat back in his seat with a satisfied chuckle. Loyal Stride knocked the wall to his left.
“Take us out of here!”
“Right away, sir!” called the pilot, snapping her goggles into place. “Destination set.”
Loyal Stride allowed himself an eager half-smile. “The operation is underway!”


- To be Continued
	
> Drowning would not have been my first choice...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sonata Dusk



Sonata had never had a hangover before. The one, brief experience she’d had with drugs had ended with such a seemingly catastrophic conclusion that she’d been too wrapped up in her emotional trauma to notice what her physical aches and pains might have been. This time however, it was with a certain degree of confusion, and a hefty amount of groaning and moaning, that she awoke to find her head pounding, and her entire body tingling like she’d eaten something intensely spicy. But... somehow all over her body.
“Keep her quiet!” she heard a voice hiss. She winced at the wave of pain throbbing through her head with each syllable.
“Plse-dnt-shout,” she slurred.
“Sonata!” Sunset whispered. “Are you alright?”
“My head really hurts...” Sonata groaned. “And my stomach feels like... like it... bad.”
“Well at least we know it didn’t make her any stupider than before,” Script commented spitefully. 
“We’re almost out, I think,” Sunset whispered to Sonata after sparing Script a resentful glare.
“Just up a head,” Script said, taking hold of Sonata. With an odd spring-like motion, he pulled her off of Sunset’s back, and then lifted her suddenly into the tunnel ceiling. Sonata vision had hardly begun to solidify before it was suddenly plunged into utter darkness. She gulped in an enormous lungful of air to scream before she realised that she’d just breathed in a copious amount of foul-smelling and stagnant mist. She gagged, and then the soil around her gave way and she fell hard into the tunnel again. As lights twinkled in front of her eyes, she distinctly heard the sounds of scuffling, and Sunset swearing loudly. And then belatedly the pain caught up with her senses and she clutched her pounding head.
“I love physics,” Script chuckled.
“You absolute arse hole!” Sunset bellowed. Sonata heard a thump that sounded like a body being thrust against an earthen wall.
“Hey, it’s good news,” Script said, sounding amused. “We’re near the exit. We’ll be in the Nighlands by—” he paused. “Well, it’s always night time there, so...”
“If you do anything like that again, I’ll—“
“Oh go on, say it,” Script sneered. “Come on, you can do it. You’ll... what, exactly?”
Sonata looked up from the floor to see Sunset pinning Script to the wall. Her face twisted into a look of fury, it contrasted starkly with Script’s look of roguish nonchalance.
“The exit’s... up there?” Sonata asked dazedly.
“Come on. Say it with me. I’ll – Kill – You. Trust me, it’s not hard to say,” Script goaded. “Some ponies say it too much.”
“I’m not saying it,” Sunset said flatly, and then punched him in the snout. “What do you even get out of being such an unbelievable douchebag?”
“Oh, a certain sense of gratification mostly,” Script said, picking himself up. “For instance, when you apologise to me later.”
“Um, guys?” Sonata put in, tentatively.
“Tch!” Sunset scoffed. “You’ll be waiting a while.”
“Can you guys tell me—“
“Perhaps. But you will say it,” Script assured confidently. “Equestrians are too nice for their own good.”
“I just want to know what happened.”
“You want another hoof in the face?” Sunset snarled.
“Sure, I’m a bit of a sado-masochist, so one or two more would do me nicely.”
“Shut up!” Sonata cried. Retaliatory backlash of nausea and agony notwithstanding, the tunnel did suddenly become quiet.
Both of them almost instantly began shushing her, Script simultaneously trying to stem his bloody nose at the same time. Sonata shrank back, afraid to say anything else.
“Do you want them to find us again?” Script demanded in a loud whisper. 
“W-Who?”
“Soldiers,” Sunset answered.
“Mm,” Script hummed sceptically. 
“I remember seeing something in the dark,” Sonata said, frowning. “I think I... I did something. Didn’t I?”
“Oh, you did something alright,” Script choked. He stopped to catch his breath. “You plunged us down into a changeling’s storage chamber. Then, if you please, you broke it!”
“Broke it?” Sonata asked, confused. She clutched at her head convulsively. “My head really hurts...”
“You dropped us through a floor into a room with a changeling crystal. They use them to store gathered love, like a larder,” Sunset explained, sitting next to Sonata. “The one we found had been forced into dormancy for some reason, and it seemed to have some sort of effect on you. You looked like you were in a trance.”
“And I... broke the crystal?” Sonata surmised, tensing up a little at the thought. “Why does my head hurt so much...?”
“You drained it dry and made it explode,” Script said conversationally. “Effectively disorientating the two ‘ponies’ that appeared to apprehend us. Mother-May-I here and I managed to throw up shields in time, and so used the opportunity to escape.”
“Maybe your head hurts because you somehow absorbed love instead of negative energy. I really don’t understand what was going on down there. Maybe your pendant was just attracted to what it sensed was some big power source or something.
“That makes sense... I guess,” Sonata lied, since it didn’t make much sense to her. But since she herself didn’t have any better explanations, she left it at that. “Why did you say the word ‘ponies’ with that disbelieving inflection?” Sonata asked Script.
“Because they weren’t who they were claiming to be. They weren’t Roaman, that’s for sure.”
“That doesn’t mean they were changelings,” Sunset said, suggesting to Sonata that they’d already discussed the matter. 
“They could have been Equestrians in disguise,” Script nodded. “But then I have to wonder why they’re down here.”
“You thought that we were spies,” Sonata pointed out. “Maybe they actually were spies.”
“That makes no sense either,” Script said, waving a dismissive hoof. “I know every cranny of this particular route, and that particular chamber wasn’t even in the Land of Friendship.”
“Have we gone that far?” Sonata asked.
“We had been walking for a good hour or so in a straight line,” Sunset said thoughtfully. “Where were we?”
“Near to a small town called Canterbury, if I remember right,” Script answered. “Somepony want to give me a boost? We might be able to actually get out this way.”
“Canterbury?” Sunset yelped. “But that’s just outside of Canterlot. Not a few miles even.”
“Yes,” Script said, not really listening. “Boost?” he mimed picking somepony up and lifting them through the hole. “Or would one of you rather go first?”
“Sure you’re not going to just leave us down here?”
“First of all, the nearest natural exit is just a bit further down the tunnel here. Secondly, I don’t break my deals with ponies. And thirdly, if I did, I’d obliterate her before I left.”
Sonata put up a leg to stop Sunset breaking Script’s nose. “You don’t have to get mad, Sunset. To be honest, I don’t think he could do anything to really hurt me.”
“I could try,” Script shrugged. “But I do have this ominous feeling that whatever you drained from that crystal has only strengthened that red abomination.” He gave Sonata’s gem a half-resentful, half-wary glare.
“If you throw me through a ceiling again though, I’ll bite your ear,” Sonata finished matter-of-factly.
Script twitched one of said ears in an apparently unconscious way. “Well, that’s plainly spoken.” Without warning he raised his horn, and blasted the hole above them to make it larger. “Since I’m evidently not going to get a boost: Ladies first, then.”
Sonata touched ground to find that their surroundings had much changed. Ponyville was nowhere in sight; instead, all around was a grassy landscape cleaved in two by a fairly large gorge through which a river ran. On either side of the rocky split were deep, dark bodies of trees, as though some enormous blade had cut a forest in two. The sky was dark and cloudy. From somewhere above came an indefinable sort of hum, like the sound of a far away cataclysm. 
“Ah!” Script cackled. “The Twins. I thought it must be close.”
“Why is it called the Twins?” Sonata asked, looking at the gorge.
“The forests are the Twins. Twins Forest. Divided by the Twins Beck,” Script explained, looking around.
“Because there’s two of them?”
“No, no, it’s because of a story about two great giants who—“
“I’ll tell you about it later,” Sunset said quickly. “Can you hear that?”
“You mean the humming?” Sonata asked. “I hear it too.” 
“No, not that,” Sunset said in a low voice. For some reason she was lowering her head, as though the grass was whispering something to her. “It sounds more like...”
Then Sonata heard it too. Script swore loudly. Out of the hole that they had made in the ground burst forth a number of distinctly miscellaneous individuals. Indeed the stark contrast in their appearances was somewhat more alarming than their sudden arrival; so much so that for a moment all that Sonata, Sunset, and Script could do was stare at them. Once about thirty had risen from the ground like some parody of a zombie invasion, they arranged themselves in a threatening formation, advancing slowly on the three of them from all sides.
“Changelings,” Script said, backing up, his horn sparking. “Called it.”
“We’re not changelings,” one of the advancing party declared.
“We’re Roamans,” another said, a hulking brown stallion in a red tunic and steel armour.”
“No you’re not,” Script argued.
“No, we’re not,” another said, sounding puzzled. “I’m not, anyway.”
“A few of you don’t seem to be,” Sunset observed nervously.
“I thought we were supposed to be Equestrians,” a royal guard said slowly, his golden armour clanking as he looked around furtively. This led to a buzz of uncertain chattering.
“Moronic vermin,” Script sighed under his breath.
Sonata heard Sunset inhale suddenly, possibly to tell Script to keep his bigoted comments to himself, when there came a low hissing from all around. Every eye was turned towards them, their squabble forgotten. An innocent-looking mare with an unassuming and whimsical colouration of purples and pinks stepped forward, her expression carved into a look of cold intensity. With a little ‘phht!” like the sound of a short-lived flame, she changed, becoming an black, insectoid creature of vaguely pony shape. It had a twisted horn on its head and gauzy wings held close to its side, its bright blue eyes flashing in the dark.
“Capture them!” it rasped. 
“Bring them to the Queen alive,” another said, edging forward like a stalking lion.
“Delicious,” another said, its voice low and purring. Sonata couldn’t be sure, but she had the distinct feeling that most of them with the more hungry looks in their eyes were staring at her and Sunset.
“Oh wonderful,” Script said sarcastically. “They can sense you two love-birds. No wonder they found us so fast.”
“What do we do?” she whispered out of the side of her mouth.
“Call the exterminator?” Script suggested.
“I can make a shield,” Sunset said, “but not big enough to keep off this many. Especially with more coming.”
Indeed, now that Sonata saw, many more were rising from the ground, shrugging off their hodgepodge disguises as they advanced in seemingly endless waves.
“Whatever, it’s better than nothing,” Script said quickly. “Shield up.”
Sonata backed up, noticing the thick wall of trees behind her; they were being backed into it. Perhaps they could run through it, but what if they got lost in the dark? Could changelings see in the dark? She didn’t know, but it would be just their luck. She looked at Sunset, wondering what the delay in the shield was.
“Sunset? What’s wrong?” Sonata asked at the look on her marefriend’s face. Sunset grunted, drew in a deep breath and then strained. Feeble, sputtering green sparks crackled from her horn, and she suddenly gave a gasp of pain. “Sunset!”
“A succendum field?” Script exclaimed. “But—No, where could—“
A sudden sound from Sonata’s right drew her attention. Trying to hold a swaying Sunset, she was nearly blinded as a floodlight flashed across them, illuminating the area in bright white light. The sound of spinning rotors blocked out the sound of Script swearing.
“That’s impossible...” Sunset groaned, looking up too. “Sonata, are you seeing...?”
“It’s a helicopter,” Sonata said, dumbstruck, her mouth agape.
Whichever way one looked at it, it was a helicopter. A sleek, dark red body in a roughly rectangular shape, its tail glittered as the rear blades slowed. On the side was a large, painted golden laurel crown above the words Senatus Populesque Roamanus.
“Quick!” Script cried over the roar of the rotors. “This is our chance to escape!”
The helicopter descended with surprising speed, setting down backwards a little way down the ridge. In response the changelings’ attention had been understandably diverted; they hissed and snarled as though the helicopter was an old enemy that had done them tremendous harm. From the rear of the chopper a ramp lowered, and several armoured individuals burst onto the scene.
“Legionaries!” the apparent leader called as the helicopter lifted sideways over the gorge. “To me! Lock formation!”
“Where can we go?” Sonata asked as she, Sunset, and Script took shelter beneath the overhanging branches of the forest’s perimeter.
“Didn’t you have a destination?” Sunset demanded, looking at Script.
“Of course I did,” Script snapped. “Unfortunately, it’s that way,” he said, pointing over towards where the squadron of unknown soldiers were advancing, their large square shields blocking the route.
Sonata blinked, sure that she wasn’t seeing things correctly. The soldiers, who were marching forward in a cool V-shaped formation, were standing on their hind-legs, a shield on their left forehooves, and a sword in their right. A gear snagged in Sonata’s brain as she attempted to work out the anatomical wonder that seemed to be making this possible. 
“I visit a town on the border with the Nightlands to the south west,” Script explained. “If we can escape during all of this fighting, we can follow the river right to it.”
“South west along the river,” Sonata repeated. “Okay, then we can just run, right? Those soldier guys over there and that helicopter will keep the changelings back, won’t they?”
“What’s a helicopter?” Script asked, bemused. When Sonata pointed at the vehicle in question, Script snorted loudly. “Oh, sure,” Script said in his usual sardonic tone of voice. “We’ll be just fine. If being riddled full of javelins counts as being fine.”
“What do you—“ Sunset started to ask. All three had instinctively looked at the helicopter, just in time to see exactly what Script meant. On the chopper’s left and right side, visible thanks to the dim moonlight that could be seen through them, a pony could clearly be seen operating a sizeable machine with a curved layer of thin metal plating. As they watched, several long, dark objects whizzed lethally through the air in the direction of the changelings, landing in front of the advancing horde. The changelings gave a collective hiss of anger and backed up as more projectiles sped their way. 
“I’m not entirely convinced that they won’t shoot us if we try make a run for it,” Script said tensely. “But we can’t stay here.”
“True,” Sunset agreed, watching as the still increasing horde of changelings was forced back. Green blasts of energy pelted forth into the V-shaped formation from the changeling’s horns, but all of them glanced harmlessly off of the curved square shields. “Whichever side wins this, they’ll will come after us.”
“That’s not what I was talking about,” Script corrected her. He pointed upwards, and Sonata’s insides plummeted. 
Whilst she had been bleeding to death back at Twilight’s castle, she’d only managed to get an oblique look at what Script had called the “ventnavis” hovering over the ruins of Ponyville. Back then she’d thought that it had simply been submerged in the clouds, dropping down into partial visibility, but now she saw that she had been wrong. The large, black underside of the ventnavis hadn’t been protruding out of the storm cloud over Ponyville, it had been attached to it. 
The gargantuan machine, shaped like the long underbelly of some enormous battleship, could clearly be seen from their vantage point to be hanging from the cloud, attached by lines of what Sonata thought might be steel girders and thick cable encircling the cloud’s body, although it was too far away to see properly. The dark cloud this monster hung from crackled with internal lightning, and was shaped in an enormous, elongated oval, so that it was very easy to view it as a blimp or zeppelin. On the side that they could see was a localised area of plating, bearing the same legend of ‘Senatus Populesque Roamanus’ and the laurel crown.
“If I’m not much mistaken, that ventnavis is bringing itself into firing range of this forest. This entire line will be very much be a flaming crater in a few minutes.”
“What!?” Sunset yelped. “Why?”
“Obviously to stop us escaping,” Script replied, rolling his eyes. “But I wonder why they’re so interested in us. Surely they simply suspect a spy or a deserter. There’s no need to level the forest...”
“Should we run then?” Sonata asked. “I really don’t want to be a flaming crater.”
“We have to time it correctly,” Script instructed. “They won’t fire until the contubernium has driven the changelings far enough back, or else they’d hit their own—“ He stopped suddenly, his face paling.
Sonata looked up, and was instantly deafened by a loud, ear-penetrating 

GOOOOM!

What looked like two great balls of fire erupted from the ventnavis’ port side. Streaking across the sky like meteorites, they slammed suddenly into the forest’s northern tip. Sonata cried out as the ground shook beneath her feet, the trees behind her trembling and quaking in the aftershock. A great wave of heat and kinetic force hit them like a sudden gust of hot wind.
“Well I was wrong,” Script muttered. “RUN!”
Sonata and Sunset didn’t need to be told twice. They pelted after him, their eyes on the canyon’s edge as they heard the same sonorous explosions behind them, obliterating the perfectly innocent forest with several tonnes of explosive fiery death.
Although Sonata wasn’t quite focusing on them, she vaguely noticed that the ventnavis’ activities were throwing both the changelings and the Roaman ground forces into a panic. Screeching loudly, the horde of black parasites swarmed back to the hole, eagerly escaping to the safety of their underground tunnels. The Roamans meanwhile had deviated from their formation, all apparently momentarily transfixed by the sight of their own ship sweeping the line of trees in their direction. 
“Move!” their leader cried. “To the transport!” 
The helicopter, which was paying Sonata and company no attention whatsoever, lowered quickly towards the squadron of soldiers, its rear hatch opening. 
“If we can get to the gorge, we can drop down to a safer level; get out of the blast radius!” Script shouted back to his companions.
A shout from the direction of the chopper just managed to reach them over the cacophony going on from all sides, and it diverted Sonata’s attention. Looking back to the group of soldiers, she noticed that the one she’d identified as the leader was holding back, apparently having just noticed her and her companions. One of the soldiers already on the chopper was extending a hoof to him, but at the last moment the leader leapt back... and made a break directly for them!
“Incoming!” Sonata gasped. 
Both Script and Sunset looked right. Script swore loudly as the armoured assailant slammed into him, knocking him off his feet.
“Argh!” Script exclaimed. “Are you insane? Get out of here!”
“Not without you, traitor!” the leader snarled, bearing down on him.
Script gasped and made an angry noise between his teeth. “Loyal Stride!” 
“We have to go!” Sunset cried, her voice several octaves higher than usual as the rain of destruction edged closer down the forest line.
“You’re all under arrest!” Loyal Stride announced. “I ordered the bombardment to cease. Why aren’t they stopping?”
“More political intrigue?” Script said snidely.
“Don’t try to worm your way out of things this time, Parchm—“ Loyal Stride cursed as he raised his shield. The first blast from Script’s horn rebounded off of it, gauging a scar into the ground. As close to the gorge as they were, Sonata felt like they were miles away from it. 
“Stop!” she cried, “We can’t fight like this, the ship-thing is—“ The second blast was stronger than the first. Still on the ground, Script’s horn glowed white with the intensity of the blast, and indeed the deflection caused Loyal Stride to lose his footing a little. Bouncing off the shield at an angle, it whizzed passed Sunset’s ear and struck the ground right at Sonata’s feet. She felt the concussion blow her back, her feet leaving the floor. She opened her mouth to cry out, but felt all the air sucked suddenly from her lungs. Expecting to hit the ground, her heart shot upwards into her throat as she felt the terrible sensation of coming across a downwards step that she was not expecting, only on a much greater level. As her vision cleared, she found herself staring into Sunset’s bright green eyes, becoming increasingly distant as she fell down, down, down, into the cold shadow of the gorge. 
She screamed Sunset’s name, and heard her own name cried back at her, and then all sound was gone, muffled and distorted by the water flooding her ears.
Whether it was because of this sudden and deathly silence, or because the impact with the water’s churning surface had hit her with sufficient force, she suddenly felt her senses become disarrayed, almost distant. She clung to the air still in her lungs, feeling a mounting pressure in her head as the oxygen in her blood diminished. After the cacophonous noises and bright lights against the navy blue sky of the world above, the watery silence and murky darkness was almost a welcome change. As her lungs involuntarily expelled the carbon dioxide mounting inside of them, her body tensed as though she was receiving an electric shock. The cold water stung her throat and stabbed at her insides; it ate into her very being, forcing her eyes wide open as her sluggish brain belatedly tried to grind back into action. Her limbs began to work of their own accord, swinging wildly to bring her back to the surface.
Sonata... she heard from above, over and over again. Sunset... Sunset!
The water’s surface burst with bright yellow lights. She had to get there; she had to reach the surface, reach Sunset! Sunset needed help. 
The water held her back, like being dunked in thick pudding, it dragged her down. Her limbs felt heavier and heavier as her muscles screamed for oxygen. She needed to breath, she needed to get out of the water. But the surface was so far away! Her limbs refused to work anymore and her insides were burning like acid.
Sunset, please... I... I’m coming...
Her vision went dark again, as the watery murk closed in around her.


- To be Continued
	
> What the Inside of a Serpent's Stomach Looks Like
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sunset Shimmer


Sonata was gone. So why was anything else allowed to still exist?
Sunset felt transported into some cosmic realm where such trivial things as changelings, Roamans, or aerial bombardments couldn’t touch her, let alone harm her, but where the pains in her own heart could rend her flesh asunder. Her eyes fixed unblinkingly on the spot where Sonata had been swallowed by the waves, she was barely aware of her mouth still moving, her throat still straining as she screamed her lover’s name.
“Surrender!” Loyal Stride snarled, edging forward. 
“Come on, Strider,” Script said jeeringly. “Let an old friend go. There’s work to be done.”
“Whatever work you think you need to do, you could have done at the camp!”
“Even you don’t believe that,” Script spat. “Seriously. After that whole incident at the palace, you honestly think that any research I tried to—“
“Shut your mouth!” Loyal Stride lurched forward suddenly, brandishing his shield. “You’re coming back with me, and owning up to your sister before your court martial.”
“Oh, please,” Script laughed derisively. “Some farce court proceeding followed by the oh-so dignified death of deserters and traitors. The Republic’s adherence to outdated and barbaric traditions is almost admirable.”
Sunset was almost entirely insensible to this confrontation going on just behind her, and even to the fiery destruction edging their way. That is, until she heard:
“Your resistance has already killed one of your new friends,” Loyal Stride said warningly. “Don’t let it kill another. Just get on the—“
He didn’t get any further than that. Utterly focused on Script’s glowing horn, Loyal Stride hadn’t been paying any attention to Sunset. That was until he heard her guttural cry of rage before she slammed into him. Under normal circumstances Sunset would have considered the attack to be a foolhardy move borne of desperation and a pent up state of furious emotions, but for all that she cared now she might have been repeatedly bucking a brick wall and not give a single damn. Up on his hind legs, Loyal Stride fell heavily backwards, his segmented plate armour weighing him down as he collapsed with a clattering of metal.
“Huh,” Script said in great surprise. “Well done. I frankly didn’t expect—“ he got now further either. No sooner had Loyal Stride been sent crashing to the floor then Sunset turned on Script. A well-aimed hoof connected sharply with Script’s diaphragm, making him reel backwards as Sunset tried to shove him roughly with her shoulder. “What are you—Stop it! We don’t have—Ow!” 
“Damn Equestrian!” Loyal Stride growled, getting back to his feet. Sheathing his sword he dropped back to all fours and knocked Sunset away as she tried to bite at Script’s face. She glared back at him, feeling her face twisted into the blackest expression. Whatever the look in her eye was, she didn’t know, but Script and Loyal Stride both seemed to be ever so slightly perturbed by it. An awkward three-way stand-off kept all three of them glancing between each-other, uncertain whether to make the next move or not. Sunset was only kept back by a rapidly deteriorating indecision as to whom she should be most furious with, an indecision not at all hampered or helped by the arrival of the dark red chopper dropping low  beside them.
“Sir!” cried a voice over the rotors and loud explosions coming ever nearer. “Sir, we need to go, now! The bombardment is almost upon us!”
Sunset’s muscles tensed to make her move. She was half-way through the motion when something successfully managed to distract her. 
Few things might have managed to make Sunset pause at that moment, but what erupted out of the canyon might well have been enough to make the rain stop falling. With a sound both louder and more terrible than anything else going on around them, an enormous shadow, sharply defined on the grass turning gold in the feeble rays of the morning sunrise, consumed all three of them like a last remnant of the night determined to drag them away from the dawn. Sunset could only stare; her brain so recently filled with nothing but blind rage and hatred, suddenly drained of thought. Loyal Stride and Script seemed possessed of a similar frame of mind, as they too gazed disbelievingly upwards.
An enormous serpent, its scales glittering purple in the morning sunlight, rose to curve its great frilled head over them. Its sharp, reptilian eyes rolled madly for a moment before fixing downward upon them, narrowing to slits as the ridges and frills on its elongated face flexed and spread experimentally. With a ponderous intake of breath, its upper body expanding alarmingly, it opened its mouth wide to display long rows of sword-like teeth. Sunset’s hooves rose automatically to press over her ears as it roared, a deafening, screechy ululation not unlike that of a dragon, although even through her plugged ears Sunset could hear an oddly melodic tone mingling with the roar.
The serpent continued to eye them balefully as its head swayed slightly from side to side, its neck and upper body rising still further from the canyon. To Sunset’s utter astonishment, it raised some kind of arm above the canyon line and slammed it down into the ground behind them, as though to cut off their escape. They were trapped, three small ponies laid out before a very hungry looking sea monster.
With a ‘Thuk!’, a thin, black spike struck the ground in front of Sunset, not a foot or so from her face. She leapt instinctively back as more impact sounds all around her told her that more spikes were landing nearby, impaling themselves inches into the hard soil. The serpent shuddered spasmodically, several of the spikes protruding from the side of its head and its extended arm.
“What!?” Loyal Stride exclaimed, staring disbelievingly at the ventnavis. “What are those idiots doing!?” 
“Sir!” cried the voice again. “Please! We have to go!” The helicopter was still hovering in place, although by the looks of it the pilot was only just barely maintaining the gumption to remain in place with the serpent hanging over them.
Whilst Loyal Stride was hesitating, Sunset looked automatically behind her. The ventnavis was almost upon them, firing not just the streaks of fiery doom, but also clusters of the long black spikes, all in their direction. They impacted into the ground harmlessly around them all, missing them all by the merest chance. Except for the helicopter. Four black spikes hit the chopper one after the other, three of them lodging themselves into the fuselage, whilst the fourth jammed itself into the roof. The propellers clanged loudly against it, the motor inside screeching loudly as the blades slowed dangerously with the interruption of the spike, sending the severed end of the projectile whizzing lethally passed Script and into the gorge.
“Hard Hat!” Loyal Stride bellowed, as the helicopter lurched sideways. 
All three of them watched in a kind of fascinated horror as the chopper zoomed out of control, skimming the edge of the gorge, it curved down into the canyon, and struck the side of the canyon wall. 
“Spirits preserve me...” Script whispered hoarsely, staring at the spot where the chopper had impacted.
“No!” Loyal Stride roared. “No! Spirits, no! Hard Hat! Greenlight! Sky Dasher!” 
Sunset didn’t know what to feel. Her internal storm at Sonata’s death swirled with something else, a sense of unfamiliar panic.
“Well, we’re dead,” Script shouted, apparently choosing to take imminent violent death as he took everything else: an inconvenience intentionally trying to ruin his day.
The serpent took matters differently. Shrieking loudly at the ventnavis as though trying to scare it away, it turned its head back to the prospective meals it had below it. Before Sunset could recover effectively from the sight of the helicopter’s destruction, a dark shadow descended upon her, and she disappeared in a snapping of teeth.
Loyal Stride stumbled with the impact as his armour made him lilt, and in a second flash of sabre-like fangs, he vanished too. 
Alerted to the danger by the other two being taken unaware, Script dived to one side as the serpent’s mouth crashed into the earth. It snarled in annoyance, spitting soil as its reptilian eye flicked in his direction. Unfortunately for Script he’d dived in the wrong direction; the ongoing bombardment was only metres away, the flaming debris of destroyed trees raining down around him. As he made to scramble out of the way, a concussion sent him flying, tumbling across the grass and disorientated. Hungry jaws descended to claim him.





If Sunset had been asked later on to give a description of her experience from the moment that she’d been eaten, she’d have been quite unable to give a full and coherent account of it. She remembered only that she’d been compressed from all-sides since being squeezed down the monster’s throat. She’d instinctively held her breath as she went down, having fully expected to be torn in half by the fangs she tensed every muscle in anticipation. Instead, she slid like a wet ball through a thick rubber tube, until she’d been deposited into some kind of muscular sack. She had dared not open her eyes, but felt the walls of her prison, little fibrous tendrils moving on all sides prodding and sliding against her. Then she exhaled, and immediately breathed in a quantity of dank, malodorous air. It made her choke and gag; she tried to reach up to her nose to shut out the smell, but her limbs were firmly clamped in place. It was when the sense of claustrophobia set in that she really began to lose track of things however, and her panicking brain seemed to cast off her senses as it tried frantically to make sense of what was going on. Fears flooded it: 
She’d been eaten! But she was still alive...
Was she going to be slowly, painfully, lengthily digested here? Constricted and kept barely alive whilst she was slowly broken down to feed this great beast?
Or perhaps she hadn’t been properly devoured so that she could be taken to be eaten later. Perhaps the creature had a nest, babies of some sort to feed. She imagined herself being dangled over a clutch of smaller serpents in some underwater cave, her body being nipped at from all sides as she drowned.
Sonata... she thought. Had she been devoured as well? Perhaps she had been what had attracted the monster to them, the smell of a fresh meal readily available. If so, then Sunset would rejoin her soon. Soon...
It was almost with relief that the meagre amount of oxygen she was able to snatch wasn’t enough to maintain consciousness, and she sank gratefully into darkness.





With thoughts as morose as these to comfort her, it was frankly –  and perhaps understandably – astonishing to Sunset to be woken from her oxygen-deprived unconsciousness by what felt like being hit by a truck. 
Once her vision had obligingly stopped blurring over, she found that she was lying in what she instantly realised was a pool of saliva and stomach juices. A violent tremor ran through her entire body, and her eyes suddenly shot wide open. She felt so violated...
Before she had any time to really get to grips with the facts of her surroundings, an intolerably loud sound from above drew her attention momentarily from her disgusting predicament. A horrendous choking sound, like a Godzilla-sized cat hacking up a hairball, interspersed by a revolting gurgling sound drew her eyes up to the slender form of the serpent, hanging over her and spasming with its mouth wide open. It dropped its mouth close to the ground – Sunset backing off sharpish from her position on the ground – and with a great flexing of muscles that sent its many frills and ridges flaring, coughed up something that clanked as it hit the ground.
Sunset stared through her sopping mane at Loyal Stride’s unmoving form, and then at Script’s as the monster vomited him up as well.
“W-W-What... is...” Sunset tried to speak, but she simply didn’t have words for the scope of her feelings at that moment. She simply stared up at the serpent, unable to comprehend what the hell was going on. Was the serpent going to devour them now? Had it merely wanted to eat at its leisure, and so had taken its meal to a quieter place? Sunset backed up slowly, hoping to not be noticed.
It could only have been a few minutes at most since they’d been ingested; the sun was still on just rising above the horizon, but in the slightly stronger light it was casting on the scene, she got a clearer picture of the beast that had devoured her, and in that light, she thought it looked oddly... familiar.
She squinted up, wiping the red and gold strands clinging to her face, noticing immediately several recognisable features: the bright blue colour of the scales, the enormous membranous frill running down its back, the arms which – now that Sunset got a better look at them – had hooves on the end of them. And then the large, glowing red gem in the middle of its chest.
Sunset swallowed as the creature pulled itself laboriously up out of the river and onto solid ground. It was hard; Sunset’s mouth was dry at the thought that had just occurred to her. It couldn’t be... it just couldn’t... the idea was simply insane.
Then the creature did away with all of Sunset’s doubts. With a wide, toothy yawn, it reared its head, and let out a long, melodic sigh, like a musical note deprived of energy and substance. And then it began to shrink. Its fishy tail retreated, its longer-than-Sunset-remembered neck pulling its head back towards its body, which itself began to shed off its serpent’s look, and take on an altogether more pony-like form. Within moments, the once terrifying sea monster had shrank to an average-sized pony with a dusky blue body, and a dark striped azure mane and tail. It stood perfectly still for six long seconds, and then it shook as though suddenly panicked. It lurched forward suddenly, pawing desperately at its neck, gagging and choking, until eventually it managed to take in a deep, dragging breath like somepony bursting out of water. After a few deep breaths, it blinked, and turned its head to look at Sunset.
“Gills,” it said, smiling weakly and pointing at its throat. Then Sonata’s legs gave entirely way, and she fell face-first into the grass.





It took a good minute or so for Sunset to build up enough sense of herself to pick herself up and move around. Moving gingerly, the goop all over her having dried out into a foul sort of slime not unlike a snail trail, she trotted awkwardly over to Loyal Stride and Parchment Script, shedding grass stuck to her body as she went. Once she’d made sure that they were breathing and not in immediate harm, she moved more quickly over to Sonata.
Sunset looked over her marefriend with a strange sense of deep uncertainty; she had no idea what to think or feel except relief for her still being alive. For both of them still being alive. And revulsion for having been eaten, that too. After a few moments, Sonata stirred.
“Hey gorgeous,” she said weakly. “Love what you’ve done with your mane.”
“Smarty pants,” Sunset chided, poking Sonata in the cheek with a hoof. A blob of slime stuck there, perking Sonata up at once as she leapt up and furiously wiped it away.
“Ew!” she whined. “That’s so gross!”
“You’re telling me!” Sunset complained, trying to control the tremor in her voice. “I’m covered in the stuff!”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Sonata said, tilting her head to one side and biting her lip. Perhaps she noticed the tremulousness in Sunset’s overly hearty voice. “It was the only thing I could think of at the time.”
“Swallowing us?” Sunset asked, trying to laugh. “I didn’t even know it was you!”
“Oh, wow!” Sonata exclaimed in wonder. “Sorry. That must have been really scary. There’s a waterfall over there that you can wash up in, though. It was a little hard to think straight when I was in full siren mode, so I just thought ‘Get to the end of the river! Get to the end of the river!’, and so here we are.”
Looking around properly, Sunset found that Sonata was quite correct. They were at the top of a steep incline of grassland with trees dotted all around. Below them she could see the river and gorge, and where the river had over many hundreds of years carved a great cleft in the side of the mountain. At the top of this cleft was the waterfall that Sonata spoke of, a moderately sized pillar of ever-falling crystalline water falling a good fifty feet or so into the ravine below. 
“What do we do about them?” Sonata asked after Sunset had allowed herself to be drenched in the rapidly rushing icy shower. She was looking at Loyal Stride and Script not far away, both of whom still hadn’t regained consciousness. 
“Leave them,” Sunset suggested, wringing out her mane. “One of them tried to capture us, and the other one,” she eyed Script. “I’m pretty sure I hate him.”
Sonata’s lips pursed. “We did promise we’d take him to see Twilight or Princess Luna,” she reminded Sunset quietly.
“I know,” Sunset sighed. “And, since he’s the only one who supposedly knows where to find her, I guess we can’t exactly go without him.”
“You don’t really hate him do you?” Sonata asked, sounding a little upset.
“I’m surprised you don’t,” Sunset replied huffily. “He tried to kill you at least once.”
“Yeah,” Sonata admitted. “I don’t like him. Like, if it was a choice between him and mean-Aria, I’m pretty sure I’d pick mean-Aria, but still...” she paused, apparently looking for the right words. “He kind of reminds me of Aria a little to be honest. He’s lonely but won’t admit it. I don’t even think he knows it himself.”
Sunset blinked at her marefriend, slightly taken aback. “That’s kind of deep, Sonata.” She’d been going to say “Kind of deep for you,” but caught herself at the last moment.
Somehow Sonata seemed to sense the unspoken part of this statement anyway. “I know kind of how he felt, all those years I had this.” She nudged the pendant around her neck, exhaling deeply. “We were lonely all of those years, me Aria and Adagio. We didn’t really know it since we were always together, and always had some plan for what to do, but after we lost our powers... well, to me at least it became really, really obvious.”
Sunset listened without speaking. She knew what Sonata meant. Whilst under most usual circumstances Sonata’s bubbly and almost Pinkie Pie-esque personality made her capacity for introspection and reflection almost nonexistent, by the time Sunset had found her on her apartment roof, that lightness and carefree attitude had been worn down to a suicidal level of self-awareness and inferiority. 
Sunset didn’t like to think of the Sonata from those days, the days when she’d been so broken and in pain. Sunset even preferred to think of Sonata when she’d been a siren and plotting world domination with her sisters; at least then she’d been happy. 
Perhaps it wasn’t so difficult to imagine Sonata empathising with somepony else on the same thing. And now that she thought about it, she herself found that she could sympathise with Script on the same thing. Had she herself not also once been lonely, afraid of making friends?
“Oh for Celestia’s sake,” she groaned. “Now you’re making me feel bad for him too.”
Sonata smiled fondly, and then chuckled a little. “Silly Shimmy.” 
Sunset felt her mouth curve, and suddenly she was laughing too. Once they had stopped, Sunset felt a great rush of affection for Sonata, and staring into her deep magenta eyes, matched Sonata’s movement, and leaned in. 
Their noses bumped each other, and they both jerked back.
“Huh,” Sonata said, feeling her snout.
“A little different, isn’t it?” Sunset agreed. “Being a pony.”
“I’m up for trying again though,” Sonata said cheekily. 
“Practise makes perfect, or so I’m told,” Sunset replied, leaning back in.
The kiss was unusual, but not unwelcome. Sunset could tell that Sonata as well was a little perturbed by the difference in facial structure between a human and a pony, and so at first they both tried to ease into the sensation, trying to find a comfortable means to relax into.
“Sorry,” Sonata said as they pulled apart.
“What for?”
“Because that was kind of terrible.”
Sunset narrowed one eye. “You thought I kissed you badly?”
“What? No, I—“
“Oh, well,” Sunset said, her nose in the air. “If it was that bad for you, maybe we shouldn’t do it anymore.”
“Sun-Set!” Sonata whined. “You’re so mean!”
Sunset couldn’t hold it in anymore; she could never resist the pouty face. Snickering a little, she pulled Sonata close and grinned into her hair. “Oh, you are so much fun to tease.”
“I’ll get you back for it,” Sonata grumbled, nuzzling into the crook of Sunset’s neck.
“I think swallowing me and holding me in your stomach for however long I was there counts as getting me back, don’t you?”
“I have seven stomachs when giant like that,” Sonata corrected her. “You were in number four. That’s my favourite number, you know.”
Sunset did know, although she’d never understood why. Nonetheless, she felt the appropriate level of honour at being stored in her marefriend’s favourite digestive organ. “Yeah, a couple of things about that,” she said, pulling away and giving Sonata a serious look. “Since when could you do that?”
Sonata shrugged. “I don’t know, I just sort of... did it. You were in trouble.”
“I was in trouble?” Sunset asked incredulously. “You’re the one who got blown off the edge of a canyon.”
“Yeah, but I was fine. Drowning, but fine,” Sonata replied in her usual sense of absent vagueness. 
“How come you were so... big?” Sunset asked, unsure of how else to put it. “Your siren forms in the battle of the bands weren’t nearly that big.”
“We were always that big,” Sonata explained. “When we were like that, anyway. We turned into ponies to travel on land though.”
“Really?” Sunset asked, genuinely surprised. 
“Well duh!” Sonata laughed. “We’d kind of stick out if we went around as fish-pony-things, wouldn’t we? No matter what size we were.”
“I guess,” Sunset admitted, nodding. “That makes sense. So you can change whenever you like?”
Sonata frowned, shifting her mouth around as she always did when thinking deeply. “I dunno. Maybe. I don’t think I want to try though. When I first got this back,” she touched the pendant at her throat, “it didn’t feel like last time. I couldn’t see the negative energy around, even though you and Script must have been giving off loads.”
“That’s the truth,” Sunset agreed, rolling her eyes.
“But when I was all big and everything, I could... I could see it. Everywhere. Coming off you three, out of the helicopter. It was pouring out of the cloud ship, like a big green storm cloud.”
Sunset stared at Sonata intently, drinking all of this in. “And, can you see any now?” Her eyes flicked downwards to the pendant. It sat lifeless and dull, almost like an innocent piece of jewellery. 
“No,” she said, looking around as though to check. “But then, we’re hardly giving off any negative energy,” she said, rubbing her cheek into Sunset’s. “Are we?”
“I suppose that you have a point there,” Sunset muttered, feeling her face warming.
A sudden explosion of coughing and retching broke up their tender moment. Looking down the hill, they found that Script had regained consciousness, and was getting to his feet. Sunset said nothing, but tried to hold in a laugh, waiting for the moment that he noticed the state he was in. Sure enough, no sooner had he stood up and attempted to rub sleep from his eyes, he let out a disgusted sound, and then screamed loudly. Sunset snorted loudly, unable to contain herself.
“Eaten!” he cried, several octaves higher than usual. “Eaten, swallowed. Bleh!” 
“Waterfall,” Sunset said in high good humour. “Shower. Clean.”
“Hate you,” Script groaned, staring in a kind of vacant horror. “Hate you both.”
“Ugh,” Loyal Stride groaned. “Quiet, you lot, it’s not time yet.”
“Kind of is,” Sonata said, bouncing over to him. “Time to get up, time to get clean.”
“Huh...?” Loyal Stride opened his eyes. 
“Don’t get too near him!” Sunset scolded, backing Sonata away from him. 
“Why?” Sonata asked. “What’s he going to do? He’s on his own.”
“He’s a well-trained Roaman centurion,” Script called back as he made his way, awkwardly and stiff-legged, to the waterfall. “He could kill you with his chin if need be. That’s actually a thing.”
Seemingly in response to Script’s voice, Loyal Stride leapt to his feet, suddenly all alertness. “Who?” he asked frantically. “What? Where am I? What’s going—“ he spotted Sunset and Sonata staring at him. “You two,” he said slowly, looking around. “And him!” 
“Whoa, whoa,” Sonata said hastily. “Hey now, let’s just slow down a little.”
“Out of my way, Equestrian,” Loyal Stride snarled.
“Oh at least let me have a shower before you arrest me,” Script shouted sardonically over his shoulder. “You could use one as well. You’d fail inspection with that uniform.”
Loyal Stride’s scowl softened ever so slightly as he looked down at himself. He cringed a little, and then grumbled almost inaudibly “I do the inspections... fail myself...” He clanked gingerly towards the waterfall. “Don’t think any of you are off the hook,” he said with a swift return to his former volume. “I’m still arresting all of you in the name of Roam.”
“And how’s that, exactly?” Sunset asked, frowning at him. 
“She has a point,” Script said, emerging from the waterfall levitating the length of cloth from around his neck in front of him and squeezing the water from it. “I don’t know if you noticed, but the patrol tried to kill you.”
“You lie,” Loyal Stride snapped after a short pause. “What are you talking about?”
“Well,” Script said, laying over the branch of a nearby tree to dry out. “Given the distance between the ventnavis and us at the time, the velocity of ballistae projectiles, and precisely when the first wave struck, I’m fairly confident that the ventnavis opened fire on us before Nessy the Little Sea Serpent over here made her appearance.”
Sunset barely had time to wonder where Script knew that particular cultural reference from, or how he’d guessed that Sonata had been the serpent since he hadn’t been awake for her transformation back to pony form, before Loyal Stride burst out with a retort.
“How could you possibly know that?” he spat derisively.
“For Spirit’s sake, Strider,” Script said impatiently. “You’re smarter than that. Even you figured it out when it happened. You ordered the bombardment to stop, and it didn’t.”
Loyal Stride looked uncomfortable. “Don’t call me that. We’re not friends.”
Script sighed long and hard. “Look, I’m sorry I left—“
“You committed treason!” Loyal Stride struck the ground. “You deserted the legion! What excuse do you have for that? What vague news of impending unknown catastrophe do you have to justify leaving?”
“I get the feeling there’s some history here,” Sunset muttered to Sonata.
“The Abomination!” Script roared back.
A silence fell, so heavy with tension that even Sunset and Sonata sat quiet, uncertain. Their eyes moved between the two stallions, wondering which one would speak again. After what seemed to all of them to be a long time, Loyal Stride cleared his throat. His face was stony, impassive.
“Everypony who was involved in that was instructed to be silent,” he said with an air of finality.
“Convenient, don’t you think?” Script said waspishly.
“What happened was wrong, and the pony responsible was caught,” Loyal Stride said, his voice rising.
“Oh will you stop being the good soldier colt for two seconds?” Script demanded exasperatedly, stomping a hoof in irritation. “You and I both know that it was never resolved. That’s why everypony involved was shipped here, far away where we couldn’t—“
“Shut up!” Loyal Stride snapped, his voice echoing down the slope. “The past is the past. Now as I said, you’re all under arrest. You will tell me where the princess is, and I shall take her into custody as well.” He looked around at them all, frowning at their puzzled expressions.
“Princess?” Sunset asked, just in case she hadn’t heard correctly.
“Whichever one was with you,” Loyal Stride continued, his brow furrowing deeper.
“There’s no princess here,” Sonata added slowly.
“Don’t lie to me,” Loyal Stride barked. “Our instruments detected a strong magical presence that—“
“Ahh!” Script suddenly cried, holding a hoof to his eyes. “Of course. Well that explains a lot.”
“Explains what?” Sunset asked, a little disconcerted. 
“Well, for instance,” Script began, apparently unable to prevent himself smiling. “How about how the patrol forces found us so quickly when we were being cornered by the changelings?”
Sunset blinked. She supposed he had a point there; it might have just been a coincidence, but that would have been one hell of a coincidence, given how far away from their starting point they were. But who could they have—
“That may have been me,” Sonata said, her face turning pink.
“You?” Loyal Stride said, scowling at Sonata. “Who are you?”
“Sonata Dusk, pleased to meet ya,” Sonata said, quailing a little under his austere gaze.
Script snorted suddenly. “Strider, allow me to introduce you to,” he paused and took the time to stare right into Loyal Stride’s eye, a cruel smile playing around his mouth. “The mare who saved your life.”
For a moment or two, Sunset frowned at Script, wondering why he looked so maliciously amused. But then she spotted the little colour in Loyal Stride’s white face leaving it.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, trying to sound derisive.
“You remember getting eaten by the giant sea serpent?” Script asked, sneering. Loyal Stride didn’t reply, but stared at Script as though internally begging him not to go on. “Say hello to Nessy!” Script cackled, pulling Sonata into a one-legged hug. He laughed loudly as Loyal Stride stared, wide-eyed. “Oh!” he cried, his laughter winding down. “I am so glad that I didn’t kill you,” he said felicitously to Sonata. “This is worth a thousand cursed mares following me around.”
“What are you babbling about?” Sunset asked him, pulling Sonata out of his embrace.
Script shushed her as though Loyal Stride was a small animal she was going to scare away. After a brief pause, during which Loyal Stride had looked between them all desperately, Sunset guessing that he was hoping for one of them to announce that Script was joking, Loyal Stride lurched forward and seized Sonata by the shoulders. 
“Tell me it’s not true!” he cried. “Tell me he’s lying!”
“U-Um...!” Sonata stammered, looking alarmed.
Sunset snarled as Script held her back. “Get off!”
“Just watch,” Script said, employing several bands of magical power to keep her tied to the spot. “Trust me, this is going to be great.”
“You’re a sadistic weirdo, aren’t you?” Sunset commented, shaking her head.
“Prove it!” Loyal Stride boomed, beaming suddenly like a man who’s just come to an unassailable point in reasoned argument. “There’s no way you’re a sea serpent. You’re just a pony! You can’t possibly have been the one to swallow me. In fact,” he added with a slightly hysterical laugh. “I bet that didn’t even happen. How would we even be alive otherwise?”
“I coughed you up,” Sonata piped up, just to be helpful.
“And how do you otherwise explain being covered in monster stomach juice?” Script asked, barely able to contain Sunset, or his laughter.
Loyal Stride’s smile dimmed. Then he rallied just as fast. “Fine, I concede that I was eaten by some giant monster. But it can’t possibly have been you.” 
“Of course it can,” Script said smoothly. “She’s a siren. Which, incidentally, is what the patrol’s instruments detected. When she absorbed the energy from that changeling crystal, it must have given off a strong magical pulse that the succendum field picked up on.”
Loyal Stride snorted loudly. “Okay, now I know that you’re lying. The sirens disappeared over a thousand years ago.”
“That is true,” Sunset agreed, remembering the story of Starswirl the Bearded banishing them to the human world. “But she really is a siren. My friends and I broke her curse ages ago, but she somehow got it back when she touched some crystal-thing Script was keeping.”
“Which you broke,” Script muttered, his mood souring instantly.
Loyal Stride glanced at Script with an amused eye. “If you think the testimony of some Equestrian is going to convince me,” he said with a superior chuckle, “you’re not as smart as you think.”
Script smiled back in opposition to Loyal Stride’s smile. The two of them practically duelled in smiles. “Oh no, not at all,” he said, in the manner of a snake-oil salesman enticing a prospective sucker closer to his crate of mystery bottles. “Sonata herself is going to prove it to you.”
“Err...” Sonata said uneasily. “I don’t think I can, like, turn all snakey right now,” she admitted. “I’m kinda tired, you know?”
Loyal Stride chortled, but Script’s smile didn’t falter. 
“Just sing,” Script said, waving a hoof vaguely.
Sunset’s heart gave a little leap in her chest. She looked quickly to Sonata, who looked a little surprised, and a little scared. She watched as her marefriend cleared her throat, apparently trying to think of something to say.
“I... I would, um...”
“She doesn’t want to sing,” Sunset said for her. “That’s not who she is anymore.”
“As a matter of fact, it is,” Script said, tapping the pendant around Sonata’s neck. “By definition.” He looked between Sunset and Sonata, and suddenly sighed a little impatiently. “Fine, look at it this way: He is going to be a royal pain in our butts unless you prove that you saved his life. Well, he might be a pain in the butt after that as well, but no pony is perfect.”
“How will me saving his life change that?” Sonata asked, eying Loyal Stride’s tall, well-built, armoured – albeit slime-covered – body with judicious concern.
Script prefaced his answer with a small laugh-like exhalation. “Please, please just prove that you’re a siren. Trust me, it’ll be so, so worth it.”
Sonata hesitated still, looking to Sunset for guidance. Sunset didn’t know what to say. It was true that Loyal Stride seemed to be a real obstacle to them unless they could make him go away, or otherwise submit. Script hadn’t been able to best him, and Sunset doubted whether she could, even with her magic. And Sonata... to be honest, Sunset didn’t want Sonata to use her powers. She didn’t know what harm it could cause, but she didn’t want to see Sonata like that. That wasn’t who she was...
“Look, she just turned into a giant serpent,” Script said with a groan. “One little iddy-biddy tune isn’t going to hurt.” He paused. “Her. It won’t hurt her. It might hurt us,” he admitted. “But he’s going to hurt us anyway, so either way...” He shrugged and retreated a few paces, as though to give Sonata some space to think.
Again, Sonata looked to Sunset. Her face was tense and full of uncertainty, and Sunset honestly hated to see her that way. With a sigh, and a heartfelt sense of knowing that she was going to regret it, she nodded.
“Covering your ears won’t help,” Script said, just in case anypony was thinking it. “The only counter to a siren song is another song.”
“Thank you, oh magical master genius,” Loyal Stride said sardonically. “Here’s hoping you have a nice singing voice. It makes the gaoler’s jobs easier when the prisoners can carry a tune.”
Sunset was pleased to see the look of defiance flickering in Sonata’s magenta eyes. With one last look at Sunset, Sonata took a deep breath. And then another. And then a third. On the fourth, Sunset just noticed a dim red glow from under Sonata’s chin. The pendant was coming to life. She saw Loyal Stride’s brow furrow slightly, and Script hold his breath and close his eyes. And then Sonata opened her mouth.
The sound that emanated from her mouth was... puzzling. That wasn’t the word that came to Sunset’s mind, but it did somewhat describe her feelings. The melodic notes Sonata was singing were eerily familiar, but also oddly different. She sang the same spine-tingling, faintly sinister vocalisation as before, but it was tinted with something else, something altogether more lively and... happy. The sound was a happy one; a carefree tune going in no particular direction, but which seemed to just fall together into an endearing and delightful pattern, like falling snow.
It took Sunset a moment or two to realise it, but it was Sonata’s own song. It described her. It was her. It was no longer the composite desire of her and her sisters, but simply a reflection of Sonata’s own soul, given life and allowed to fly from her on wings of vocal harmony.
The song was not long, but it seemed to have a lingering effect on those around. The first thing that Sunset noticed once she’d blinked her way out of her vacant staring, was that the song didn’t seem to have affected her in the way that siren songs did. Nor had it done so to Script. Sunset was just wondering if this was because Sonata hadn’t tried to pull any siren trickery, when she noticed Loyal Stride’s eyes. They glowed a faint green, the same as those at Canterlot High when they’d been possessed. The glow dissipated quickly, and Loyal Stride gave a little start.
“What did—“ he began, but seemed unable to say more.
“Well,” Script said, coming out of his own preoccupation. “Convinced, then?”
“I...” Loyal Stride’s lips tightened. He looked Sonata full in the face, a very serious expression coming over him. “Did you honestly save my life? You did what you did with the express purpose of saving me from death?”
Sonata, who’d seemed a little lost in her own song as well, put on as attentive an expression as Sunset had ever seen upon it. She had to suppress a little smile at how adorable Sonata’s little pony face looked whilst it was all noble and melancholy like that.
“I did,” she said firmly. “I mean,” she went on, losing her cool a little. “You were going to get hit by the bombs. I couldn’t just leave you there.”
Loyal Stride stared her straight in the eyes for a few moments. Sonata didn’t waver from his gaze, but stared determinately back. Sunset noticed Script looking between the two just as intently, evidently waiting for an expected outcome.
Eventually, Loyal Stride sighed heavily. With a clanking of his armour, he bent his forward left knee.
“Very well,” he said solemnly. “Then I, Loyal Stride, Centurion of the Third Cohort to the Fifteenth Legion Ferreta, do pledge my life to you until such a time as my debt to you is repaid. Before all of the spirits I do make this vow, and swear that I shall defend you with my own life.”
He remained kneeling in front of Sonata, his head bowed. Sunset regarded him with the utmost surprise. In his steel armour, it wasn’t difficult to imagine Loyal Stride as some chivalrous knight pledging to some lady in a tower. It was almost ludicrous to behold.
Script meanwhile, had burst out laughing. “I told you!” he said, collapsing onto his side and rolling around on the floor. “I told you it would be worth it! Ha-ha-ha!”
Loyal Stride didn’t move at Script’s outburst, but Sunset did notice his rising colour. Sonata too looked rather uncomfortable, whether from Loyal Stride’s declaration, Script’s laughter, or both, Sunset didn’t know, but she was determined to stop it if she could.
“Pipe down,” Sunset said derisively, putting her foot down. “You’re making a scene.”
“But it, it’s so—“ Script laughed, and then spluttered loudly as the cloth around his neck tightened. Sunset remained standing on the end of it whilst he pulled at the strangling material.
“So does that mean you’re coming with us?” Sunset asked Loyal Stride, who was standing up properly.
“Yes,” he said heavily. “I’m honour bound to protect Sonata until my debt is repaid, as I said.” He drew in a breath and expanded his chest, his chin in the air. “That’s important to someponies.” He glared pointedly at Script, who had managed to tug his cloth from under Sunset’s hoof and was standing up, choking a little.
“Oh, cry me a river,” he rasped, rolling his eyes and massaging his throat.


- To be Continued
	
> The Tale of the Last King
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sonata Dusk


Sonata was genuinely surprised when she awoke to find that sleeping on grass had not been as uncomfortable as she’d feared it would be. Her pony body didn’t seem to mind the hard, unfeeling earth as much as her human body had once done, and she rose to a pleasant, pale sunrise that illuminated the dewy grass all around into a field of glistening white diamonds.
Perhaps her pony body couldn’t take all the credit for her restful night however. Sunset’s proximity, and her warm, soft, golden coat admittedly helped a great deal as well. It had only been at the point of nodding off that Sonata had realised, once they’d comfortably snuggled themselves under an old and grand looking red maple tree, that the two of them were sleeping together entirely naked. She’d been glad that Sunset was already fast asleep at that point, for she rather thought that the idea showed on her face.
“Well, you look well rested,” Sunset said.
Sonata gave her a radiant smile. “I feel it too. Weird, huh?”
“Weird how?” Sunset asked, stretching before leaning in for a kiss.
“Well you know, with everything that’s gone on.”
“Yeah,” Sunset said, glancing to the side. “It really has gone just... so wrong. Nothing is like I expected it to be. I just wanted to come and help Twilight with whatever problem she had. Not jump headfirst into some huge quest or something.”
“To be honest,” Sonata said, blowing out her cheeks. “I was always surprised when we managed to scrape through our problems back home. Finding Adagio and Aria, dealing with Hoity. And... um...” she blinked and looked away.
“Fleur,” Sunset said flatly.
Sonata smiled despite herself. “And now you have mind reading powers too. How am I supposed to deal with all of this?”
“It’s not mind reading, dear,” Sunset said, nuzzling her cheek. “I just know you.”
“Oh!” Sonata said excitedly. “Okay, let me try you.” She put a hoof to her temple and screwed up her face. “Err... you’re thinking... that, um...” She bit her lip and made a loud “Hngh!” noise that made Sunset chuckle. “You’re thinking that you want to kick Script awake!” she finished dramatically, making to aim a nonexistent finger-gun with her hoof. “Wow,” she said, observing her foot. “That really doesn’t work without hands, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Sunset agreed. “But you are right. I do want to kick Script awake.”
Sonata had been joking of course, but it soon became apparent that Sunset wasn’t. Script had chosen a loftier place to sleep, up by the edge of the waterfall. Sonata couldn’t see how he slept with all of the noise the waterfall was making, but there he lay, curled like a cat, the cloth around his neck spread across him like a blanket. Like them, he’d chosen to sleep under a tree, a youngish fir-tree overhanging a steep incline of the grass that smoothed out eventually the further down one went. He’d chosen to sleep somewhere high up, where ponies wouldn’t be able to see him easily, he’d told them last night, and which would be the most difficult place to get to. Indeed, the incline did stymie them a little bit as they ascended the slope.
“You’re not really going to kick him, are you?” Sonata asked.
“I sure am,” Sunset muttered, barely repressing a smirk. “I won’t do it hard,” she amended, as she noticed the look Sonata was giving her. “Why do you stick up for him?”
“I told you why,” Sonata said. “He’s lonely. And he’s awkward.”
“And tried to kill you.”
“But he didn’t,” Sonata pointed out.
“Yeah, I’mma kick him now.”
Before Sonata could get out more than “Sunset, just wait a—“, the air was suddenly rent apart by an ear-splitting noise. It was something between the kind of harsh, claxon noise of trumpets, and the snarling, screechy roar of a dragon. Sonata’s mind was immediately filled with an image of herself as the serpent, trying desperately to sing along with a fully stocked military brass band whilst she suffered from chronic dry-mouth. It wasn’t a pretty picture.
Script immediately leapt up as though he hadn’t been sleeping at all before diving behind the tree. His head emerged, horn sparking, until he saw who had awoken him.
“Oh,” he said dismissively, his magic extinguishing. “It’s just you.”
Sunset and Sonata glared at him. Sunset, who’d leapt backwards and would have fallen right down the slope had she not crashed into Sonata, pulled Sonata back upright as she teetered off balance.
“I suppose I should have told you I put an alarm spell up,” Script said, yawning. “Oh well. What’s for breakfast?”
“What’s for breakfast?” Sunset repeated, disbelievingly. “You nearly sent us rolling down the hill!”
“Well, why were you sneaking up on me?” Script asked, frowning.
“We were coming to wake you up, you paranoid moron!”
“Sure,” Script sneered. “And nothing else? You had no other motive?” Sonata saw the trap, but Sunset, caught off guard, hesitated. Script swooped upon her non-answer with glee. “You were going to do something,” he chortled. “And suddenly my guilt is gone.”
Sunset made an impatient noise and spun around. “Stupid old stallion,” she muttered, just loud enough for Script to hear. He blinked.
“I’m twenty two!” he called after her. “That’s not old! I’m not old!”
Sunset ignored him as she descended the hill, Sonata trotting behind her. Sonata looked back at him semi-apologetically as he descended the hill after them, trying to wrap the cloth back around his neck.
“Is that a scarf?” she asked him, nodding at the cloth.
“What’s a scarf?” Script asked, raising an eyebrow. “This is a toga.”
“Oh,” Sonata said. Then after a pause, she continued “I feel like I should know what that is.”
“History class,” Sunset prompted. 
“Oh!” Sonata said. “Romans. Hah! That was a thing way back when.”
“What are you two babbling about?” Script asked, puzzled.
“In the world we used to live, Roam was called Rome, and was an empire about two thousand years ago, and disappeared about five hundred years ago,” Sunset explained.
“That sounds awful,” Script said slowly, his expression souring. “How did it end?”
“Oh, a lot of reasons,” Sunset replied, thinking about it a little. “Foreign invasion, deterioration of the army, economic problems, corruption in the government; lots of things at once to put it simply.”
“Where’s Loyal Stride?” Sonata asked, trying to take Script’s mind off what Sunset was saying. Unfortunately her words seemed to have the opposite effect. His expression turned from one of slight nausea to one of stony withdrawal.
“He’s over there,” he said quietly, nodding downhill.
When Sonata looked, she at first thought that Script had indicated the wrong way. But then she noticed something that looked as though it didn’t belong. Next to the edge of the canyon was an outcrop of rock, like a small, standalone cave or grotto. It was hardly taller than a grown pony, and wasn’t deep enough to shield anypony from the rain. In front of it, his trappings and armour on the grass next to him, sat Loyal Stride.
“Um... hello?” Sunset asked, slowly, keeping her distance a little. He didn’t reply verbally, but nodded without looking at them.
“Are you alright?” Sonata asked with concern. Looking at him, she noticed shadows beneath the dark rims of his eyes, and the eyes themselves were red and bloodshot. “Didn’t you sleep?” she asked.
“No, he didn’t,” Script said, quite unlike his usual tone.
“What have you been doing?” Sonata asked, stepping cautiously over to him.
“Making sure they rest properly,” Loyal Stride said simply.
Sonata peered inside the rock structure. On little stone pegs were small token-like objects, fashioned it seemed out of orangey clay, and inscribed with letters, the meanings of which Sonata couldn’t determine. Each was held up by small lengths of tightly woven grass so that they clacked against each other a little in the light morning breeze. Inscribed into the rock above were more words that Sonata couldn’t make out.
“It says,” Script began, as Sonata leaned in to squint. “On this battlefield, eight noble ponies lost their lives. Let their service and dedication be preserved with them among the spirits.”
“The ponies in the helicopter,” Sunset guessed, sounding uneasy. “I’m... sorry about—“
“Don’t be,” Loyal Stride said hoarsely. “It wasn’t your place to be. They were my ponies. I was their commander. I was their friend. It’s my responsibility.”
“They were my friends too,” Script muttered in the most soothing tone Sonata had ever heard from him. “Once.”
“I already thanked you for raising the monument,” Loyal Stride said sharply, his voice rising a little. “You relinquished their friendships when you ran away.”
Script’s mouth worked like he wanted to argue, but perhaps because of the gravity of the situation, he simply turned and walked away.
“I’m not old,” he said to Sunset as he made his way towards a nearby line of trees.
“I get the feeling you two know each other,” Sonata said, her voice full of hollow cheer. It was a pretty feeble attempt to break the glacier-sized wall of ice between them, and Sonata was frankly unsurprised that it didn’t really work. What she was surprised to see was the fact that Loyal Stride’s already stern and downcast face could become any more stoically brooding; it seemed that it could. Sonata rather expected Loyal Stride to burst into a rant about how Script had murdered his grandmother by the look on his face, but Loyal Stride said nothing at all.
In due time, Script returned levitating a number of apples, nuts, and berries, along with a small handful of dark brown mushrooms.
“You’re not going to eat those are you?” Sunset asked, grimacing at the sight of the shrivelled looking fungi. “Please don—And of course you’re eating them.”
“What?” Script asked between chews, his teeth squeaking on the rubbery mushrooms. “They’re good. Try one.”
Sonata had nothing against mushrooms, and so tried one. It wasn’t... bad? The taste was rather bitter and not at all likeable, but she liked the rubbery texture. She’d always had a fondness for strange experiences.
“I think I’ll just stick with apples,” Sunset mumbled, levitating one towards her.
They all dug in for a moment, Sonata scarfing down what she could – having just realised how hungry she was after vomiting her companions back up – whilst trying not to seem greedy. After a short pause filled by the sounds of chewing, Script spoke up. 
“So, the road to Last Light it is? As the oldest extant Princess in Equestria, Princess Luna would be the most ideal pony to ask about—“
“Last Light?” Loyal Stride interrupted. 
“Hey, hey,” Script said, waving a hoof to get Loyal Stride’s attention. “Don’t interrupt me.”
“You’re not going to Last Light,” Loyal Stride said, in the resounding tones of a stern parent informing their fifteen year old daughter that she is never to see the twenty-five year old boyfriend she just informed them about whilst on the way to an illegal street race.
“I don’t know about you,” Sunset said after swallowing a mouthful of apple. “But we certainly are.” She bumped Sonata’s shoulder. “And I guess he’s coming too,” she added grudgingly, shooting Script a heavy-lidded side-glance. 
“No, he’s not,” Loyal Stride said even more firmly than before, rather as though the parents of the fifteen year old had previously learned that her boyfriend was a known conman who duped old people out of their money for questionable insurance. 
“But he has to,” Sonata protested. “He has to help get this off.” She nudged the pendant so that it caught Loyal Stride’s eye.
“He knows too much,” Loyal Stride went on, undaunted. “I can’t risk him revealing military secrets.”
“Incidentally,” Sunset said, sounding suddenly suspicious. “You do know that this is a cursed necklace, right?”
“I gathered as much,” Loyal Stride said, nodding. 
“Well...” Sunset said slowly. “Script tried to murder Sonata when he saw it. Any particular reason you’re not trying to?”
“Well first,” Loyal Stride said, taking a sharp intake of breath. “She saved my life. I can’t kill her after that, at least until my debt is repaid.”
“Oh. Yay.” Sonata said quietly, taking note of the caveat.
“And secondly, the extermination of all cursed individuals is Roaman law. We’re not in Roam, so it doesn’t apply.”
“All cursed individuals are to be exterminated?” Sonata asked no pony in particular, feeling queasy.
“It’s a case-by-case basis these days. The law is very old, dating back to the birth of the Republic.”
“Dating back to the last king,” Script agreed.
“I remember reading that Roam used to have a monarchy,” Sunset said, sounding mildly interested. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did Roam become a republic? The histories were never clear in Equestria.”
“Oh, well—“ Loyal Stride began.
“I’ll be happy to tell you,” Script interrupted. “History is my profession after all.” Loyal Stride said nothing to this, but seemed to be trying not to roll his eyes. Script cleared his throat fussily, and Sonata at least felt a trickle of unease run down into her stomach. She had the distinct feeling that Script was about to erupt into a massive explanatory rant, and sure enough...
“Over a thousand years ago,” he said dramatically, raising a hoof above his head as though to block out the rays of an intense light.
“Why does everything seem to happen a thousand years ago?” Sunset commented. 
“I know, right?” Sonata added. “That’s when Aria, Dagi, and me were banished to the human world.”
“And when Princess Luna became Nightmare Moon,” Sunset went on.
“And I’m pretty sure that Sombra guy vanished the Crystal Empire then too.”
“A-hem,” Script coughed loudly. 
“Sorry,” Sonata said quietly. 
“Get on with it then,” Sunset sighed, gesturing lazily.
Script narrowed his eyes at Sunset resentfully, and then drew himself back up to his dramatic pose. 
“Oh, and didn’t Tirek and his brother, Scorpan show up around that ti—“ Sunset started, grinning wickedly.
“Over a thousand years ago,” Script announced loudly over the interruption. “Roam was but a small, humble town on a small river bank, ruled over by a line of privileged, magical, albeit competent and benign unicorn kings.” He paused as Loyal Stride gave a small disparaging sound. “No, no, please, do interrupt. Everypony else is doing it.”
“Competent and benign,” Loyal Stride repeated, looking sceptical. “Trust a unicorn to revise the history he’s telling.”
“Au contraire,” Script said swiftly. “I’ve told you all along that the current view of history is the revisionist one. Whitewashed by the upper class to make out unicorns to be—“
“What have you guys got against having magic and a monarchy anyway?” Sunset asked irritably. “You keep going on about it, but you never say why.”
“I’m trying to get to that, if I could?” Script snapped. He looked around at them all. Sunset and Sonata sat down as meekly as their personalities would allow, whilst Loyal Stride relaxed into a dignified repose with his eyes shut. “Ruled over,” Script began again, glaring around, “by a line of unicorn kings. For many centuries this dynasty ruled over Roam, setting it up as a major player in the geo-political machinations of the peninsular. However, this line ended rather suddenly with the birth of... The Last King.” He paused for dramatic effect. Oddly enough, a cloud passed by overhead at just that moment, momentarily blocking the weak morning sun so that everything was cast in dull greys and darkened colours. Sonata listened carefully for a thunderbolt to crack overhead, but to her disappointment none came.
“Get on with it,” Sunset huffed as the silence dragged on.
“Stemming from what we now think to be a large war going on at the time, the vast majority of the royal family’s main branch were killed, including the king’s own two sons and only daughter, thus leaving the king the sole remaining legitimate heir to the throne. Surviving records tell us that there was a great concern in the court that when the king died, Roam would collapse into civil war over which of his more distant relatives would succeed him.”
“It’s sad that his children died,” Sonata said, imagining the king sitting on his throne alone and miserable as somepony told him the terrible news. The ideal king, who resembled Loyal Stride, sat alone in a grand hall, filled only with the echoing sounds of his own weeping. “But couldn’t he have had more children?”
“Those learned in history believe not,” Script said, importantly. “Marriage in Roam is a strict business. As a political tool it is a precarious business. The Queen at the time almost certainly died as well, apparently from heartbreak if certain records are to be believed. The family that she belonged to was particularly powerful and influential, but had no other daughters to marry to the king. It’s thought that the court didn’t dare marry any of their daughters to him in case they offended the Queen’s family. Thus, the king would die, childless and heirless.”
“So what did he do?” Sonata asked, looking intently at Script.
“Sonata,” Sunset complained. “You’re going to make him even more obnoxious than usual.”
“Mm,” Loyal Stride grunted in agreement. 
“An excellent question,” Script persisted, pretending not to hear Sunset and Loyal Stride’s comments. “The king loved his city and its ponies, and knew that if civil war broke out, other kingdoms would rise to take advantage. Therefore, he set about to discover what he imagined to be the one thing that might save his city.” He paused again and stared around impressively. Then he raised both hoofs and whispered, in a creepy, oddly chilling tone, the single word: “Immortality.”
“Oooh,” Sonata cooed, wide eyed.
“And how was the king supposed to do that?” Sunset demanded.
“I’m getting to it!” Script barked. “So impatient!” He cleared his throat again. “Well, many years went by, and the king awaited word of a means of becoming immortal. An elixir of eternal youth and vitality was sought after but never created. Stones of Impression, the mystical apotheostones were searched for in every corner of the world, but to no avail. And then, in the waning days of the king’s life, he heard tell of a legend from the land of Fleece. There, it was said, dwelt powerful spirits who commune openly with the inhabitants. The spirits do not eat earthly food, but only ambrosia, the nectar of the spirits. The ambrosia, it was said, could grant immortality, and everlasting youth.”
“So the king got some?” Sonata asked, raptly attentive.
“According to legend,” Script said, smirking. “Yes, he did. He sent some of his bravest ponies to retrieve it, who of course promptly ignored the warning associated with the consumption of ambrosia by mortals.”
“Oh no,” Sonata muttered, seized by a sense of foreboding. “Oh no. Oh no, Oh no!”
“For it is said that should a mortal being eat ambrosia not freely given by the spirits,” Script said, his voice becoming deeper and more resounding. “They shall be cursed, for all time!” He let out a maniacal laugh, standing on his hind legs and raising his hooves out wide as though to hug the sky.
“Oh for Celestia’s sake,” Sunset snapped, pushing him over.
“Hey!” he protested, landing on his back.
“Just get on with it!” Sunset snarled.
Script grumbled for a little as he righted himself. “Fine, whatever. Now where was I...? Ah yes. Well, the king, not aware of this warning, ate the ambrosia, and as he had hoped, became youthful and eternal.”
“What?” Sunset exclaimed. “You’re not serious.”
“What?” Script demanded, annoyed.
“The king got immortality?” Sunset asked.
“Yes. Or so it’s said.”
“And ruled the kingdom from then on?”
“For a while.”
“Alright, go on.”
“You ponies are awful listeners,” Script grumped. “Except you, cursed siren-thing.”
“Aww, thanks,” Sonata beamed.
“So yes, the king ruled, for a while anyway. However, his later years were marred by what we can only assume to be a surge in paranoia. According to written accounts, he developed a strong sense that certain individuals and their families were out to steal the throne. Punishments were lenient at first, with affirmations of loyalty and public humiliations starting it off. But before long there came banishments, whole families being forced out of Roam. And then the imprisonments and the enslaving, and eventually the executions.”
“Executions?” Sonata squeaked.
“Executions!” Script repeated. “Horrible, horrible things, like throwing them off cliffs, and boiling them in vats of oil! Legend even has it that he had several ponies tied to stakes in his garden and burned alive.”
Sonata cringed away from the mad glint in Script’s eye, huddling up to Sunset. Sunset however, merely looked contemptuous. 
“That was the curse, I suppose,” Sunset ventured.
“That’s what we think,” Script said, returning abruptly to a casual tone, waving an airy hoof. “The King’s paranoia became so strong that he progressively took more and more powers away from the nobility. Assassination attempts against him failed, and attempts to unseat him were met with harsh reprisals. The royal bloodline was known for possessing vast magical power, and any sign of dissent was met with nothing short of obliteration. It’s said that the entirety of Roam were made slaves to the King’s whim so that he could keep them all eternally under his eye. The thirst for power and domination, and the continuous failures to remove him from power overcame his fear. He became extremely arrogant and dispassionate, taking joy only in oppressing his subjects. All lands around were to afraid to oppose him, but he brought a worse fate upon his city than that which he had wanted to stop.”
“That’s horrible,” Sonata sniffed, tearfully.
“So what happened?” Sunset asked, sounding genuinely interested. “If he was immortal and powerful, how come he isn’t still around?”
“Ahh,” Script said, as though this was the very thing he’d wanted to be asked. “Most ponies skip this part of the story, or alter it a little. The Last King was stopped by the Vestal Virgins.”
“Who?” Sunset asked.
“Despite the hatred for magic in Roam, most Roamans have a healthy respect for, and fear of, the spirits. Therefore, since the very founding of Roam, there’s been a shrine erected near to the forum, overseen by a sisterhood of unicorns who relate the spirit’s will. Through them, the spirits toppled the king and banished him from Roam, supposedly imprisoning him in the spirit world across the Mare Vasteum. What you would call the Vasty Ocean between the Equestrian continent, and our own.”
“So wait, the spirits beat the king?” Sonata asked.
“No, the Vestal Virgins beat the king using the spirit’s magic. That’s the part most ponies in Roam don’t like to admit to, otherwise they’d have to admit that not all magic is horrible and needs to be shunned, and that not all unicorns are to be mistrusted.”
“Oh my goodness,” Loyal Stride groaned, apparently unable to stop himself.
“You know it’s true!” Script erupted instantly. 
“I admit that there’s some discrimination against unicorns,” Loyal Stride said loudly. “But for goodness sake, you never stop going on about it.”
“Oh!” Script cried, flinging his front legs in the air. “Yes, excuse me. I’d hate to inconvenience anypony by informing them how their bigotry and prejudice is stifling my ability to live the way I want to. Please, don’t let my plight and the plights of every other unicorn in Roam ruin your day. Spirits forbid you earth ponies have to actually acknowledge any uncomfortable truths!”
Loyal Stride, who’d been visibly turning redder and redder with Script’s increasing volume, leapt to his feet and shoved Script back with his shoulder. “You never did know when to shut it!” he barked.
“Typical earth pony solution,” Script jeered, regaining his footing. “You don’t like something, you smash it. Bunch of caveponies, the whole lot of you.”
“Whoa, whoa!” Sonata cried, standing between them. “Guys, come on.”
“Whereas everything a unicorn does has to be words and magic,” Loyal Stride snarled, leaning around Sonata. “Never facing anything head on like a real pony.”
“Because that’s all fighting is, isn’t it?” Script retorted. “Head on collisions. No strategy, no tactics. Just brute force all the way, huh?”
“I never said that!”
Script fixed Loyal Stride with a cold, mocking stare. “What does Pen Stroke say about it, hm?” he asked, a contemptuous curl of his lip pulling his mouth into a leer. “What do you tell my sister when you’re mounting her? Do you tell her that she’s in her rightful place? Does it get you off to have a unicorn firmly pinned beneath you?”
Sonata barely had time to register the significance of this taunt when she was roughly bowled aside. Bellowing like an enraged minotaur, Loyal Stride shoved by her and launched himself at Script. Script let out a roar of his own; his horn blazed with sky-blue light, and in seconds Loyal Stride was being blown backwards down the grassy incline. He leapt up, spitting grass from his mouth, and charged again. 
“Stop it!” Sonata shrieked.
“Hang on!” Sunset yelled. Their surroundings were suddenly ablaze in dazzling green light. Loyal Stride’s leap forward met with comedic disaster as he face-planted into an invisible wall. With a sickening thud, he crumpled to the ground. Script’s second blast arced forward, struck the same barrier, and deflected back at him, blowing him backwards into the grass.
“Stop it, both of you!” Sunset ordered, glaring at the two of them. 
Loyal Stride recovered first. Standing up, he fixed Script with a murderous eye, and then struck the barrier petulantly before turning abruptly away.
“Yeah, that’s right!” Script shouted after him. “That’s right! Turn away like you always do! Never look at the uncomfortable truth, never try to see passed—“ He got no further. With a sharp sound that cut through the peaceful landscape, Sonata smacked him hard across the muzzle. 
After blinking hard for a few moments, he looked back at her, utterly nonplussed. “W-What was that for?”
“Just stop it!” Sonata demanded, blinking hard herself as she felt her eyes sting. “Just stop! Just because you feel alone doesn’t mean you have to take it out on everypony else!”
This seemed to stymie Script good and proper. He gaped at her, making inarticulate gurgling noises as she stamped away.
“Um... Sonata?” Sunset asked tentatively, watching her marefriend storm by her. Sonata turned her head away from her so that Sunset couldn’t see her expression. “Sonata, are you...?”
“Going. We’re going, right?” Sonata asked, trying to contain the tremble in her voice.
She had no inkling of where she was going right then. All she knew was that she needed to move, just keep moving. For the thoughts that Script kept raising inside of her, the terrible feelings that were so upsettingly nostalgic, were threatening to catch up with her. And she couldn’t deal with that, not with everything else.
“I’ll be...” she said as Sunset trotted after her. “Over here.”
“Sonata, do you want to—“
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sonata interrupted. “I just... I just need a minute.”
Sunset didn’t push her company. Not at that moment anyway. She watched Sonata head for a small clearing in between a small cluster of trees; it was within sight of their camp, and so Sunset decided it was probably better to let her vent whatever steam it was boiling in Sonata’s brain. So she instead turned her lecturing beams firmly upon the idiots who had the audacity to make her marefriend cry.


- To be Continued
	
> The Curious Town of Gauzeville
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sunset Shimmer


Whilst in the human world, several of her friends had casually remarked from time-to-time that Sunset shared certain traits with Twilight Sparkle. One of these, which had been pointed out by Fluttershy, was her ability – almost neurotic need – to see the bright side of a situation.
Most people and ponies might have been well and truly sunk in a situation where their marefriend was wandering off to a nearby thicket to cry herself into calmness, but Sunset managed to find a pale beam of sunlight poking through the dark grey clouds of this ominous situation. And with a frightening eagerness worthy of Twilight Sparkle handing in an assignment late, she swooped to seize hold of the opportunity.
“Ow!” Script cried as Sunset punched him hard in the nose. “I was joking when I said that I liked being hit, okay!”
Sunset ignored him. She shot a look at Loyal Stride, who merely looked coldly back. She wasn’t entirely sure if he was to blame for what had happened, but to be honest she wasn’t going to push the issue with him. He had a sword to hoof nearby, and seemed calm enough now to have the brains to remember it.
“Well done,” she said to the both of them. “I gather from how the two of you are acting that you have some bad history. Well, get over it. If you want to come with us to meet Princess Luna,” she said to Script, “and you want to repay your life debt, or whatever,” she turned to Loyal Stride, “then you’re going to have to get along.”
Script and Loyal Stride side-glanced to each other, their faces dark and heavy with mutual distrust. Sunset sighed as they both turned to look away from each other, Script nursing his nose with as much dignity as he seemed able to muster.
“Fine,” Sunset said impatiently. “Whatever. Just don’t try to kill each other, and keep your bickering to a minimum. Frankly I don’t care if you throw each other into the river, but Sonata seems to actually give a damn for some reason, so knock it off.”
Loyal Stride regarded her with an expression of magisterial disdain. Standing leisurely, he walked sedately over to Sunset, his eyes never leaving hers. She stood her ground as best she could, but as he neared, towering over her, his toned, muscular form casting a palpable shadow over her, she had to admit to herself that she felt a little – just a little – intimidated.
“Do not overstep yourself, Equestrian,” he breathed. “I will follow you because I must satisfy my honour, and I will keep my personal issues to myself for her sake alone.” He nodded towards the patch of trees where Sonata was standing. “But if you ever give me orders again, I’ll snap your neck so fast you’ll think you’re walking backwards.”
He didn’t pause to see whether she understood him, but turned away instantly, back towards the shrine, and where his armour lay shining in the morning light.
Sunset gulped as discreetly as she could, but then noticed Script looking at her over his bloody hoof. She cleared her dry throat with some difficulty, and turned back to where Sonata was sitting.
“You doing okay?” she asked, sidling up to Sonata.
Sonata took a sharp intake of breath and lifted her head as though to look at the sky. “Yeah, I... I got it out.” She blushed when Sunset gave her an arch look. “Out of my system, I mean.”
“Ahh,” Sunset said knowingly. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Sonata asked, looking puzzled.
“When you told me why you feel bad for Script, I didn’t know you still felt that way. About how you used to be, I mean.”
Sunset didn’t feel herself upon entirely sure footing here. It was a subject that honestly hadn’t come up very much ever since Sonata had first moved in with her, and Sunset had never seen much reason to ask too deeply into it before. Sonata’s centuries with her sisters seemed – to Sunset at least – like something that Sonata herself didn’t want to talk about much. But now that she herself considered the matter, she realised how insensitive, even negligent it was, not to have inquired into Sonata’s life before Sunset had known her. Or to tell her anything of her own life... Sure, odd snippets had been brought up, but they’d never had a real discussion about their pasts with each other. Sunset felt uneasy.
Was that wrong? Was talking about your past something people in love were supposed to do? Sunset didn’t know, but she had a creeping suspicion that whatever she had decided must have been the wrong decision. Somehow, some way, fate would conspire to make it so, she was sure of it.
“Damn you, cruel destiny,” she muttered, clenching an imaginary fist.
“To be honest,” Sonata sighed, interrupting Sunset’s increasingly hysterical internal dialogue. “I... well I...” She rubbed the back of her neck as though she was embarrassed. 
“What?” Sunset prompted.
“I... don’t remember much of my life from back then.”
Sunset’s mouth opened, but no words came out. 
“I mean,” Sonata went on hastily, as though to cover herself. “We lived in the human world for a long time. Ages and ages went by with us just drifting across the world, trying to find some way of getting our true power back, or doing something at least. There’s nothing worse than having so much time that there’s literally nothing left to do. It was all such a waste in the end.”
“Don’t say that,” Sunset said coaxingly. “You must have done some pretty awesome things in all that time.”
“A few things maybe,” Sonata conceded, smiling a little. “There was that one time in China. The guys there had to have their hair in a certain way or they’d get executed, see? And this guy talked some smack to Adagio, and she made us follow him around for, like, an entire month, threatening to cut his hair off!” She laughed, but upon catching Sunset not laughing with her, her laughter wound down. “You kind of had to be there,” she said, clearing her throat. “Most people don’t remember every day of their entire life. They have gaps in their memories when things just weren’t worth remembering. I just happen to have much bigger gaps than most.”
“And...” Sunset said awkwardly. “Do you still feel that way? About how you used to live?”
“I didn’t know you wanted to know about all that stuff,” Sonata said, smiling as though amused by Sunset’s interest.
“I want to know about you,” Sunset said.
Sonata snorted into laughter. “That is so cheesy!”
“Oh, come on,” Sunset mumbled, not looking at Sonata. “I’m trying to cheer you up here.”
“I know you are,” Sonata said earnestly. “I know. And I appreciate it, really. I know that you don’t like Script, but to be honest, my old self would have envied him.”
“Envied him?” Sunset blurted, taken entirely by surprise by this comment. “Why?”
“He might be lonely,” Sonata said quietly, “but at least he has a goal.”
“You had a goal too. World domination’s a pretty ambitious idea.”
“It wasn’t my goal,” Sonata corrected her. “It was just what Adagio wanted to do, and what I thought Aria wanted too. All I wanted was to not be alone.” Sunset’s mouth screwed up involuntarily, and her eyes widened so much that Sonata leaned back. “Uh... Sunset? Please don’t start crying.”
“But you can’t say something like that and not expect me to!” Sunset complained, turning away and blinking hard.
“Sunset, please,” Sonata interrupted carelessly, putting a gentle hoof to Sunset’s mouth. “When I pout, it’s cute. When you do it... eh.”
Sunset spluttered for a moment, pushing Sonata’s hoof down. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Then she noticed Sonata trying not to laugh. “Oh...! Oh, good grief...”
“Shimmy is so silly,” Sonata trilled, booping Sunset on the nose. “Who’s easy to tease? Shimmy is. Shimmy is.”
“Okay, okay, don’t push it,” Sunset grumbled, half-smiling as she booped Sonata back. “You got me. I wonder why I put up with you sometimes.”
“Sexy fun time,” Sonata reminded her.
“Oh, yeah,” Sunset agreed, trying and failing to snap her non-existent fingers. “I still owe you bedtime, don’t I?”
“Don’t think I’ll forget it, either,” Sonata grinned. Then her grin sobered a little. “Thanks for asking though. It’s not like I don’t want to talk about it. It just never really came up before.” 
An awkward sort of pause followed this statement where neither of them seemed to want to say anything. Apparently with the aim of popping the bubble of discomfort, Sonata turned her suddenly ponderous gaze on Script and Loyal Stride, the latter of whom was slipping his shining armour back onto himself with a perfunctoriness that suggested much practise.
“I really don’t think I want him owing me his life,” she said uncomfortably.
“How exactly did we manage to pick up a mad scientist and a bodyguard, is what I’d like to know?” Sunset shook her head, internally cursing their misfortune.
“I kinda always thought I’d be insane,” Sonata commented thoughtfully.
“Why’s that?” Sunset asked, suppressing a snort.
Sonata shrugged. “I don’t know really,” she said, rubbing her chin. “I just always had a feeling. Like, once, Dagi, Aria, and me all went into this 8-track shop trying to find some new style Adagio thought might amplify our powers a little, when I found myself wanting to sit on the counter and tell the owner my life story. Which would have taken a while now that I think about it.”
Sunset considered this. “That does sound a little creepy to be honest, Sonata,” she said, inclining her head. “But, insane?”
“You know, like I was in a therapist’s office,” Sonata prompted. 
“Oh!” Sunset said, cottoning on. “I get it. Like ‘how does that make you feel’ sort of thing.”
“Exactly!” Sonata said eagerly. “With one of those ridiculous chairs like the one Rarity faints on.”
“A chaise lounge?” Sunset suggested.
“Is that what it’s called?” Sonata flapped her lips. “I’ll never remember that.”
“Well, did you do it?” Sunset asked.
“What?”
“Tell the owner your life story.”
“No,” Sonata sighed. “I sat on the desk and leaned over, and was about to ask if she had a moment, but then Adagio told me not to bother her.”
“Are we setting out yet?” Script yelled over. 
“Yeah,” Sunset shouted back. “Whenever you two have made up your lover’s quarrel!”
“Urgh!” Script exclaimed back. “All of my hate!”





It transpired – as Script condescended to inform them – that Sonata had overshot the town that they had been heading to in her haste to get away.
“So now we have to walk there,” Script said smiling grimly at Sonata. “Unless anypony wants to take another ride on the oesophagus express?”
“No offense, but you guys made me queasy,” Sonata groaned, looking as though the very thought of it was turning her green.
“Well good. Because that was gross.” He coughed a little when Sunset gave him a sharp look. “I mean helpful,” he amended, turning his head so that his nose was out of Sunset’s range. “Because it was helpful. I meant to say ‘helpful’, of course.” He grinned unconvincingly as Sunset continued to glare at him.
“We’re not going to Last Light,” Loyal Stride said firmly, out of the blue.
“Oh, not that again,” Sunset muttered. “We’re going to Last Light, wherever that is, and that’s that.”
“He definitely isn’t going,” Loyal Stride grunted, his steely eyes on Script. “What you two do in your own country isn’t my concern, but I’ll not have him giving away anything that could compromise the Republic.”
“I’m not going to give away sensitive information!” Script exclaimed exasperatedly. “For goodness sake, I deserted to save my country, not to sell secrets to the Equestrians. Like they could hurt Roam anyway with that patchwork assortment of soldiers they’re pleased to call an army.”
“Equestria doesn’t have a formal army,” Sunset frowned. “Nothing outside of the Royal Guard.”
“As a matter of fact, it’s had a standing military for some sixty years now. Including an army, and an air force to counter the ventnavis fleets,” Script explained. Then he snorted. “Well, that’s what it’s supposed to do, pfft!”
“See, this is what I’m talking about,” Loyal Stride sighed whole-heartedly. “He can’t even help himself. Ask you a question, you have to answer, don’t you.”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Script admitted.
“That was rhetorical.”
“Okay, I agree he has a mouth that seems to confirm the theory of perpetual motion,” Sunset relented. “And to be honest, just looking at him makes me want to punch him repeatedly.”
“Walking right beside you here,” Script pointed out. “Within earshot, and everything.”
“And every time he says anything insensitive, I picture him in my mind being devoured by Sonata’s serpent form.”
Sonata made a queasy, retching sound as the colour in her face leaned decidedly towards the greener end of the colour spectrum.
“But I did make a promise, and I intend to keep it,” Sunset finished, looking Loyal Stride dead in the eye.
Loyal Stride looked mildly impressed. “Commendable,” he admitted, lifting a single haughty eyebrow.
“So what’s it going to take to get you to agree to him coming along?” Sunset asked him bluntly. 
Loyal Stride’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. Sunset marvelled at just how statuesque his face was; it was as though it didn’t actually move, but simply attained the impression of change via the different shadows playing about it. She rather wondered whether years of military discipline had solidified his facial muscles into a perpetual look of severity. Whilst she gave herself over briefly to these idly speculations, he seemed to consider the question.
“If I hold on to something valuable to him,” Loyal Stride said thoughtfully. “Something I can keep as insurance.”
Sunset frowned at Script. “I don’t think he actually has anything.” She squinted at the cloth around his neck and chest. “Except his scarf.”
“What’s a scarf?” Loyal Stride asked, bemused.
Script gave Loyal Stride a very curious look. It looked to Sunset a little like disappointment, as though Loyal Stride had fallen short of his expectations. 
“Well, that’s not exactly true,” he said heavily.
They all stopped when he ceased walking, and watched with some curiosity as he raised his horn. A sharp glow blazed at the tip, and in a flash of bright blue light, a book fell out of the air. They all stared at it, all but Loyal Stride appearing to be surprised by the tome’s sudden arrival.
“Was that a partial vanishment spell?” Sunset asked, impressed.
“Yep,” Script said, his chest inflating a little. “Not easy to do.”
“Too right it’s not,” Sunset said, half laughing, flipping the book open and skimming a few pages. “A History of the Crystal Empire. And not a single page missing as far as I can tell. That’s really advanced magic.”
“What’s that?” Script asked no pony in particular, flicking his ears. “Is that... approval? Strange.”
“If only your personality was as impressive,” Sunset added in a deadpan voice.
“Ahh, there it is. Beautiful, familiar derision,” Script sighed dreamily.
“So this book is precious to you?” Loyal Stride asked, pretending to be observing the book as well, although his sharp eyes were fixed covertly upon Script’s face. 
“Oh yes,” Script said succinctly. “Central to the research I was performing. Can’t perform it without this book.”
“Hand over the rest of them,” Loyal Stride said with a snap in his voice like a whip. The sharpness of the command seemed to take Script a little by surprise. He hesitated.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“As much as it pains me to admit it, we were friends for a long time, and I know you. You’d no sooner have a single book as the centre of your research than I’d... I’d...” He seemed to cast around for some comparison to make. Sunset thought the retort had been going so well, too.
“Than you’d leave a barracks inspection half finished?” Script suggested helpfully. “Or only run half a lap? Or polish only some of your armour? Or—“
“Precisely!” Loyal Stride said loudly over him. “So hand over the rest of them. Only when I have the key to your research in hoof will I allow you to go to the Nightlands.”
Script glared at him, palpable fury burning in his bright green eyes. Sunset looked uneasily between the two, half expecting them to start fighting again. She thought she saw in the depths of green a sparkle of magic, like an uncast spell seething inside his brain. In contrast, Loyal Stride’s steely blue eyes were hard as stone; unyielding and icy. 
“It’s like the unstoppable force meets the immovable object, isn’t it?” Sonata whispered next to her.
“How did you—“
“—know you were thinking that?” Sonata finished for her. She gave Sunset a wry smile. “Easy. I know you.”
Before this touching moment could become much more, it was swiftly cut off by Script sighing loudly, and shouting “FINE!” Before Sunset, Sonata, or Loyal Stride could do anything more than gasp, cry out, or frown as their characters dictated, Script gave his horn a violent swish. In a flood of paraphernalia and blue light, the countryside around them was suddenly flooded with a miscellany of seemingly random objects, most of them books. 
Sunset shook away a complete set of The Nature of Thaumaturgy: Volumes I – XII whilst Sonata popped her head out from under a large map of the continent.
“There!” Script bawled. “Happy now? No, of-bleedin-course you’re not. You’re never happy!”
“Stop acting like a foal,” Loyal Stride chided, stepping with surprising dexterity over a box of round bottles. “Just give me whichever of these are the most important.”
“They’re all important,” Script sneered stubbornly. “So I guess you’ll just have to carry it all.”
“Either that or I drag you back to base right now,” Loyal Stride retorted, evidently losing patience.
“Okay, just stop!” Sunset interjected, scowling at both of them. “This has got to stop. We’re not going to get anywhere if you two can’t stop bickering over every tiny little thing!”
Script told Loyal Stride to go do something that Sunset knew wouldn’t get into a 15-rated movie. “If he wants to impede my work and doom Roam to a magical apocalypse, then he’s carrying the full weight of it on his shoulders like I’ve been doing. And he can deal with all the censure and ridicule that comes along with it!”
“Shut up!” Sunset snapped before Loyal Stride could get started. “Just give him whatever books are most important. I’m sure he’ll still let you use them when you need to. Right?” She directed this last part to Loyal Stride. After a short pause, he gave a single, curt nod. Script took another short moment to seethe a little more, and then let out a loud, long ululation of annoyance. Everything began vanishing, one-by-one. Then Sunset saw it.
“Wait!” she cried. Casting a desperate, last-minute levitation, she hauled the tome out of the spell’s radius, and it zoomed into her hooves.
“Oh!” Sonata piped up cheerfully. “Your magic journal.”
“Princess Celestia’s. The one mine is linked to.” Sunset ran her hoof over its embossed exterior, feeling a certain sadness at the sun symbol at its centre. Meanwhile, all but four or five books of varying size remained from all the magical junk. Loyal Stride inspected each of them carefully before looking up.
“Does any pony have a bag that I may borrow?” he asked.
Script snorted. 
“Here, you can borrow mine,” Sunset said quickly. She emptied her bag of its few items; the torn page with Twilight’s message, several biros, a notepad, and a water bottle. Passing the empty bag to Loyal Stride, she considered just how temporary she’d thought the trip was going to be, only to bring these bag-stuffers with her. 
“I’m pretty sure that I can fit those in here as well,” Loyal Stride said politely after he’d packed the books. Sunset gave him the meagre items back, and her mentor’s magical journal.
“Don’t you want to see what’s inside?” Sonata asked curiously.
“Maybe later,” Sunset replied. We need to get moving.”
“The town isn’t far,” Loyal Stride stated. “We could see it from the air.”
“But won’t the other Roamans be looking for us there?” Sonata asked.
Loyal Stride raised one thick, black eyebrow to show her that he thought her comment was utterly nonsensical. “The patrol fleet is of the opinion that you drowned in a raging river, and that the rest of us were devoured by a giant sea monster.” He gazed for a moment into space. “Possibly they think that you were devoured by the sea monster too.”
“They wouldn’t know it was me,” Sonata surmised.
“Unless you began eating your own TAIL!” Script said dramatically. “You know,” he continued after a short silence. “Like the ouroboros. A great beast devouring itself?”
“So basically, we can relax a little,” Sonata said cheerfully, blithely ignoring Script like everypony else. “We can stop in town and look around, get something to eat, or—“
“That seems most inefficient,” Loyal Stride muttered to himself, his lip curling a little.
“Oh,” Sonata said sheepishly. “Um... well, what should we do?” She looked at Sunset.
“Get our bearings I think. So much has changed, I’d like a more comprehensive look of how matters stand at the moment. Like on a map or something.” She looked at Script. “I think I saw a map somewhere in that pile.”
“Look, if you don’t mind, I have some high-quality sulking to do back here. So if you could save all of your questions until we get to town, I’d really appreciate it.”
And with that, Sunset was suffered to be content. Seeking that one silver lining, she took solace in the fact that, as they walked along, Script’s voice did not intrude upon her conversation with Sonata once. Beside them, Loyal Stride strode along like a mute sentinel, his shaggy ears flicking occasionally through the slots for them in his steel helmet. Sunset was so engrossed in her conversation with Sonata, revelling in the lightness of their situation for the first time in what seemed like forever, that she didn’t notice the look of quiet victory on Script’s face as he lagged behind.





Their destination, which according to a colourful wooden sign was called Gauzeville, was a scenic little town set in between a cluster of green hills. When Sunset first set eyes upon it she had to stop and blink hard. The memory of Ponyville blasted to ruins and Twilight’s cracked and broken castle had put in her mind an idea reflected across all of Equestria. It honestly buoyed her spirits to see that the rest of her homeland wasn’t equally touched by war and desolation. 
The only change, and it was a minor one she thought, was the daylight. Sunset had noticed that as the morning had pressed on, the daylight had not followed suit. It grew out of the long shadows and duskiness of sunrise to a perpetual state of high twilight. Up above the town hung the moon, floating eerily like a ghostly version of the sun, her pockmarked face radiating a light downwards that was literally a pale reflection of the sun’s more robust and colourful aura. Looking around at her surroundings more closely, she noticed for the first time that everything was tinged with a golden radiance that sent oranges, purples, and fiery reds across every surface. The trees glittered gold, the ponds and other water sources sparkling as though full of white diamonds.
“It’s beautiful,” Sonata said, also looking around.
“True beauty is a value, and there’s only value in rarity,” Script said pedantically.
“Do you have to put a kibosh on everything?” Sunset remonstrated, throwing Script a disapproving look.
“If I don’t say these things, you’ll all go on thinking stupid things,” Script said simply. “Anyway, lets get down there, meet with some of my contacts. I’ll have us rooms and food in no time. And at knock-down prices too!”
“Oh,” Sunset said, a thought striking her. “We’ll need money.”
“Yes,” Script responded thoughtfully. “Not to worry; I have a few bits still. I should have enough to get us through a week I think.”
“Just how far is it to Last Light from here?” Sunset inquired. 
“About a two week walk I should think,” Script replied as they descended a quaint country footpath between two fields of spring corn. 
“What about the train?” Sunset asked. She espied tracks running through the little town, leading from between two hills to the north east and snaking behind a lake to the west.
“We could take the train part the way there,” Loyal Stride interjected. “But I’d not recommend the whole way.”
“I agree,” Script said solemnly. “Since we’re meant to be dead, I’d rather minimise the chances that somepony will see us. Strider and I in particular stick out a little.”
“Don’t call me that,” Loyal Stride said warningly.
“Can I call you it?” Sonata asked smilingly.
“No.”
Sunset consoled Sonata all the way into the town. 
“It’s not your fault he doesn’t want to be friends,” Sunset assured her as Script haggled with an inn keeper for rooms. “With any luck, he’ll work off whatever debt he thinks he owes you and just leave.”
“I don’t think I like Roam much,” Sonata said dispiritedly. “Everypony from there seems like they’re just wired to be mean and serious.”
“Tell me about it,” Sunset muttered out of the corner of her mouth as Script smirked at the owner of the inn.
“Two rooms. The rest are full apparently.”
“Really?” Sunset asked in surprise. The town didn’t seem to be a trading hub or anything where ponies would frequent.
“Yep, one for you two,” he tossed her the key. “And one for us.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Sunset asked him, looking beadily between Script and Loyal Stride whilst the owner gazed nervously over his counter. 
“I shall resist the urge to crush his head like a rotten apple,” Loyal Stride said. Sunset considered that to be an oddly specific promise to make, but she could tell it was probably the best she was going to get.
“And I promise to keep my rapier sharp wit and propensity for pointing out uncomfortable truths ponies don’t want to hear to a minimum,” Script added, shouldering Loyal Stride playfully. Loyal Stride turned his head to glare at him like a dragon that’s just discovered diamond dogs looting its hoard.
“Just try not to kill each other,” Sunset said with a groan. “That’s all I ask.”
“Excuse me, miss,” the owner of the inn whispered. “Might I ask... I don’t want to be rude, but—“
“Wondering why we’re travelling with a pair of Roamans?” Sunset guessed. “To be honest, I’m not sure myself.”
“They won’t cause trouble, will they?” he asked anxiously. “Just, a few of the town’s inhabitants can be a little... temperamental themselves. I really don’t want any trouble here.”
“I’ll try to make sure they behave,” Sunset said seriously, noticing for the first time just how nervous the owner was actually looking. “We should be gone by tomorrow.”
The owner hesitated, and Sunset thought that she saw a look of concern pass across his features. But then it was gone, and he turned to serve somepony else at the bar. Sunset was just about to ask Sonata if she wanted to go up to their room, when a voice behind her made her turn around.
“I’m sorry?” she said politely, turning around to find a pale red mare with a straw-coloured mane sitting next to her on a barstool. 
“Might I buy you two a drink?” the mare repeated, smiling between them. “Oh, you two do make the cutest couple,” she added fondly.
Sunset was slightly taken aback, both by the offer, and by the comment. “Oh, we... err...” she faltered.
“Oh it’s no trouble,” the mare said quickly, pre-empting Sunset’s declining the offer. “Please, consider it a welcome to town drink.”
“Well that’s very friendly of you,” Sunset said, seating herself. “I’m Sunset, by the way. Sunset Shimmer. And this is Sonata Dusk.”
“Charmed,” the mare said in a fluttery voice. “You can call me Flitter Rose.”
“So, you live here?” Sunset asked, trying to start conversation as Flitter Rose beamed at them.
“Oh yes,” she answered, still in the same half-laughing voice. “All my life.”
“So what do you do?”
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” she said dismissively. “But enough about me. Tell me, how did you two meet?” she asked, leaning on the bar and staring at Sunset and Sonata in fascination. 
Sunset found this a little rude if she was honest with herself. “Um... If it’s all the same to you—“ she began.
“Oh not a problem, not a problem,” Flitter Rose hastened to say. “Rude of me to ask. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Sunset assured her. “But if you don’t mind me asking—“
“Why do you think that we’re together?” Sonata asked suddenly, cutting across Sunset. Her tone was unexpectedly rancorous, and Sunset couldn’t help looking around at her a little reproachfully for speaking so rudely.
“Oh,” Flitter Rose said blinking. “I... well, you just compliment each other so well,” she tittered, her light tone returning as quickly as it had slipped.
The owner of the inn set down their three drinks. Flitter Rose took up hers immediately, and used the opportunity to avoid Sonata’s suspicious glare. Sunset meanwhile frowned at Sonata.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered to her marefriend. “It’s not like you to snap at ponies.”
“Something’s wrong,” Sonata said tensely, her eyes still on Flitter Rose’s profile. “It’s as though I should be able to see...” her voice trailed off.
Sunset didn’t know what to make of this. She looked behind her at the inn at large, and felt an eerie sensation run down her spine. She hadn’t seen it exactly, and when she looked around she saw no evidence whatsoever that any of the other patrons had deviated from their conversation and activities, but Sunset was suddenly overcome with the idea that a few of them had been staring in their direction. The notion was so strong that it made Sunset gaze around several times, as though she instinctively believed that she could catch one of them doing it. 
After a few rounds of this however, her sense of paranoia began to taper off, and a sense of perspective pierced her fear. “Sonata, don’t scare me like that. We’re in a new place; it’s bound to feel a little weird at first.”
Sonata didn’t reply, but frowned at the bar top, absently tugging at her drink as though trying to listlessly pick it up. This effectively stuck a pin in Sunset’s logic balloon, and the fear began to close in around her again. Her eye darted to a stallion seated at a booth opposite a chatting friend. She distinctly saw him look quickly back to his friend, pretending not to have been watching her. 
With an abrupt movement that made Sunset jump, Sonata stood up. “Come on,” Sonata said sharply. “I need some air.”
So saying, she took Sunset firmly by the upper foreleg and tugged her off her chair. “But, our drinks.”
“Oh, are you leaving?” Flitter Rose asked hastily. “But don’t you want your—“





“Sonata,” Sunset began as soon as they were outside. “What are you doing? That wasn’t very polite.”
“What?” Sonata asked absently.
Sunset frowned. Pulling Sonata to the side, around the inn and into the shadows so that they were out of sight of the street, she leaned around Sonata, trying to get a look at her face. “Sonata, what’s the matter? Can you hear me?” she asked when Sonata didn’t answer immediately.
“I... Yes I...” Sonata muttered, her eyes wondering.
“What’s wrong?” Sunset asked, pulling her around. “You said something was wrong; what is it?” Her eyes dropped down instinctively to the pendant. It wasn’t glowing, not even a little bit. But as Sunset frowned down at it, she thought that it... moved; pulsing slightly, as though it had become a small, stone heart. “Can you see negative energy? Is the pendant trying to draw it in?”
“No,” Sonata said with some difficulty. “It’s like... something else. It’s not around us, it’s... it’s from inside of us.”
“What’s from inside of us?” Sunset asked, confused. 
“I don’t know. But the pendant... it knows something’s wrong. It’s trying to warn me.”
“Warn you how?” Sunset asked, feeling trepidation. “Doesn’t it try to, like, mesmerise you when it senses negative energy around you?”
“When I resist, yes,” Sonata said. She gave her head an experimental shake, like someone trying to get water out of their ears. “It’s like a humming in my head. Like someone holding a long note until I start listening.”
“And that’s going on now?” Sunset asked, looking with concern into Sonata’s slightly pained expression.
“No,” Sonata groaned. “No, it’s like... buzzing now. It just... I’m not even sure it’s there, but it’s driving me—” She cut herself off, rubbing her temple. 
“So if there’s negative energy nearby, you hear singing,” Sunset summarised. “And if there’s something else, you hear buzzing?” She thought for a moment. “Is it trying to make you do something?”
“Leave,” Sonata breathed. 
“What?” Sunset asked, feeling suddenly cold. 
“It... it makes me want to leave. But it... it’s not so bad now, it was just...” She drew in a sharp breath, seemingly trying to pull herself together. “It was just bad at the bar.”
Sunset discreetly breathed a sigh of relief. “So you think there’s something in the bar?” Sunset inquired, giving the wall next to them a narrow look. “There were certainly some strange ponies in there. Did you think they kept looking at us too?”
“Looking?” Sonata asked, still a little dazedly. “No, I... I didn’t see anypony looking.”
“Oh,” Sunset said shortly. Maybe she had just imagined it. There was, after all, nothing inherently weird about somepony looking at one in bar. Especially if you’re a newcomer. “Well, what would you like to do? Do you want to go somewhere else?”
“I think I’ll be fine,” Sonata said, composing herself with long, deep breaths. “I think if I just walk around a little I’ll be fine.”
“You want some company?” Sunset asked, glad of an excuse to walk about and perhaps have a private moment with her marefriend without Script or Loyal Stride around.
“I’ll just be a few minutes,” Sonata said. “I just need a bit of thinking time.”
“Oh, okay,” Sunset said, a little crestfallen. “Well, if it gets worse come straight back okay? I think I’m going to go to the market and have a look around.”





As it turned out, Script had also had the idea of going to the market. Sunset found him there, apparently arguing with a purveyor of herbs and spices.
“Well do you at least have ground ginger?” Script demanded. “You have to have ground ginger. People cook with that!”
“I’m sorry,” the sales-pony said ruefully. “The entire town has had trouble getting stock recently. I think we’ll have deliveries in a few days though.”
“A few days!?” Script exploded. “How can you run a town like this? Do you run out of food as well?”
“Not usually,” the vendor said, blushing. “We have plenty of farms around.”
“But not enough for some ginger root.” Script scoffed loudly. He turned around abruptly and stormed off, muttering.
“Excuse me,” the vendor said rather suddenly to Sunset. “But are you two a couple?” 
Sunset frowned, confused, until the vendor looked between her and Script’s retreating backside. Sunset would have snorted with derisive laughter, but instead she gave the vendor a narrow look. That was the second time somepony had asked her that question. Script meanwhile could be heard grumbling several stalls away.
“No, we’re not,” Sunset said. “We actually kind of hate each other.”
“Oh,” the vendor said, looking confused. “Well, can I get you anything?”
“Didn’t you say that you were out of stock?”
“Not everything,” the vendor said, evasively. 
Sunset caught up with Script three stalls down, once again arguing with another salespony. Does he do nothing but argue?
“Script, there’s no point arguing if they don’t have what you need.”
“I’m frankly surprised that you feel that way,” Script began grumpily. “Considering I’m trying to make more medicine. You know, like the sort I gave to your marefriend out of the goodness of my shrivelled little black heart.”
“Ahh,” the vendor said with interest. “You have a marefriend?”
“Yes,” Sunset said perfunctorily to the salespony. “Script,” she began irritably. “Why do you have to act like that? To be honest I think that I could stand you if you didn’t always act like the entire world was dirt beneath your hooves.”
“If the entire world wasn’t intent on annoying me, maybe I’d regard it better,” Script scoffed. He glanced warily at Sunset’s hard stare, and then sighed a little. “I just have a lot on my mind. Not least of all my sister’s boyfriend holding onto my research.” He glared at Sunset, who looked back unapologetically.
“I’m not saying sorry,” she said, her voice hard.
Script shrugged. He and Sunset made their way down the centre of the market, their conversation muffled by the voices all around. “A day ago I was on my own, solving the great mystery I’ve been hunting after for years. Then you and Blue the Wonder-Serpent come along, destroy my research, and uproot me from my make-shift home. Now any hope of finishing my research lies in a cursed mare, a vengeful former-friend who has a stranglehold on my citations, and you. And I’m pretty sure that you hate me.”
Sunset blushed at this. Now that he said it, she actually came to see that she could more easily feel for his position than she’d thought. She’d been so focused on her own problems: being thrust decades into the future, Equestria being divided, Sonata turning back into a siren, and the prospect of what seemed to be a long, meandering journey, that she hadn’t really given much thought to how Script had been affected. Not that he’d given her much reason to feel empathy towards him; his obnoxious and sarcastic attitude combined with his evident disregard for the feelings of others had pitted her against him almost since the beginning. 
But then, he did help us back then, when Sonata hurt her leg, Sunset thought. And he has led us here safely.
Her lips tightened a little as she considered that she herself had not made much effort to get along. They had played off of each other’s adversarial attitudes to each other; perhaps if she tried being more accommodating, he might be a little less of a... well, a little nicer himself.
“I don’t think that I hate you,” Sunset said thoughtfully. “I’ve barely known you a day.”
Script seemed surprised by this. “It’s been a long barely-a-day,” he said ruefully. Giving the stalls around him a last aggrieved look of irritation, he shook his head. “Well, I suppose there’s no sense looking if there’s nothing to find. I’ll check back tomorrow.”
“Aren’t we leaving tomorrow?” Sunset asked.
“I’d prefer to leave with what I need if it’s all the same to you,” Script said in as non-confrontational a tone as Sunset had ever heard him use. “I know that you love her and everything,” he went on, lowering his voice. “But I’d rather be always prepared when I have a cursed individual travelling with me. You never know what they might do.”
“Sonata wouldn’t do anything to put us in danger,” Sunset said, trying not to sound defensive. 
“You mean like turning into an enormous sea-monster and swallowing us whole?” Script asked in an off-hand sort of way.
“She did that to save us,” Sunset reminded him.
“Yeah, and Captain Smiles too,” Script huffed. “All I’m saying is that she’s cursed. As it gets stronger, it’ll influence her more. And when the day comes that you look her dead in the eye, and she stares back with a smile on her face as she burns the world—“ he paused, hesitating. “It might not be her fault, but it’ll hurt. It’ll hurt to see what she becomes.”
With that, he turned back towards the inn, and was soon lost in the crowd.
Sunset remained stood in the middle of the market, pondering his words. A sick feeling rose in her stomach as she remembered, with horrifying clarity, the piercing reptilian eyes as Sonata had gazed down upon her in her siren form. Perhaps she was applying emotions to features that could convey no other, but just as she had then, she thought that she had seen a malevolence there, almost a hunger; as though Sunset had been nothing but a lump of meat. Nothing more.


- To be Continued
	
	
	
> The Exhausting Life of an Equestrian Monarch
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Princess Mi Amore Cadenza


The late afternoon sunlight poured through the high windows, casting coloured shafts so sharply that they might have seemed to the casual eye to be tangible features of the room. The great white walls shone with the gleam of daily maintenance, and the telling lines where new wall had been added to the more ancient parts of the castle had all but worn away over the past sixty years.
Great doors opened. The corridor filled momentarily with the buzzing of many voices. The doors closed. Silence.
Then Princess Cadance stepped wearily forward, breathing a heavy and heartfelt sigh. As usual, she’d insisted that the guards need not accompany her to her apartments. The reason, as usual, was not the one of amused impatience that she always gave to her diligent and well-meaning guards, but because she did not want anypony to see the collapse of her facade. No sooner had she determined that she was alone, her entire body seemed to sag, as though the years that her nigh-immortality denied her had suddenly caught up and dragged her down. Faint lines etched themselves into the smoothness of her beautiful pink face, a tentativeness in her walk made it clear that her legs pained her, and the firm light of attentiveness in her eyes dimmed into a blur of tiredness.
The Council of Representatives typically meant well, Cadance knew, but their concern for their own corners of the world over the greater good was taxing Equestria of its greatest strength: its unity. For centuries the nation of Equestria had stood united under the banner of the Royal Sisters, even during Princess Luna’s absence. With both of them gone, the political scene changed rapidly, deteriorating almost to anarchy. Even Cadance’s reluctant ascendancy had almost brought the country to the brink.
Cadance’s mind ground through the same-old tired rhetoric from all those years ago as she plodded down the seemingly endless hall of stained-glass windows. Lawfully, Cadance had the authority to rule Equestria, as a legitimately recognised princess of Equestria. Unfortunately, stemming from a lack of precedence, there was no official legal details as to the right of succession should either Princess Celestia or Luna be permanently incapacitated. The right to rule by a tertiary princess had always been held as inherently temporary, with permanent or extended rule having to be given by official written or verbal notice by one or more of the royal pony sisters. Extended rule without such a mandate had never been heard of before.
In short, Cadance’s rule was not, strictly speaking, legitimate, over the entirety of Equestria. She had legal sovereignty only over the Crystal Empire as a descendant of its ruling dynasty. Equestria as a whole on the other hand...
As such, a compromise had been established. Cadance’s rule would be treated as an extended, provisional stewardship, overseen and checked by a High Council. The High Council as it stood was composed of two houses, one representing the various cities and provinces of Equestria that made up the Council of Representatives, and the second that of the Canterlot nobility, who nominally ran the central bureaucracy, and made up the Central Sixty. Things had declined naturally ever since.
Oh sure, it had gone well at first. At first the ponies were united by their mutual concern for Princess Celestia and their anxiety over the invading forces of Roam. But then Roam had withdrawn, an armistice had been signed. And Princess Celestia had not been returned to them. Roam refused to return her, and diplomatic channels were cut as Roam plunged itself into civil war.
And then the real trouble had arisen. Having been away from Canterlot at the time, Princess Luna was later revealed to have been rendering assistance to the changelings. She had invited the mass of their population across the Equestrian border to escape persecution in the Badlands, and had been suing for terms when the surprise assault on Canterlot had left the capital devastated, and Princess Celestia captured.
Word had spread from there. Rumours abounded, exacerbated by the commonly held belief that the changelings had been responsible for the plague that had spread across the southern border, and which had only been halted when Discord gave up his physical form. Cadance looked instinctively at this point out of the nearest window into the gardens, where Discord’s statue stood proudly at the centre of Princess Celestia’s finest arrangements. On Cadance’s order it had been preserved that way for more than sixty years; a monument to the unexpected sacrifice from the least expected person to act. And because she knew that it was what her aunt would have wanted...
Of course, these rumours put the black mark to Luna’s name, at least in the uninfected regions of Equestria. Coinciding with the legend of Nightmare Moon, Luna’s name had been dragged through the mud, sowing fear and dissension amongst the Equestrian laity. The inhabitants of the so-called Nightlands – ponies and changelings alike – loved Princess Luna. She watched over them when everypony else had forsaken them, provided comfort and guidance to them, standing beside them in their long, dark eternity. Cadance sometimes wondered if her aunt had done so out of duty to ponies that she knew were still her citizens, or out of a sense of kinship with a people so misunderstood and maligned. Or perhaps both.

Cadance shook herself from these gloomy reflections when she suddenly smelt the scent of cooking food, and realised that she had inadvertently overshot her destination. Backtracking away from the kitchens, she ascended the marble stairs with leaden steps, and trudged wearily to her bed chamber.
As she had hoped, Shining Armour sat waiting for her. Unlike Cadance, whose immortality had preserved her appearance in its prime, the nature of their bond merely preserved Shining Armour beyond his usual years, leaving his appearance to age substantially slower than other ponies. She had to admit that he looked good for somepony who was ninety three and not a princess. His blue hair had emboldened into a darker tone with several small streaks of grey in front of his ears, and on the closely shaved beard on his square chin. His white coat and cutie mark were as sharp as ever they had been, with his physique perhaps a little thicker than in his earlier years. Nonetheless, he met his wife’s entrance with the same softening of his stern expression as he always did. 
He’s such a nerd at heart. Cadance thought, fondly, kissing him.
“I was about to come break up the meeting,” Shining chuckled. 
“It did seem to drag on forever,” Cadance said, yawning.
“You need a nap before anything else,” Shining ordered, gesturing to the bed. “Go on. No pony will disturb you until your next engagement.”
“I only ever had one engagement,” Cadance mumbled, smirking. “And that was to you.”
“That joke never gets old, dear,” Shining said patronisingly, holding the sheets back for Cadance to get in. “Try to enjoy your nap. The Roaman ambassador will want to see you well rested.”
“Oh, that’s today?” Cadance asked as she settled gratefully into the bed. “Are you sure? I could have sworn...” she yawned again. “Could have sworn it was the Saddle Arabians today.”
“That’s not for another two weeks,” Shining said kindly. “It’ll come back to you when you wake up.”
“Could you entertain him while I sleep, Shining?” Cadance asked. “I don’t like leaving him to himself.”
“Common courtesy dictates that I offer him my hoof at backgammon at least,” Shining smiled. “I’ll keep him entertained. I’ll have the guard wake you up when it’s time.”





Cadance appreciated her husband’s support and helpfulness, but in these troubled times, even he didn’t agree with her on everything. And she couldn’t expect him to. Some injuries run too deep for the healing. 
Cadance had long adapted to the necessity of her daily naps. She slept usually no more than three hours a night – less if Shining Armour was in the mood – and in her early reign it had shown on her face. Now, she was able to rise practically wide awake and refreshed, with only the most minute amount of personal sprucing to make her face and mane follow suit.
“Thank you,” she said to the guard as he knocked and entered. “I’m already up. If the ambassador is waiting, please inform him that I’ll be there momentarily.”
The guard inclined his head and retreated.
Five minutes later, Cadance stood in front of a set of large double-doors. The shining depictions of stylised pegasi that emblazoned the doors seemed to take flight as the doors swung forward away from her, a strange optical illusion that Cadance had come to appreciate since taking up residence in the castle. She saw her aunt’s style and sense of wonder in everything here. And more minutely, her understanding of the need for some tempered grandiosity. It reminded certain visitors with whom they were dealing.
The room opened to a magnificent and largely proportioned hall. It was clearly meant to seat as many as about fifty individuals given the length of the table at its centre, but currently was being occupied by only four ponies. Two guards stood either side of the door inside, with Shining Armour sitting away from the door, playing chess with a familiar individual as his opponent.
Domitian, second son of Princeps Vespegasus, looked up from his game with a tired smile. “Ahh,” he said pleasantly. “Princess. A pleasure as always,” he said graciously, standing up. “Please, save me; I believe your husband is about to embarrass me again.”
“Please, don’t get up on my account,” Cadance replied with high good humour. “I take it that chess still isn’t your game?”
Domitian laughed. “I do better in games of chance. I’m afraid that strategy eludes me.” He gestured to the board, where Cadance could see that he was being soundly beaten. His king stood precariously between a knight and Shining Armour’s queen, each poised to strike. On the other hand, Cadance knew that the ambassador was being a little overtly modest; the strategy of chess might well be beyond him, but political strategy was something he was no stranger to.
“Checkmate,” Shining Armour said with finality, shifting a bishop four spaces. 
The ambassador did a small double-take and looked quickly over the board carefully. Apparently unable to find a way around his loss, he gave a small sigh, and knocked over his king.
“Spirits, my lord,” Domitian chuckled. “I will defeat you one day. Or perhaps I shall engage my brother to battle with you instead. He does better at these sorts of military games.”
“On the board, tell him that I’ll accept that challenge any time,” Shining Armour said, a slight edge to his voice. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to oversee the changing of the guard. Ambassador.”
Inclining his head respectfully, he gave Cadance a subtle wink and left the room, the double doors swinging shut behind him with a booming finality. Cadance turned to look the ambassador full on. 
The first thing that Cadence always noticed about the ambassador was his eyes. The Roaman trait of dark rings reminiscent of mascara, and the pointed, angular face, could not detract from the icy grey orbs staring at her. They formed a striking contrast with his personality, which – whether from being a diplomat or simply his disposition – was polite and accommodating. It was always startling whenever he smiled or laughed to see the steel-coloured glint of them flash at her. She had never known quite what to make of it. She had met his brother, the general in charge of the Badlands occupation legion, several times before at important functions. His eyes were the same as his brothers’, but better suited his abrupt and sharp personality; the product of being a soldier, Cadance had always assumed, since despite his bluntness, he had always been more-or-less polite.
The ambassador wore the traditional toga of his homeland: a long, white length of good quality fabric with an intricate line of purple pattern denoting his rank amongst the elite. His dark blue mane was cut short, his tail sliced short at an angle, and tied at the base. Unlike most ponies, he wore a set of plain steel horseshoes inlayed with a matching pair of purple stones that matched his toga. On his chest rested the imperial seal of Roam, glinting faintly in the afternoon light filtering down from the ceiling windows. Taken in conjunction with what Cadance knew about the Roaman’s disdain for royalty, this reserved yet bold appearance, she knew, was meant to put across the severity of Roaman culture, whilst subtly highlighting its power, wealth, and status. She always supposed it must be difficult to balance the two. 
“How is Canterlot treating you, ambassador?” Cadance asked, seating herself in Shining Armour’s unoccupied chair. “I’m afraid that I never did ask how your accomadations were.”
“It’s a marvellous city,” Domitian said approvingly, nodding. “Even in such desperate times, the citizens are remarkably hospitable and helpful. One tends to find in the Republic that larger cities are often plagued with, shall we say, the more inimical members of our society.”
“I should take you on a tour of Baltimare at some point, ambassador,” Cadance said with a tremble of laughter in her voice. “I assure you, you’ll see all of the inimical aspects of Equestrian society there.”
“That sounds exciting,” Domitian said, sitting back and laughing at the joke. “Perhaps another time. As it happens,” he said in a more hesitant voice, “I have some rather dire news for you.”
Cadance’s face fell a little here. The ambassador’s tone had become somewhat hesitant. “Regarding what?” she asked, trying to keep her face devoid of discomposure.
“In regards to my counterpart,” Domitian said tentatively. “I just received the news today. It seems that she has gone missing.”
“Missing?” Cadance asked, feeling her insides plummeting. She arched her back a little so as to draw attention away from her tensed muscles. “I’m sorry, but could you clarify what you mean?”
The ambassador looked troubled. “I’m afraid I can’t give you much information about the situation. I was merely informed that Ambassador Song Bright did not appear at the imperial palace five days ago, and that subsequent attempts to locate her have been unsuccessful. Her disappearance is being treated as a potential kidnapping I believe.”
Perhaps Cadance’s silence made the ambassador believe she that wasn’t taking the news well. She wasn’t taking the news well. But it was not prudent to allow the ambassador to know this.
“I’m sorry if the news is at all distressing,” Domitian said in a solicitous tone. He reached a hoof forward as though to lay it on her own. “I’m sure that there is a reasonable—“
“I thank you for your concern,” Cadance interrupted, forcing a trill of false complacency into her voice. “I have the utmost confidence in my daughter’s abilities should her disappearance prove to stem from malevolent intentions from this party or that. However I feel I must also apologise for her neglect should it transpire that her absence is due in part from her own actions. She can allow her passions to overcome her sense of propriety upon occasion. In particular, where she personally feels it necessary. Her actions should this transpire to be the case would not reflect the interests of Equestria.”
The ambassador retracted his hoof. As usual, Cadance found it difficult to pin the exact emotion that the ambassador’s face was conveying, since the steely eyes always combined to confuse the rest of its features. His face twitched as though he was trying not to smile; Cadance almost thought that he was impressed. Taken with the eyes however, he merely looked contemptuous, as though what she had said was cute.
All of this occurred in the space of a second, since the ambassador arranged his face back into a look of benign good humour before going on.
“I certainly hope that it is simply a misunderstanding. With all of the Mare Vasteum between us, communications aren’t always terribly up-to-date on these sorts of hour-by-hour issues. It may be that she has already found her way back as we speak.”
“Indeed,” Cadance said, smiling tightly. “But I think that we were meeting to speak about the no-pony’s land agreement.”
“Ah, quite,” the ambassador said quickly, eagerly seizing upon the subject. “Yes, I have some fresh proposals from the capital regarding the hopefully amiable return of the Land of Friendship to Equestrian sovereignty. I shall be happy to go over the proposals with you now if you wish.”
With a sinking feeling in her heart to join the leaden weight in her gut, Cadance braced herself for a series of overreaching demands and unreasonable caveats. She sat back as languidly as she could, deciding privately whilst the ambassador talked what the most diplomatic way to say “No,” would be.





Cadance was dimly aware that almost all of her meetings, assemblies, and other functions ended invariably the same. With her stumbling out of whatever room it had been, alone, weighed down by yet more pain and responsibility. It genuinely hurt to see the various representatives of Equestria bicker together over the most trivial of notions, and be unable to do anything to appease them. It had not been like this in bygone days, when the word of a princess could have the singular and final effect of settling any dispute, and perhaps keep it settled should the judgment be sound.
Now however, there was too much discord. Too much mistrust. And Discord wasn’t even around to enjoy it. Many still listened to her, but the disappearance of Celestia and the perceived betrayal by Luna had jarred the minds of their subjects. And with Twilight taken by the plague as well... so much fell upon Cadance.
Now the news of her only daughter having gone missing in a foreign land...
“What’s the matter?” Shining Armour exclaimed as Cadance entered their chambers. “Cadance, what is it? Tell me.”
Seated on the bed, and in between long pauses as she tried to assemble her words from the sea of scattered thoughts, Cadance proceeded to explain to Shining Armour what the ambassador had told her about their daughter. Her husband’s face seemed to turn grey with horror at the revelation, the streaks in his mane and beard become more noticeable. 
“There’s no need to panic yet,” he said eventually, apparently realising that it was up to him to be the voice of calm and reason. “It’s like he said; we don’t know what’s happened. We’ll probably get a message in a few days about her getting lost during an evening party. You know Song Bright can’t resist—“
“Please stop, Shining,” Cadance breathed. “I appreciate it, I honestly do. But right now,” her voice broke. “How did all of this happen? What in the world has happened to us? To everything?”
Shining Armour’s mouth thinned. He seated himself on the bed next to her, and taking off his greaves, began stroking her hair. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “I’ve been wondering that these passed sixty years, ever since Roam crossed the ocean. But we’ve lasted this long, haven’t we? We’ve held out.”
“But our daughter...” Cadance sobbed. 
Shining Armour didn’t reply for a short while. If Cadance had been in a right state to look up at his face, she might have been hard pressed to judge whether he was troubled or thoughtful. He bit his lip, looked from here to there, and blinked a few times, as though dealing with some painful internal struggle.
“If I were the sort of pony to suggest such a thing,” he said slowly, as though measuring his words. “I might say that we could... I don’t know. Pull a favour?”
Cadance lifted her head from the bed, her tear-stained face turning slowly up to him. “What do you mean?” she asked thickly.
“Well...” Shining Armour went on, screwing up his face a little as he apparently fought to make the words slip between his teeth. “If we had a particular friend that we could ask help from. Someone who could slip into Roam and find out the truth.”
Cadance thought about this for a moment until it struck her what Shining Armour was getting at.
“We can’t ask that of them, Shining,” she said quietly. “The risk would be too great. You know what the Roamans do to spies. And especially to changelings. If a drone was caught on Roaman soil... she’ll never agree to it.”
“We need help,” Shining Armour muttered, as though the words were hard to get out.
“I know, my love,” Cadance murmured back, nuzzling into his cheek. “We’ll have to hold out for information by the usual channel.”
“To be frank, I’m kinda glad that the ambassador is such a relatable pony. Do you think that he’ll tell us if he gets word?”
“I don’t see why not. There’s nothing he could gain from withholding information on Song Bright.” She drew a deep breath and stretched. “Thanks for staying with me. I just...”
“I know,” Shining Armour said in hushed tones. “Believe me, I know.”
“Oh,” Cadance said suddenly, eager to change the subject. “Did you find out where Lance Alot disappeared to?”
“No,” Shining Armour replied with another sigh. “To be honest I’m starting to get worried. I thought at first he was just dossing off the job, but nopony has seen him in days.”
“You’re searching for him, aren’t you?” Cadance asked, frowning. “I mean, a royal guard going missing... we don’t need more gossip.”
“I’m keeping it discreet,” Shining Armour said, rubbing is temple a little. “But yes, I have ponies looking for him.”
“I’d best do my make-up before getting to the open court sessions. I still need to look the part.”
“You are the part,” Shining Armour said firmly. “I still don’t know why you don’t let Powder Brush do your make-up anymore.”
“I’ve told you,” Cadance sighed in mild exasperation, having explained this point several times before. “I don’t want ponies to know how much this is getting to me. They need hope; I can’t let them down by seeing me less than ready.” She looked down grimly at a small ornamental box of various colouring agents. “They don’t deserve that.”
“You’re doing great at it,” Shining Armour said robustly, stepping up behind her. “Ruling, I mean. Princess Celestia never had to deal with a situation like this.”
“I sometimes wonder how she managed to do this for so long. She was doing this, alone, for a thousand years.”
“A thousand years of relative peace and harmony,” Shining Armour reminded her. “There was the odd problem, I won’t deny that. But I think even she would admit that she never had to deal with a divided country and a foreign power on Equestria’s doorstep.”
“We’ve been at peace with Roam for decades now.”
“Call it a soldier’s instinct,” Shining Armour said darkly. “Maybe it is just a ‘garrison army’,” he went on, sketching quotes in the air. “But it’s still an army, and a better one than ours.”
“Shining—“
“Face facts, Cadance,” her husband interrupted a little tersely. “One-to-one, the Roamans have us beat. War is their home field. I remember my captain once told me ‘Equestrians, kid; we’re a peculiarly unmilitary kind’a ponies’.” He took a brief moment to give a reminiscent half-smile. “And he was right. Don’t get me wrong, we’re nothing to sneeze at, but up against Roam...” he let the sentence hang, shaking his head. 
Deep down Cadance knew that he was right. The Roamans had proven 60 years ago that had their own internal turmoil not halted them, they would have conquered Equestria virtually unopposed. The Equestrian military comprised a sizeable royal guard corps., with a supplementary force in the Crystal Empire and other regions. But they were not proper field soldiers. Honour guard and police forces better described the military capabilities of Equestria prior to the Roaman invasion. And even now with a formal military force of its own, Equestria was still a beginner when it came to the art of professional warfare. But there was no reason to be concerned right now. Equestria and Roam were at peace, with ongoing negotiations for settling a permanent relationship. Everything was slowly inching towards stability; she simply had to last until it got there. If she could last that long...
She was jarred from these depressing thoughts by the sound of the door opening. Shining Armour was leaving.
“Where are you going?” Cadance asked, perturbed.
Shining Armour did not immediately respond. He seemed to be listening to somepony at the door. With an altogether sober expression directed at Cadance, he invited whoever it was inside. A guard in shining golden armour stepped over the threshold, the usual look of single-minded austerity plastered across her face. Behind her, Shining Armour closed the door and, with a flash of his horn, set a spell over the door. This made Cadance stand up from her dressing table.
Shining Armour took one last furtive look at the door. “Speaking of things we can’t let Equestria know about,” he said with grim humour, directing a narrow look at the guard. 
The guard saluted, and then with a quiet whoosh and a flash of emerald light, it disappeared, leaving a prim-looking changeling in its place. The creatures bright blue eyes fixed themselves upon Cadance before it bowed low.
“Princess Cadance of Equestria and the Crystal Empire,” it said formally. Its voice was oddly soft and quiet for such an insectoid-looking creature, which used to take Cadance by surprise. “I have brought news that the Over-Queen, She who graces us with protection and love, considers it essential for you to know.”
Cadance blinked rapidly for a moment. “Essential?” she repeated wonderingly. Then she too looked at the door. Then at the windows; curtains closed. She gestured the changeling up and over to a seat-cushion, which the changeling gratefully sat upon. Seating herself opposite, Cadance gave the changeling her full, and undivided attention.
“Very well. What is it you wish to tell me?”


- To be Continued
	
> Notes, Stories, and Worries. Oh my...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sonata Dusk


It was not entirely accurate to describe what Sonata was experiencing a headache. If she had been obligated to give a proper description of what the disturbance in her brain felt like, she’d have described it more like a living thing moving around inside her skull. Not anything gross like an alien parasite trying to take over her mind or anything, although, as Sonata thought to herself, that might be kind of cool. But then imagination led her on to wonder what kind of things the parasite might make her do, and felt a warmth spread over her face.
Well, if it was with Sunset, then maybe... I don’t know if I’d mind that so much... she thought, feeling the blush overtake her face. 
She was interrupted from these extremely private imaginings by the sound of a voice nearby. She wouldn’t have paid it any attention at all, passing through a slightly crowded area of the town square, if the voice itself hadn’t sounded as though it was addressing her.
“You’re being followed.”
Sonata stopped walking, the rather risqué thought in her head imploding as she looked quickly around. No pony was looking in her direction. All around her was the white noise and bustle of ponies going about their daily business. She scrutinised one or two individuals standing around apparently without an object in mind, trying to see if she caught their eye. 
It was at this point that she noticed a half-perceived oddity. The first pony she watched was a creamy-coloured stallion with an orange mane, humming a tune to himself whilst he gazed at the horizon; nothing extraordinary there in Sonata’s opinion. But the mare sitting on a bench by the statue on the other hand, something about her made Sonata suspicious. 
Moving out of the way of the general pedestrian traffic, Sonata stared hard at her. It wasn’t her posture, nor her attitude of consummate boredom as she sat reading a newspaper. It was something in her face... something... And then it happened. The mare yawned, and Sonata, on the lookout for discrepancies, saw something that made her heart jump in her chest. 
As the mare covered her mouth with her hoof, she couldn’t quite cover up the fact that her teeth were pointed; or if not pointed, then certainly more angular than the typically flat, herbivorous teeth of most ponies. Then Sonata noticed the eyes. They were oddly bright and shiny, more like glass than flesh. Then as the mare turned her head slightly, Sonata saw how their natural deep purple colouration momentarily split into a myriad of rainbow colours, like light being filtered through quartz. It happened only for a split second, but the effect was so profound that Sonata found herself staring agape. Until the mare noticed her staring, and frowned at her; Sonata instinctively looked away and tried to blend into the crowd.





“Sunset?” Sonata called as she reached their room at the inn. “Sunset, are you here?” She looked in the bathroom, and then did another short look over the room in general. Sunset definitely wasn’t there.
“Is something wrong?” asked a voice at the door. Sonata turned quickly to see Loyal Stride standing facing away from the entrance. “You sound panicked.”
“Loyal Stride!” Sonata said, rushing at the door. “There was this pony in the town square. No, wait, first there was this voice, it said I was being followed, and then I turned around and no pony was there. I mean, there were lots of ponies, but—“
“Are you decent?” Loyal Stride asked firmly over her waffling. 
“W-What?” Sonata stammered, brought up short. Loyal Stride repeated the question, but it still took a moment or two for Sonata to catch onto his meaning. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Well, I guess. I mean, I don’t really wear clothes when I’m a pony.” Her mouth curved upwards into a smile, and she began to snicker.
“It’s just common courtesy,” Loyal Stride grunted as he went pink in the cheeks, “to ask a lady if one is allowed into their quarters.”
“Quarters?” Sonata snorted. “You’re such a gentleman.”
Loyal Stride bore her merriment a second or two more before he tapped the floor a little impatiently. “Is there a problem?” he asked over her stifled chuckling. “You looked distressed.”
The memory of the mare’s pointed teeth jarred its way into Sonata’s brain like a snake bursting from under the sand. It had a similar effect of bowel-loosening sobriety as a snake might have as well. She coughed herself to seriousness.
“Yes, actually,” she said uneasily. “Well, whilst I was out, I saw... well...” She explained to Loyal Stride what she had seen with as much detail as she could remember. To her astonishment, he didn’t seem in the least bit surprised by her report. But he did seem puzzled by her astonishment. 
“Well of course she looked monstrous,” Loyal Stride said a little dispassionately. “We’re in the Nightlands. The effects of the plague may never go away.”
Sonata frowned at him slightly. She’d heard that before; the plague. She thought maybe Script had mentioned it. “Loyal Stride, I wasn’t... err, around, for the plague.”
“Well of course not,” Loyal Stride chuffed, almost smiling. “None of us were. It happened just before the invasion of Equestria, some sixty five years ago.”
Sonata swallowed. It still made her very uneasy to think about that. “Well, what exactly did the plague do? Did it... kill a lot of ponies? Why does it mean ponies have pointy teeth and shiny eyes?”
Loyal Stride stared at her. Maybe it was the overtly simplistic way in which she’d described the mare, or simply that he was astonished that he had to explain any of this, Sonata didn’t know.
“It didn’t kill anypony, no,” he began slowly. It was a little surreal to see him look uneasy, given his usually unforgiving and stoic manner. “It was... well, the best way I can describe it, it was some kind of virulent magical transformation. Ponies infected would turn rabid and hunt down healthy ponies to infect them as well” He cleared his throat. “If I’m going to explain this, may I sit down?”
“O-Oh!” Sonata looked behind her. “Sure. Please, come in.” She grinned widely as she gestured him inside.
“As I understand it,” he began again, seated on a floor cushion. “The Equestrians blamed the changelings initially, since the initial spike in infections originated in the south, and coincided with the war for the Badlands. Equestrian officials believed that changelings fleeing Roaman forces brought the infection with them.”
“D-Did they?” Sonata asked, horrified.
Loyal Stride bit his lip. “No pony is really sure. Roam firmly pins the blame upon them officially, but nothing like it has ever been recorded in any of Roam’s dealing with changelings before. Their magic is very limited in scope, mainly constrained to illusions and mental suggestions as well as casting basic magical attacks. They lack the versatility of unicorn magic. I personally doubt they had the ability to manufacture a magical transformation of the sort that spread through the Nightlands. I’m not an expert, you understand” he said quickly. “Altogether it seems unlikely. No Roaman casualties of this plague were reported, which given it virulence seems incredibly unlikely if it came from the changelings. They could have used something like that to create havoc amongst our armies and use the chaos to either escape or fight back.”
Sonata raised her eyebrows at him. She’d fully expected him to blame the changelings, even if he knew that they were innocent. She’d developed an opinion of the Roamans as a very prejudiced society, prone to blaming major problems upon others; to hear Loyal Stride say something so frankly impartial was quite surprising. 
“That’s... quite fair of you,” Sonata said disjointedly. 
Loyal Stride looked quickly at the window. “There’s no point casting blame on somepony when you don’t know that it was them. Making assumptions usually leads to missing the vital truth.” He scowled. “And that can get you killed.”
“Um...” Sonata began awkwardly. “I know that we’re not friends or anything.”
“Don’t ask anything too personal,” Loyal Stride said, seeming to read Sonata’s mind.
Sonata coughed. “Well I... I just sort of wondered... is this life debt thing really worth following us around and stuff? Won’t the army think you’ve deserted?”
“The army thinks I’m dead,” Loyal Stride replied simply. “And as much as I hate to admit it, I think Parchment Script might just be right. Thinking on it.”
“You mean about the army trying to kill you?” Sonata asked. Almost immediately she wished that she hadn’t said it. Loyal Stride’s cold blue eyes became like blue chips of ice. She rapidly sought for a different question to change the subject. “So, um... you’re dating Script’s sister?”
“You are terrible at this, aren’t you?” Loyal Stride inquired bluntly.
Sonata did not verbally respond to that; she was too busy trying to repress the uncomfortable, prickly heat cascading across her skin. As a human the sensation had been unpleasant, but with the added coat of hair as a pony, Sonata found that her embarrassment at her chronic indiscretion showed itself in a slight poofing of her body hair. It was a lot more difficult to hide than a blush, she had to admit.
“Sorry, I guess that falls under the headline of too personal, huh?” Sonata followed up this apology with an ingratiating smile. 
“Yes, I’m dating—“ He sketched quotes in the air. “—Script’s sister.” He let out a long sigh, as though the next thing was being said against his better judgment. “We’re going to have a baby actually.”
“A baby!?” Sonata burst excitedly. “Congratz on that!” she laughed, all awkwardness forgotten.
“Thank you,” Loyal Stride replied, turning pink in the face again. “To be honest it’s still a bit of a shock.”
“People and ponies always seem to act that way about babies,” Sonata mumbled, more to herself than to him. “And she’s a unicorn too? Is that, like, weird in Roam or something?”
Loyal Stride’s expression darkened. “Again, I loathe admitting when Script is right. At least, he’s right a little. Unicorns are unfairly persecuted in Roaman society. Things have improved since the time of Neighro, in fairness, when he blamed a great many of the Republic’s problems on magical societies and the unicorn populace. Just playing on old prejudices. But it still lingers today.” He looked at Sonata dead on. “I wouldn’t have my rank if certain ponies knew about my relationship with her. They’d think I didn’t have proper respect for tradition. That I don’t have proper earth pony feeling.”
“So you hid it?”
“We both agreed it was for the best. At least for the moment. Neither of us needed the trouble.”
“But what about when the baby is born?” Sonata asked, concerned.
“I admit that we had not thought that far ahead. The foal wasn’t... pre-planned.” He cleared his throat again. Sonata chuckled internally at how easily he could be flustered. She elbowed him good-naturedly.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Mm.”
Sonata took that as a cue to stop talking about it, and so changed the subject again. “So, what do you think about the voice?”
“So far as I can tell,” Loyal Stride began, not sounding too disappointed to have the subject changed, “you don’t even know if it was directed at you.”
Sonata blinked. She hadn’t thought of that. She’d been so taken up with the mare with the sharp teeth that she hadn’t stopped to consider whether the mysterious voice had in fact been talking to her.
“Huh,” she said, feeling a little silly. “I guess.”
“I wouldn’t be too concerned. But never get complacent.”
A knock on the door spared Sonata having to reply to this. Opening slightly, a sliver of a face peeped in through the crack.
“Excuse me,” said the innkeeper deferentially. “Might I ask where your companions might be?”
“Is there a problem?” Loyal Stride asked.
“Not really, no sir,” the innkeeper went on, opening the door more and bowing his head slightly. “Its just we was hoping there was no domestic issues going on between the happy couple, sir.”
Sonata blushed. Had he heard her conversation with Sunset? They had been just beside the inn after all.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Loyal Stride said, firmly but no impolitely. 
The innkeeper inclined his head again still further. “No, not at all, sir. We just don’t want any problems during your stay is all.”
Sonata and Loyal Stride simply stared at him, each with appropriate levels of surprise or suspicion on their faces. The whole thing seemed almost... contrived, to Sonata. There was something going on that she couldn’t quite put her hoof on. The innkeeper seemed to become uncomfortable under this scrutiny; he coughed discreetly and turned to leave.
“Well, enjoy your stay. Hope you find everything...” he trailed off as his voice receded down the hall.
“Do you get the feeling that there’s something wrong with this town?” Sonata asked Loyal Stride.
“I wouldn’t know,” he replied casually. “I’m not terribly familiar with Equestrian customs. Perhaps they frequently have trouble with travellers causing trouble here.”
“Maybe,” Sonata said a little uneasily. “I don’t know. I’ve been getting a weird feeling from this place. Like my necklace knows something’s wrong.”
“Your necklace?” Loyal Stride repeated suspiciously. “Explain.”
“Well,” Sonata started, trying to find the words to adequately explain the issue. When she’d finished explaining how her ability to see negative energy and magic usually worked, and the new strange feeling that she’d been experiencing, Loyal Stride hummed thoughtfully. 
“I’m not an expert in magic,” he said slowly. “But perhaps what you’re feeling is a different kind of magic. One that your curse... powers, senses or whatever, aren’t attuned to sense properly.”
“But if that’s true, then what magic is going on?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Loyal Stride shrugged. “As I say, Equestria is an unknown to me. I’ve always heard that it’s a magical nation. I always assumed that ponies used magic for all kinds of things. Maybe there’s protections spells on some of the buildings, or alarms—“
“It’s not like that,” Sonata murmured. “It’s like... it’s like something... creeping over me.”
Loyal Stride regarded her solemnly for a moment. “Why are you telling me these things?” Sonata didn’t understand the question. “We don’t know each other. We’re not friends. Why are you telling me any of your feelings like this?”
“Don’t you think it’s important?” Sonata asked tentatively, hoping he would say no.
“It’s an unknown,” Loyal Stride replied darkly. “And the thing one discovers in the army, is that unknowns tend to get you killed.”
Sonata gulped. “You’ve said that twice now.”
“Tell your marefriend about it. Or Parchment Script. They can probably tell you better than I can what it means.”
“Sunset doesn’t know what it is.” Her insides twisted a little. “I know you don’t like him now, but you were friends with Script once, weren’t you?”
Loyal Stride’s mouth worked a little before he answered. “It’s not a question of whether I like him or not,” he said, barely moving his lips. “He’s a traitor, and he’s half-demented. He won’t let go of this crazy conspiracy.”
“Loyal Stride,” Sonata mumbled, wondering if she should even go here. “Do you even believe that?”
“Of course I don’t. That’s why I said it’s crazy.”
“Not the conspiracy. I mean what you just said.”
Loyal Stride scowled. “Of course I believe it. There’s no questioning it. He abandoned his post, his homeland, his sister, and his friends, all to chase some invisible enemy.”
“And you think that it’s not important whether you like him or not?” Sonata asked. “I’m not smart,” she went on, staring at the grains in the wooden floor, scratching idly at a little burn made by a dropped candle. “But I know some things. And I think that you’re lying.”
“Even if I do care about what Parchment Script has done, personally, it’s irrelevant. His crimes define my duty; what I feel has nothing to do with it.”
Sonata looked at him, scowling. “Are all Roamans like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like my sisters,” Sonata sighed. “They liked to lie to themselves too. I didn’t see it for so long, but when I did...” she bit her lip, realising just how presumptuous she was being. “I’m not trying to tell you how to feel, or how to deal with your feelings,” she said quickly, wanting to make that point perfectly clear. “I just,” she hesitated. “I just don’t like seeing anypony do what we did.”
Loyal Stride’s scowl twisted a little into a look of perplexity. “And how exactly would Script and I go about doing that?” he inquired, the smallest hint of amusement in his voice. This seemed such an odd response to what Sonata believed she had meant that she asked him what he was talking about. “If you really are a siren, as Script said,” he grunted, as though to somepony slow of mind, “then I don’t really see how it is that we could do what you supposedly did. Hypnotising ponies and stealing magic, or energy, or whatever it was.”
“I don’t mean that!” Sonata cried. “I mean losing our powers, letting the bitterness break us up and drive us to—“ she broke off here. “Just... just forget I mentioned it.
“Lost your powers?” Loyal Stride repeated. “But you’re cursed. How in the world could you lose your powers?”
Seeing that Loyal Stride had no idea what she was talking about, she proceeded to give him the brief version of her and her sister’s plan to conquer Canterlot High School, and their subsequent defeat. Limiting the information on being human to simply being in an alternate dimension for the sake of time, she finished by explaining, even more briefly, her life up to the point of meeting Sunset again.
“And I take it,” Loyal Stride interrupted, as though just clarifying a point, “that you went on to fall in love with her. The mare who basically stripped you of your powers and blocked your path to world domination.”
“Well the whole world domination thing probably wouldn’t have worked out anyway,” Sonata muttered quickly under her breath. “But in short, pretty much.”
Loyal Stride paused. And then burst out laughing. Loud, raucous peels of almost uncontrollable laughter. Sonata blushed, feeling that he was laughing at her.
“It’s not that funny,” she said out one corner of her mouth.
“Forgive me,” he choked, clearing his throat back to normal speech. “It’s just, it sort of reminded me... never mind,” he snickered. 
“Oh come on, you can’t leave me hanging on a cliff-hanger like that!” Sonata giggled, seeing some opportunity for revenge. But Loyal Stride simply kept quiet, trying and failing to comport himself with his usual reserved manner. “Oh you’re no fun,” Sonata complained, rolling her eyes.
“And don’t you forget it,” Loyal Stride said, almost seriously.
Sonata thought of teasing him some more, rather enjoying how it seemed to be breaking down the wall of ice between them, when something of what he’d said caught in her mind.
“Wait a minute,” she began slowly. “You know what I did in this world a thousand years ago? Err, you mind explaining that to me at least?”
Loyal Stride blinked, and then frowned at her. It wasn’t an annoyed frown, it was more as though he couldn’t tell if she was playing dumb. “Well of course I do. Everypony knows that story. At least in Roam they do.”
Sonata’s eyebrows shot straight up under her fringe. “How?”
“It’s one of those old stories parents tell their foals,” Loyal Stride shrugged. “Morality tale really.”
Sonata was just about to inquire further, wanting to know something of her own past, when they were suddenly interrupted by the startling circumstance of the door bursting open with an almighty crash. If this wasn’t startling enough, it was swiftly followed by a loud, roar-like exclamation of exasperation.
“I leave this town for two weeks,” Script announced, “and everything just stops working!”
“He means,” Sunset said, coming in behind him before anyone could inquire, “that he can’t get any of the items he wants from the market.”
“Except these bottles,” Script stated matter-of-factly, raising a small box of the round bottles he seemed to like so much. “Seems only Nightlanders are the least bit reliable these days.”
Sonata noticed that Sunset was giving Loyal Stride a wide berth for some reason as she stepped over to the bed and handed Sonata a folded letter.
“What’s this?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at the yellowish paper.
“No idea,” Sunset shrugged. “The innkeeper gave it to us as we came in through the door. Said it had just that second arrived for you.”
Sonata frowned. No one now alive knew her in Equestria; who could be sending her letters? Consumed with curiosity she opened it, and instantly went cold and pale. It took a moment or two for her to realise that Sunset was speaking to her again.
“What does it say?” Sunset asked, looking a little frightened. “You look like you’ve seen—“ she stopped, staring at the note. Then slowly, her brow creased, and she too turned a little white. “What is this?” she whispered.
This was sufficiently mysterious to make Script come and peer over Sunset’s shoulder, and even Loyal Stride covertly leaned in for a look.


Siren

You’re being watched
We need to talk


The flurry of speculation that followed this was predictably chaotic. Sonata sat silent and worried. Not for herself so much, but at the idea that she, herself, was being watched, and so therefore bringing more trouble on Sunset and the others. She knew that this was the case, for unlike the chest-clenching tightness of regular fear, she felt the acid-lined pit of guilt bubbling away inside of her. What else had she brought upon them all?
Sunset was almost equally quiet, except when she told Script to quiet down. As per his particular method of dealing with issues, he was striding around complaining about it, his sharp green eyes searching the various nooks and crannies of the room for means of spying. Loyal Stride was doing the same, but rather more quietly and tactfully, checking the windows, door, and even tapping discreetly at the walls where he seemed to think weak spots might allow somepony to listen in. 
Once Script had come to the end of his tirade, Loyal Stride briefly explained the gist of Sonata’s story to him about what she had heard in the square. 
“So whoever sent this was probably following you,” Sunset said quietly, gazing with wide eyes at Sonata. “What are we going to do about this?”
“Do?” Script asked, puzzled.
“Yes, do!” Sunset said a little hysterically. “Someone’s following us. By the sounds of this,” she went on, indicating the note, “they’re after Sonata. Whoever they are.”
“There’s nothing we can do,” Script said blithely. “Not until they show themselves.”
“Indeed,” Loyal Stride said shortly. “We don’t know whom we’re facing, or what to expect. All we can do is wait.”
They all reacted with varying degrees of seriousness, according to their individual feelings. Loyal Stride frowned at the floor boards, his face as ever, inscrutable. Sunset’s eyes darted over certain parts of the room as though things were moving out of the corner of her vision, and she was trying to catch them at it. Sonata sat trying to not make nervous ticks and other obvious signs of discomfort, but in doing so managed to look unnaturally rigid like a plaster mould of herself. Script on the other hand cleared his throat discreetly, and turned a little pink.
“Eh... well, err...” he muttered, his green eyes flicking anywhere but at any of them.
“What?” Sunset asked.
“Well...” he said again, scratching absently at his neck. “Okay, don’t take this badly or anything, but um... yeah, this town is kind of occupied by...” he looked around apprehensively as they all looked at him. Sonata noticed Loyal Stride’s expression darkening, as though he knew what was coming. Apparently Script noticed this too, since he gave his head an impatient shake and said firmly, but quietly. “This is a changeling town.”
A rather pregnant silence followed this declaration. None of them said anything. Sonata couldn’t think of anything, whilst Sunset simply seemed to be undergoing some kind of mental overload, looking out of the window as though expecting to see changelings pressing their noses against the glass. Loyal Stride was taking long, deep breaths, and seemed to be trying not to shout. 
Taking advantage of this, Script went on. “See, this is why I didn’t tell any of you.”
“And now we’re getting threats,” Sunset snapped, jarred back to reality.
“It’s probably not from the changelings,” Script said over her. “I’ve been coming to this town for months; they aren’t hostile.”
“Aren’t they?” Sonata asked, thinking of the changelings that’d chased them in the tunnels. “They seemed pretty hostile back then.”
“There’s a town of them,” Loyal Stride muttered, scowling. “How can this be possible?”
“Yeah, word never did reach us in the fifteenth about what the Night Princess did for them,” Script said, happy Sonata could tell, to latch onto this tangent. “It turns out that the changelings didn’t opt to stand and fight like we thought they did. The battle with their queen was actually a massive ruse.”
“What are you talking about?” Sunset asked impatiently.
“The expedition back during the conquest of the Badlands,” said Script in his familiar I’m-about-to-delve-into-a-big-explanation voice, “the Republic was led to believe that the changelings were effectively destroyed. You see, when a changeling queen is killed, the hive loses its cohesion and unity, and thus the ability to hunt for food, except on a individual basis. Standard military practise when fighting changelings is to cut out the heart and then occupy their lands before the hive can reform around a new queen. Turns out however,” here he gave Loyal Stride a look that may have been rueful or mocking, “that the changelings outsmarted us.”
“How so?” Loyal Stride demanded, looking annoyed. 
“The queen sacrificed herself,” Script said simply. “She knew that she wouldn’t win the battle, nor would she be allowed to live. The vast majority of the changelings escaped to Equestria.” He gave Loyal Stride a sharp look. “With a proto-queen.”
Loyal Stride and Script shared an odd moment of serious looks for a moment, before Sonata raised a tentative hoof.
“Um...” she said uneasily. “What’s a proto-queen?”
“Essentially they are back-up-queens,” Sunset said thoughtfully. “Changeling hives routinely maintain a small clutch of ‘royal’ eggs that are preserved carefully in the event that anything happens to the extant queen. Proto-queens hatch when infused with a large amount of love and eventually become the new queen.”
“And take over the hive-mind,” Script said darkly, nodding.
Sonata blinked. “Hive mind, like, the Borg?” she asked.
“The what?” Script asked, bewildered.
“The changelings aren’t a hive-mind,” Sunset explained to Sonata, cutting across Script’s confusion. “They have a link of some sort, but not in the same way as that science-fiction show you like so much.”
“Oh, good,” Sonata said, genuinely relieved. “Because we don’t have phasers, or proton torpedoes, or anything.”
“No, the changeling link is more of a vague emotional awareness between each other,” Sunset elaborated. “We don’t know much about it, but it’s thought that it allows the hive to be aware of what the rest of their nest is doing and feeling. To some degree, at least.”
“It’s thought that the queen is a crucial aspect of this link,” Script added eagerly. “Whilst there is clearly still some kind of interaction going on, typically the hive-mind is thrown into chaos when the queen is incapacitated or killed.”
“So what you’re telling me,” Loyal Stride said, sounding truly annoyed, “is that there’s a changeling queen in Equestria, controlling the vast majority of a horde that we we’d crushed long ago.”
“Erm...” Script considered a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds about right. And of course I couldn’t tell you about it. I didn’t figure it out until I came to Equestria. To be honest, I’m surprised that you two didn’t figure out there were changelings here already.” He looked between Sunset and Loyal Stride. “They were making it kind of obvious, you know.”
“Oh, yeah,” Sunset mumbled, suddenly looking embarrassed. “Asking me and Sonata about our relationship status out of the blue all the time.”
“Indeed,” Script agreed. Then he frowned. “It’s a little odd of them to be breaking character so overtly though.”
“What about me?” Sonata asked. “Didn’t you expect me to notice?”
Script gave her blank stare. “No.”
Sonata felt her face go red, whether from anger, embarrassment, or both, she didn’t know. “You’re mean,” she pouted.
“I’m honest,” Script corrected her.

Unexpectedly, at least from Sonata’s perspective, Script seemed to be as much, or almost as much, concerned about the note as Sunset was. Sonata noted with a warmth in her heart Sunset fretting over her safety, and really wanted Script and Loyal Stride to vacate the room so that she could take advantage of these feelings in privacy. 
Unfortunately, Script insisted on going over ideas with Sunset about what to do when the perceived threat eventually did arise. Maintaining that nothing could be done until the threat actually surfaced, he did insist that they discuss some kind of plan, which meant that he and Loyal Stride remained in the room, Script and Sunset throwing ideas against the wall in what seemed to be an unending series of increasingly repetitive strategies. There was only so many ways somepony could say “we search the town” and “there’s only three of us”, before even the dullest onlooker picks up on the futility of the conversation.
Sonata sat next to Loyal Stride, waiting for this interminable discussion to end.
“How come you’re not involved in this?” she asked him. Being a military individual, she was rather surprised that he wasn’t throwing his weight into the debate.
“Firstly, it wouldn’t help. Secondly, if I hear something particularly inept, I’ll say so. Thirdly, the situation doesn’t call for a plan. At least, not the sort that they want to enact.”
“What’s that mean?” Sonata asked, puzzled.
“It means that the best thing to do is stay where we are. We’re essentially in a seige situation. If we’re being watched, then no matter what we do, whomever it is will see us do it. The best thing to do is to stick together and simply be ready for when they act.”
“Like we are right now?” Sonata asked, brightening up. She felt a little pleased with herself when Loyal Stride nodded solemnly. “Hey, um,” she said hesitantly. “Would you mind telling me that story?”
“What story?”
“You know, the one about me, and my sisters.”
Loyal Stride raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
Sonata blushed. “If I’m honest, I don’t remember much from back then.” The pink in her face turned redder under his slightly incredulous look. “It was a long time ago.”
“Well,” Loyal Stride said thoughtfully. “I know the gist of the story.”
“An outline will do fine,” Sonata said, thinking she could always ask Script to relate any small details afterwards.
“Well if I remember it right,” Loyal Stride began, “essentially what the story says is that there were three fillies who lived in Fleece. All three of them had special talents that made them well known, but also made them arrogant. The first could sing, the second could tell stories, and the third could paint.”
“Sounds about right,” Sonata muttered under her breath. “Wait, arrogant?” she blurted. She quailed a little under Loyal Stride’s raised eyebrows. “Sorry. Please, go on.” 
Loyal Stride held her gaze for a moment longer, and then sniffed. “Well, anyway, the story goes that the Spirits heard of the singer’s talent, since she was the one that boasted the most. The most powerful Spirit of Song set up a contest, with a local king being the judge. The king declared the pony to be the winner after listening to both sing, and so the spirits cursed him and his entire kingdom to be sheep. Then they punished the three fillies.”
“I don’t remember any of this,” Sonata said to herself, her face scrunched up in confusion. “I do remember sheep though for some reason. But I don’t get why they punished me and Aria too if Adagio was the only one in the contest.”
“I think that the other two were punished too for cheering on their friend,” Loyal Stride said, stroking his chin a little. “One doesn’t mess around with the Spirits,” he said eerily. “That’s one of the points of the story. All three of them had their talents taken from them, and cursed to have enchanted voices that would make any listener love and obey them.”
“And that’s the end of the story?” Sonata asked, feeling like the story was only half finished. 
“There’s some extended story where they’re driven insane by loneliness and bitterness I think,” Loyal Stride went on in a ponderous sort of way. “The love and attention wasn’t real, so eventually they just became monsters, like ponies punished by the Spirits always do. These old stories typically have monsters with sad pasts who basically just want to punish the rest of the world out of spite. It’s kind of a trend in morality tales from my country.”
Sonata didn’t reply to this. She rather wished that she hadn’t asked about the story now. If that story was true, then it might just explain why she didn’t remember any of it. She vaguely remembered travelling a lot, but she got that confused with travelling in the human world. All they ever seemed to do was keep moving. Just keep moving...
When Script and Sunset had finished talking, Sonata approached Script to ask a few specific questions, whilst Loyal Stride departed for his and Script’s room, and Sunset went to wash.
“Certainly I can tell you,” Script said magnanimously. “And you’re such a good listener too; be sure to mention that if I ever get mad at you for something. It’ll cheer me right up.”
Sonata promised perfunctorily to do just that. “What I wanted to know was if there was anything... I don’t know, good happening to us? Like after being cursed, and stuff. Did we have friends, or help anyone?”
Script stared at her for a moment. Then he burst out laughing. Sonata took this to mean he was about to deliver a negative answer, and sure enough.
“I’m not sure you quite understand what cursed means, my dear naive little fish-snake-pony.”
“You have a lot of different descriptions for me,” Sonata commented uncomfortably. 
“You should feel lucky for that,” Script said in one quick breath. “To put it bluntly, no. There are no such stories that I’m aware of.”
“Oh,” Sonata said, her heart sinking.
“Now, if you want details on the tragedy part, I can give you some deliciously horrible descriptions there. The one, for instance, did actually make a friend on one of the islands at the tip of the peninsula. Shame really. Depending on the version of the story you listen to, the siren either tries to help this friend in their daily life and ends up getting them killed by the town, at which point the sirens slaughter everypony, or else the friend turns on them when the siren senses this massive wave of negative energy and goes crazy.”
“And what happens in that version?” Sonata asked, feeling a little sick.
“Oh, the sirens slaughter everpony,” Script answered vaguely, evidently embroiled in his own storytelling. “Makes for a marvellous stage performance, I have to say. Although they had to stop using fake blood when I was a colt, you know, after the patricians started to complain. It was never quite the same after that. It lost a little of its authenticity, you know what I mean?” He elbowed Sonata in a comradely sort of way. “And to think, that was probably you! You, butchering an entire town of ponies.” He snorted into laughter, although whether out of disbelief, or morbid delight, Sonata did not know. She herself felt rather ill.





When Script finally left, complimenting her again on her admirable listening skills, Sonata sat for a long time simply thinking about what she’d just learned. Every so often she’d look down at her pendant, and feel an uncomfortable writhing in her guts, and a thickness in her throat. 
She’d... killed someone. Perhaps multiple someones. It had been long ago, but...
“What’s got you looking so scared?” said a voice from across the room.
Sonata jerked and looked up. “What?” she asked in alarm.
Sunset looked at her with tender concern. Her red and yellow hair was tied up in a towel, and her coat had the slightly fuzzed look of being just towel-dried. It almost made Sonata’s insides lessen their squirming. Sunset sat on the bed next to Sonata, and leaned up against her, adding a comforting weight to Sonata’s shoulder.
“You’re not worried about that note, are you?” she asked. “It’ll be fine. We’ve got two, manly-stallions watching over us.” When Sonata didn’t giggle at this instance of humour, Sunset’s expression fell into a more serious sort of concern for her marefriend. She nuzzled into Sonata’s cheek. “Come on, you know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
“I wouldn’t let anything happen—“ Sonata began suddenly, before catching herself. “I mean... me too.” She forced a grin, trying to meet Sunset’s eyes.
“I know things have been hard,” Sunset said softly, in Sonata’s ear. “I promise it’ll turn out okay. We’ve gotten through a lot together, you and I. We always come out okay.”
“Yeah,” Sonata said, not really feeling it.
She thought about it all the way through her own shower, letting her thoughts wash over her like the hot water. They seemed to wind around her brain like clockwork, turning the same gears over and over as the circular outcomes and reasonings followed back to their inevitable conclusions. 
By the time Sonata exited the shower, it seemed that Sunset had been too tired to wait. Looking at the clock, Sonata couldn’t blame her; time seemed to have just soared by as she mired herself in her worry. Looking down at her pendant again, she gazed between it, and Sunset. 
Nothing had happened so far, and what, after-all, could happen whilst she slept? 
She settled into bed next to Sunset. Perhaps disturbed by her approach, or perhaps having only feigned sleep, Sunset half opened her eyes, and with a small smile pulled Sonata close.
“I love you,” Sunset whispered, pulling her close.
A lump welled in Sonata’s throat, and her eyes suddenly burned with tears. She swallowed hard, and blinked back the wetness in her eyes.
“I love you too,” she said, trying desperately to keep the cracking from her voice, as she pulled Sunset close to her, and tried with all her might not to break down.


- To be Continued
	
> A Visit to the Train Station
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sonata Dusk


Sonata recalled that at some point in her life, someone somewhere had said that going to bed with worries would make one wake up three times worse, and with a headache to boot.
When she awoke to a blinding beam of sun rays filtering between the curtains, she wasn’t lucid enough to tell whether her worry had increased, but the headache made itself forcibly known to her. Wincing as her brain seemed to slide against a spike in her skull, she stood up and nearly collided with the bedside table. And then she realised what was wrong; the feeling was back. The feeling of something that seemed as though it should be just on the edge of her vision; like something surrounding her that shouldn’t be there. She sighed audibly, giving her head a small shake.
“Knock it off,” she groaned. Splashing water on her face in the bathroom sink, she looked at herself in the mirror. Subtle hints of lacking sleep jumped out at her; the darkness around the eyes, the slightly glazed look, the paleness. But most of all, the expression; it spoke nothing but weariness and despair, even though Sonata wasn’t actually feeling any despair that she was aware of. Surely that wasn’t normal.
“Wait...” she muttered, feeling an ominous movement deep inside of her. She waited for the onslaught of panic, the melancholy display of guilt-laden sorrow, the fearsome sounds of soul-shattering ululations as she collapsed into a misery as yet unknown to pony-kind.
Then her stomach rumbled. “Oh, it’s just hunger,” she concluded, breathing a sigh of relief.
It did no good to let her concerns show at any rate; it wasn’t like they could do anything about them until they got to Princesses Luna and Twilight at Last Light. So for the sake of her companions, and especially Sunset, she covered up her misgivings with the usual morning petulance.
“Food,” she groaned, nudging Sunset’s flank like a half-dead traveller three days into the desert. “Breakfast... need sustenance...”
“Then go downstairs,” Sunset grumbled, taking in a sharp breath as she stretched. “They’ll make you some at the bar.”
“Carry me?” Sonata pleaded.
Sunset made the effort to open a single, slightly gummy eye, and glared blearily at Sonata. With all the implied dalliance of a teenage girl trying to catch the eye of a twenty-two year old with a bright red maserati, and hair so sleek she could have slipped on it, Sonata willed Sunset to get out of bed. However, long exposure to this tactic had since made Sunset virtually immune to it; she yawned widely and closed the eye again.
“Carry me, and maybe we’ll discuss something.”





“I was joking!” Sunset grunted as Sonata skipped by Script and Loyal Stride’s door, and clip-clopped cheerfully down the stairs.
“Come on, it’s time to get up anyway.”
“How can you be so well rested?” Sunset groaned irritably. “I’ve been exhausted since getting here.”
“Maybe it has something to do with my optimism and sunny personality,” Sonata suggested, carrying Sunset into the bar. Only a few other ponies were there, seated at tables. Two or three beefy-looking work ponies looking at newspapers, or otherwise yawning over their breakfasts, and a youngish mare who, thanks to her business-like apparel and dedication to the papers in front of her, looked like she could be either eighteen, or thirty. 
“You’re up nice and early,” the innkeeper said, setting down a clean glass. “Breakfast?”
“What time is it?” Sunset inquired in a muffled voice from Sonata’s back.
“7:30,” the innkeeper said cheerfully. “Toast and haybrowns are ready if you—“
“Going back to bed,” Sunset grumped, sliding off Sonata’s back.
“Oh, come on,” Sonata pleaded. “Just have breakfast. You can go back to bed after that.”
Sunset sighed a heartfelt sigh. “Fine,” she said tersely, although she half-smiled at the same time. “You’re lucky that you have a pretty face. Hit me, bartender.”

Even in her determined-to-be-happy mood, Sonata was not unequal to enjoying the breakfast they were given. As seems to be the general rule when holidaying in the countryside, the breakfast they received seemed to be of the usual items one might expect in a breakfast, but somehow something of the locality managed to impress itself on the texture and flavour of the food. Sonata munched her toast with a sense that the butter might be churned within the last day or so, and Sunset seemed to be enjoying her hay-sh browns just a little too much.
“Sorry,” she said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “It’s just... it’s been so long, you know?”
“I get it,” Sonata said, smiling. “I just wish I had a video camera.”
“Yeah, well,” Sunset muttered, giving Sonata a wry look. “At least there’s no youtube in Equestria.”
“A shame isn’t it,” Sonata said with a roguish grin.
“A shame my fat, yellow—“ Sunset continued to grumble inaudibly over the remains of her daisy pancakes. 
“So, what’re we doing today?” Sonata asked, looking around the bar. “You know, since we’re in a part of Equestria that hasn’t been blown up or has cloud-bases trying to set us on fire, I kind of want to see how things are. It seems really different from a thousand years ago.”
“You remember what Equestria was like?” Sunset asked, looking up.
“Not entirely,” Sonata admitted. “I have a kind of... impression, I guess. The buildings look a lot nicer, and everyone wears less clothing.” She shrugged. “We weren’t in Equestria for very long though. We barely got here before Starswirl the Beer Head—“
“Bearded,” Sunset corrected.
Sonata blinked. “Are you sure?” She raised her eyebrows as Sunset nodded. “Huh. That’s boring. Well anyway...”
Sunset remained silent whilst Sonata rambled complacently on about what few things she remembered from Equestria as she had lived it, but when Sonata came to the end of her descriptions, Sunset looked down at her plate. 
“I was thinking actually,” she said quietly. “Since we got that message yesterday... maybe we shouldn’t go out today.”
Sonata felt her shoulders slump a little. “Huh?” she asked, wondering if she’d misheard.
“Well, you know,” Sunset said even quieter than before. “I mean, we’re surrounded by changelings. I know Script’s been here plenty of times and not had any trouble, but that note—“
“So what are we supposed to do?” Sonata demanded.
“Sonata, keep your voice down!” Sunset hissed, glancing left and right. 
Sonata bit back the sudden anger, honestly slightly embarrassed by the outburst. She had to be cheerful, keep her doubts out of the way for the time being; Sunset surely had enough of her own. It wasn’t fair to inflict hers on Sunset as well. Sunset did so much for her, and Sonata thought with a heavy heart how she herself didn’t give much back.
At least, that’s how Sonata felt. Sunset was always helping her with whatever problems she had, and Sonata noticed that few and far between were the problems that Sunset had that Sonata had helped to solve.
“Well... don’t we... need stuff?” Sonata asked, settling back in her chair. 
“I think Script does.”
“Don’t you need anything?”
Sunset considered this. “Need? No, I don’t think so. Although, I should like to get some information on the train if I can. I don’t think it’d be a good idea to use the trains if we are indeed being watched, but if Equestria is divided, I’d like to know just how divided if the trains are still operating.”
“We could go and look at that together,” Sonata said instantly. “How dangerous could visiting a train station be?”
“Absolutely not,” said a voice from behind her. Marching up to their table, Script glared at them like an angry librarian. “If I didn’t already know that one of you was stupid, I would question your intelligences.”
“It’s a wonder you don’t have any friends,” Sunset said icily, not looking at him. “With that sparkling personality.”
“Few people grasp the complexity that is me,” Script replied aloofly, giving the edge of his toga a casual flick. “Anyway, you’re not going to any train stations. Well, you aren’t at any rate,” he said cocking in eyebrow at Sonata. “You can do as you please, I suppose,” he added as an afterthought to Sunset.
“How gracious of you.”
“Why does she get to go?” Sonata asked indignantly. 
“Because if she gets into trouble, there’s no chance of her turning into a giant sea monster and destroying the town.” He paused and gave Sunset a narrow look. “Unless you’re not telling me something.”
“Don’t worry,” Sunset said to Sonata more warmly. “I’ll be there and back in no time. I only have a few questions. And since we’ll have nothing else today and a room to ourselves...” She left the sentence hanging, but gave Sonata a significant look and a small smile. Sonata tried to hold in a nervous giggle whilst her face burned.
“Well that’s wonderful,” Script said blithely, evidently paying no attention. “I’ll be out trying – again – “ He glared around at some of the bar patrons, “to get some supplies. Supplies that it’s frankly embarrassing that nopony has in stock in the entire town!”
“Sir,” said the bar-owner quietly as many in the room turned around to frown at Script. “Might I ask you to keep your voice down?”
Script ignored him. “Major Personality upstairs will keep you company whilst we’re out,” he remarked to Sonata. “If you’re bored, you could try getting him to smile. Jokes won’t work, so try reading him a book.”
“What kind of book?” Sonata asked.
Sunset snorted as Script did a double take. “Try a military drill manual,” Script said, grinning a wide, gritty grin, the humour of which didn’t reach his cold green eyes.
“Got it,” Sonata said cheerfully. “Have a nice time out.”
“Give you a nice time out...” Script muttered darkly, trotting hurriedly towards the door, much to the relief of the innkeeper. 
“Might you have a word with yer stallion, there,” he said in a slightly harassed voice. “I don’t want to be tellin’ a fella how to act, but—“
“Sir, if I could put him on a leash, I’d do so happily,” Sunset said with a sigh. “I am sorry for his being an enormously fat-headed jerk though.”
“Aye,” the owner said wistfully. “Suppose that’s the best I can hope for.”





“I promise I won’t be long,” Sunset said for the third or fourth time.
“Sunset, just go already,” Sonata laughed, giving her a playful shove. “Are you sure it’s okay that I read your journal? I mean, it’s not mine.”
“They’re our friends, not mine,” Sunset replied. “It might be that they didn’t write anything at all.”
“Okay, I know that’s not going to be true,” Sonata said firmly. “Pinkie Pie at least will have written an entry, like, every five minutes since we left.”
She watched with a little smirk as Sunset’s face underwent the painful looking alteration from its good-natured smile to its look of faint horror.
“Oh,” she said, swallowing. “You’re probably right. In that case, you definitely should read it. And mark the page where everyone else got a chance to write something.” Sonata giggled a little as Sunset leaned in and gave her a quick kiss. “See you in a bit.”
Strictly speaking, Sonata didn’t need to watch Sunset out of sight; Sunset herself had not looked back, but Sonata found herself engrossed in watching Sunset vanish into the light bustle of the eternally twilit streets. That was, until she sensed what was happening in her surroundings. Looking around, she rather suspected that most, if not everypony around her, had been perfectly still, but had started to move again as she turned to look at them.
Finding this to be sufficiently creepy to make her want to retreat into solitude for the time being, Sonata backed into the inn, too focused on the passing faces and moving figures to notice anypony watching her in return.





Her company was just as Script had predicted. Taking his self-imposed role of protector thoroughly to heart, Loyal Stride insisted on remaining in the room with her, standing by the door like an unusually well-detailed statue. After a few minutes of him staring at her, Sonata had had enough.
“I have woman things to do,” she said.
Loyal Stride frowned ever so slightly. “Woman things?” he asked.
“Mare things,” Sonata corrected. “You know,” she went on in a lower voice through her teeth. “Mare-specific things.”
Loyal Stride’s lips thinned and he suddenly seemed to need to blink a great deal more often. Mumbling something about giving her a few moments of privacy, he turned and opened the door.
“I’ll be just outside,” he assured her.
Sonata let out a discreet sigh of relief. “Glad that trick works with ponies too,” she muttered.
Rifling through Sunset’s bag, she was tempted to have a look at the books that Loyal Stride had confiscated from Script before moving to the journal. Indeed, she removed them and glanced at the covers, but upon reading the titles found her interest instantly wane.

A Comprehensive History of the Crystal Empire by Granite Tome
The Magic of Friendship: A List Keeper’s Guide by Princess Twilight Sparkle
Myths of the East by Far Fetched
Dark Magic: The Deeper Mysteries by Obsidian Shine, Royal Thaumaturgical Researcher
Magicke oft the Krystalle Author Unknown. Reprinted 872 Celestial


She ran a hoof over Twilight’s book, hesitating. The cover was charmingly colourful, taking the form of Twilight’s cutie mark surrounded by beams of purple light, but the book was just simply enormous, and the contents were just so minute and pedantic. Even the contents page was crammed small to accommodate the seven-hundred and something chapters.
“Hasn’t she ever heard of volumes?” Sonata asked no one in particular. Recognising this as a slightly clever comment, she smiled to herself for a moment as she felt the congratulatory spurt of endorphins buoy her spirits temporarily. At first, she thought that it was this that had caused the ominous tingle raising the hairs on her spine and ears. She suddenly noticed by the dimming of light on the pages that the room had darkened. Turning abruptly around, she found herself staring directly into a set of enormous blue eyes.
For a moment or two, her shock shot through her system like a power surge, knocking all of her senses temporarily out of whack. It didn’t last long however, and before the changeling had time to sit down and open its mouth, Sonata’s lungs leapt belatedly into action.
The changeling made no attempt to stop her scream, but merely sat with its eyes slightly narrowed as though in a high wind. When Sonata spun around to flee to the door, it leapt into action and blocked her way.
“Loyal Stride!” Sonata cried. Rather to her surprise and dismay, nothing happened. Having confidently expected the door to explode in a shower of splinters and bent metal, or at least to fly open dramatically, she had to admit that its remaining perfectly still and undamaged was a little disheartening.
“Wait, just hear me out,” the changeling said hastily, trying to get into Sonata’s line of vision. 
“Get away from me!” Sonata yelped as the changeling put out a hoof towards her. “Don’t touch me! Loyal Stride!”
“He can’t hear you!” the changeling snapped, scowling suddenly. “Over-Queen’s left flank, you are obnoxiously loud!”
Sonata spluttered. “E-Excuse me!?”
“Just shut up for a second. I’m the one who sent you that note.”
“Note?” Sonata said, momentarily befuddled. “You mean the one the innkeeper gave us?”
“Yes!” the changeling growled impatiently. “Now stop talking and let me speak. There’s not much time before the one outside walks in.”
“Why hasn’t he already?” Sonata asked, peering at the door and wondering if she couldn’t dodge around the changeling to reach it. 
“I’ve coated the room in silencing magic,” the changeling explained briefly, which Sonata supposed accounted for the darkening of the room. Now that she looked around more carefully, she did notice a faint, sickly greenish tinge to the room that hadn’t been there before. 
“So are you watching us?” Sonata inquired warily.
“No,” replied the changeling. “Well... actually, yes, but that’s beside the point. The point is that others are watching you. The Over-Queen wishes you to know that—“
“Others? Who?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” the changeling snarled. “Could you just be quiet for a second? Please?”
They stared at each other for a moment or two.
“What’s your name?” Sonata asked.
The changeling gave its head a little shake. “What? It doesn’t matter, just listen.”
“Oh come on, you have to have a name.”
“Do you want me to tell you how you’re in danger, or not?” the changeling barked, actually stomping its hoof in frustration. It glared at her with blazing blue eyes for a moment, her looking innocently back. It sighed heavily. “Just... just listen, okay? Two minutes, that’s all I need. You can be quiet for two minutes, can’t you?”
“Doesn’t sound too hard,” Sonata mumbled thoughtfully. 
“Good, then listen up. The Over-Queen wishes me to tell you two things. First is that there’s a power unknown to her moving in Equestria. Whoever or whatever it is, it seems to want to destabilise the balance between Equestria and Roam.”
“You don’t know who it is?” Sonata asked. “Sorry, sorry, go on,” she squeaked as the changeling gave her the evil eye. 
“No, we don’t. But the hive has spread far across the Nightlands, and we see much. Most of the major events having taken place in the past few days all centre on you.”
Sonata said nothing to this, but she thought that she knew what the changeling meant. The Roamans blowing stuff up everywhere they went. A giant sea-serpent appearing and seeming to eat several ponies. Changelings chasing—“
“Hey!” Sonata exclaimed automatically. “Changelings chased us!” she said, backing up fast.
“Yes, yes,” the changeling said, cutting across her. “Until the Friendship Princess identified your descriptions, we were under the impression that you were Roaman spies. And... and also,” the changeling said more quietly. Sonata felt a slight writhing feeling start through her limbs, like worms underneath her skin, as something changed in the way the changeling was looking at her. “Your love for the yellow one,” it said, a distinct purr to its voice. “You must understand, since the plague, there’s been something wrong with Equestria, something even the Over-Queen does not understand. But your love for each other, it...” 
The changeling didn’t seem able to put into words what it wanted to say, but it really didn’t need to. The slow movement of its slick, pink tongue over the grey-black lips told Sonata more than she wanted to know. She gulped and tried not to make eye-contact.
“’Kay,” she said, clearing her throat. 
“W-Well,” the changeling said, apparently noticing Sonata’s discomfort. “What I mean to say is, most of the hive is simply living amongst the Nightland populace under the auspices of the Over-Queen. They will be semi-aware of who you are, but they will sense your love like moths to a flame. Some might even try to approach you. Maybe, even attack you.”
Sonata pursed her lips and hunched her shoulders. “Well, thanks for the warning,” she managed to say, massaging her throat a little. “Um, didn’t you say there was another thing the Over-whoever wanted to tell us?”
“It’s a rumour more than anything,” the changeling said slowly, as though weighing its words. “The Over-Queen is aware of your... situation.” Its eyes flickered down to the pendant around Sonata’s neck. “She believes that she knows a potential way to be rid of it.”
Sonata’s spirits bounced back so quickly that she got mental whiplash. The changeling actually took a frightened step backwards, presumably at the look on her face.
“What is it!?” she asked, taking hold of the changeling’s shoulders. “Tell me! Tell me-Tell me!”
The changeling hissed and swiped at her a few times in a warning manner as Sonata pulled back quickly, giving her toothiest apology-smile. Narrow-eyed, the changeling composed itself a little.
“Like I said, it’s just a rumour. But it’s said that the Sun-Princess knows a definitive way to break curses.”
Sonata’s shoulders slumped like sacks of heavy flour. “Oh,” she said, her gaze sagging to the floor. 
“And what’s more, said princess is thought to be currently on her way to the Badlands.”
Sonata took a second to puzzle this. “So... wait, how is she going there? Don’t the Roamans have—“ she stopped herself. “Oh... But, why are the Roamans bringing her there?”
“The Over-Queen does not know the reason,” the changeling said solemnly. “But based on some unsettling movements we’ve seen along the border, the Over-Queen believes that the Roamans are preparing for invasion.”
“What!?” Sonata squeaked. “Why? What’s Equestria done to them?”
“That’s not how the Roamans really think,” the changeling said, darkly. “Whatever the reason, we have definite cause to think that a massive invasion force is on its way to the Badlands. And the Sun-Princess is rumoured to be amongst them.”
Sonata pondered this hard. It was... it was just so beyond her. Invasions, princesses, and politics; she dearly wished that she was back at her house with Sunset, painting. Or watching TV.
Oh Steven Universe, she thought wistfully. How I miss your carefree disregard for the complexities of life. Something she’d heard Sunset say once.
“If you need proof of this,” the changeling said, reaching to the dark-blue carapace on its back beneath its wings, “then take a look at this.” It produced a rolled up scroll, sealed with a purple string and a blob of wax. The wax seal was broken. It handed the scroll to Sonata, and then moved over to the window, gazing covertly down into the street.
“What is it?” Sonata asked, unfurling it on the floor. Rather as with Script’s books, her interest immediately waned when she saw the tight-packed, official-looking rectangle of meticulous handwriting positioned dead-centre of the scroll. 
“It’s an official correspondence between the occupying legion’s military leadership and the homeland. It’s a good thing too; their science division uses radio transmission, but the army is mired in tradition.”
“Yeah,” Sonata thought aloud. “Script said something like that. So this proves that they’re bringing Princess Celestia back to Equestria?”
“To the Badlands,” the changeling corrected her. “It does detail Princess Celestia being brought to the Badlands, yes. I don’t know if the Roamans you’re travelling with will entirely agree.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“No time,” the changeling said, glancing out of the window again.”Your friend is coming back. Remember what I said; be careful how you move. My brethren may not be too keen on you leaving.”
With that, the changeling waved its horn. The dimness in the room receded, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. A brilliant shaft of late-morning sunlight blinded Sonata for a moment, and by the time her eyes adjusted, the changeling was gone. A knock sounded on the door.
“Come in!” Sonata called. “Loyal Stride, I’ve got to tell you,” she went on quickly before the latter had even gotten through the door.
“I’d rather not be given the details,” he said hastily, raising a hoof and looking squeamish. “No offense, but where I’m from, mares don’t typically discuss their feminine issues with other ponies.“
“Not that!” Sonata interrupted irritably.
“Now, now, children,” Script said lazily, trotting into the room. “No fighting now.”
“Script!” Sonata chirped excitedly. “Good, you’re here too.”
“You’re glad that I’m here?” Script asked, his eyebrows shooting up into his maneline. “Did you get into my medicine stash, or something?”
“What? No, I don’t even—Just listen!”

Once Sonata had finished explaining what had happened, she waited for the two of them to exclaim and relate their shock to her, possibly with a lot of shouting and, in Script’s case, a great deal of sarcasm. The only thing she got wrong was to whom that sarcasm was directed.
“And where were you when all of this was going on?” Script demanded of Loyal Stride.
The white stallion’s face reddened and his chest expanded. “She said that she needed to tend... um, see to her... uh—“
“Feminine problems,” Sonata whispered helpfully.
“Wait, you fell for that?” Script interrupted, raising a hoof. “Just... just, ugh! The two of you. I can’t even...” He turned around and took what Sonata took to be a deep, calming breath. Sonata and Loyal Stride both glanced at each other whilst Script breathed slowly for a few moments. Eventually, Script turned around again, with perhaps the least honest grin plastered upon anyone’s face that Sonata had ever seen. Ever. In her very lengthy, unnaturally prolonged life. 
“Okay,” he said, with a false humour to match the forced smile, “I’m going to ask something, and depending upon the answer, I’m going to either calm down, or explode. Literally explode. Magically. It’ll be fan-fyaying-tastic, I tell you now.”
Sonata gulped, and edged closer to Loyal Stride for protection.
Script exhaled deeply, and directed his eyes towards the ceiling, still smiling his creepy, unnatural smile. “When the changeling appeared, why didn’t you simply escape through the door?”
“Well she... um, it? It was blocking it, see?” Sonata answered, trying not to look terrified. She tried to smile, but for somepony well versed in the art of smiling, it was a poor job at best.
“I see,” he said, nodding perhaps a little more vigorously than could be considered normal. “And so of course you fought your way by?”
“Err...” Sonata began. “Well, no, see at that point it started trying to tell me about—“
“Or used your nigh-unstoppable siren powers to overpower them?” Script asked, his voice distinctly higher than usual. “Perhaps tried to hypnotise them? Hit them with a concussive sound blast? Turn into a giant bleedin’ snake monster and crush it like the bug it was?” 
Sonata shrank down, cowering beneath his rising volume. “I, um... no, no I didn’t...”
Script paused, and then still grinning widely, gave a small snort. Which was followed by a small series of snorts. And then, his eyes shining, he put a hoof to his mouth and turned away, as though trying to hold in laughter.
“Loyal Stride, I’m scared,” Sonata whispered to him.
“Script, be serious for a moment.”
“What part of this isn’t serious?!” Script cackled. “I’m one hundred and twenty percent serious! Changelings being irresistibly attracted to, and specifically targeting you!” He pointed a dire hoof in Sonata’s direction, still chuckling madly. “Without her, you won’t want to leave, and she won’t leave, Strider won’t leave either, and will keep my books. Hahaha!” He laughed, a high, mirthless laugh.
“Will you act your age for once!” Loyal Stride snapped impatiently. “We have a serious problem here, and we need to consider what to do.”
Script stared at him, the cold laughter not quite disappeared from his face. He gave a single, coughing-like laugh, and then in a disconcerting return to almost his usual tone, he looked around the room, as though inviting an invisible crowd to laugh with him at how ridiculous Loyal Stride was being. 
“You still don’t see the problem, do you?” he said, snickering. “You don’t see the hilarity of the situation.” He gestured around the room. “Who isn’t here?”
Sonata’s blood turned to ice. 
“See without her, Sonata will never leave. Without Sonata, Strider will never leave. Which means my books stay here. Which means I stay here. Which means we don’t get anywhere.” Script rattled off. “What’s not hilarious about that? Ah, no, I don’t think so,” he said, stepping in front of the door. “Like we need you vanishing as well.”
“Either come with me or get out of the way!” Sonata snapped, trying to shove him aside. His resistance was feeble, being the stringy stallion that he was, but the iron hoof that wrapped itself around the base of her neck was immovable.
“You don’t even know where to go,” Loyal Stride warned.
“Quite,” Script agreed, picking himself up off the floor. “I don’t remember being able to see the red string of fate in the repertoire of siren powers.”
“I’m not staying here doing nothing whilst you two go out and search!” Sonata barked. 
“Certainly not!” Script scoffed as though the idea was ludicrous. “We’re not searching at all.”
“What!?” Sonata erupted, almost exploding out of Loyal Stride’s grip.
“Searching would take far too long, and with eyes on us all of the time, it might be impossible to find her on our own. So instead—“
“Oh,” Loyal Stride said quickly. “Now, is that really necessary?”
“I know, I know,” Script said hastily, impatiently waving away Loyal Stride’s objection. “I don’t think it’ll take too long. The mere threat of torture should suffice.”
“Threat?” Sonata asked, a trickle of unease chilling her panicked insides. “Torture? What are you talking about? What are you going to do?”





Since Sonata had met him, she had dearly wanted to understand, and perhaps even like Parchment Script. Maybe even be friends with him. She was convinced that he was the sort of pony whose somewhat eccentric personality marred the honest, pleasant individual that dwelt beneath the veneer of impatience and sarcasm. And she contrived to think that way still. The problem was that... well, he didn’t half make it hard to see the good in him sometimes.
“Err... sirs. Madam,” the innkeeper said cautiously as he dangled from the ceiling. “I know there was no particular fine print in the registry, but I might just say that I consider this a breach of customer-provider relations.”
“I think that’s up to interpretation, personally,” Script commented, walking around the dangling figure.
Sonata bit her lip, feeling hot and cold all over, quite unable to look at the innkeeper. 
“Now,” Script said thoughtfully. “Strider, your shield if you please.”
“Don’t call me that,” Loyal Stride said automatically. From his neatly stacked pile of armour on a dresser, he hauled up his large, rectangular shield. Tarnished red, it nevertheless gleamed as though recently polished, dulling the many patinas marring its surface. Sonata watched on tenterhooks as Loyal Stride raised himself on his back legs, and fitted the shield by a strap to his left foreleg. Then with an awkward, lurching gait, he hobbled forward towards the upside-down innkeeper.
“Just a tap should do it,” Script said, tapping his hooves together like a Saturday-morning villain steepling his fingers.
Ignoring Script, Loyal Stride stopped in front of his target, and with the usual look of casual impassiveness on his face, raised his shield in front of him. The innkeeper took a hasty breath and closed his eyes tightly. Sonata opened her mouth to cry out a protestation, suddenly awake to what Loyal Stride was going to do.


Tink!


Loyal Stride bumped the shield lightly against the innkeeper’s chest. With a brilliant flash of virulent green light, the innkeeper’s stout little form vanished, replaced by a wasted, black figure with bright blue eyes, gauzy wings, and a small, sharp horn. 
The innkeeper opened one eye, obviously surprised by the overt lack of painful bludgeoning. He took a second to look around, and then looked up – or down? – at himself. 
“Ooh-er!” he gasped, and threw up his forelegs to cover himself, as though he’d been caught with his trousers down. “Err... so you figured it out, huh?”
“We knew all along,” Script said swiftly. “We’re not stupid.”
“Oh,” the innkeeper replied, sounding a little miffed. “Anti-magic aura on the shield. Might I ask as to why I’m dangling from the ceiling?”
“Our fourth has gone missing. We reckon that some of your lot has her.”
“Ah,” the innkeeper said, knowingly. “Well, t’int much of a surprise. We still get a bad rep amongst you pony sorts.”
“So she’s just disappeared all on her own?” Script asked, his casual tone delicately inflected to imply disbelief.
“I wouldn’t know what you or her, nor anypony else be doin’ with their time, lad,” the innkeeper saidsuccinctly.
Sonata found it a little disconcerting to hear the innkeeper’s voice still coming out of the changeling’s mouth. It somehow didn’t seem to match him.
“How did you do that?” she asked Loyal Stride.
Loyal Stride set the shield back down with the rest of his armour. “The shield’s enchanted to disrupt magic,” he said simply. “Deflect magical missiles, disable barriers, undo disguises; that sort of thing.”
“Hey!” Script hissed. “You guys can chip in any time here.”
“Huh?” Sonata replied, bemused.
“Be intimidating!” Script whispered, standing between her and the innkeeper. “We need to scare the information out of him; that won’t work if you’re just sitting here looking gormless.”
Sonata’s mouth twisted a little. “Not sure I do scary,” she mumbled into her hoof.
“Do I have to chuck you in a lake or something?” Script huffed. “Look, we’re not going to find Ms. Mellow-Yellow unless we get this one to tell us where she is.”
Sonata frowned. “Maybe, but—“
“So you have to get mad. Scary. We have to scare him.”
“But I don’t know how,” she said earnestly.
“Whilst it is true that you have a face that couldn’t intimidate a twitchy rabbit with PTSD,” Script admitted, “I’m afraid we have no other choice.”
Sonata bit her lip. After a moment or two of considering, she took a deep breath, and tried to arrange her features into a look of ominous significance. “How’s this?”
Script’s face scrunched, as though he wasn’t sure of what he was seeing. “Could you make it less...” he tapped invisible words in the air. “Constipation-y?” 
Sonata scowled. “I don’t know how to look scary!” she snapped. When Script merely stared thoughtfully at her, she became uneasy. She thought she knew what he was thinking. “I’m not using my powers,” she warned. “It’s not a good idea.”
“That’s not what I had in mind,” Script said slowly. “I think that you merely need to be put in the right frame of mind. Anypony can be scary when they’re in the right mood.”
“How do we do that?”
Apparently for an answer, Script nodded for some reason, and then shuffled forward a little so as to be closer to her. “Who knows what they’re doing to her right now,” Script whispered blithely, as though continuing a conversation that they’d been having. “I think the love extraction process is usually painless.”
“Huh?” Sonata asked, confused. 
“You probably remember better, Loyal Stride,” Script said, waving a hoof vaguely at the hulking white stallion. “There was that case when changelings kidnapped that filly in Altinum, remember? What did they do to her again?” Loyal Stride made no sign that he intended to say anything, but Script went on anyway as though the thought had just come to him. “Oh yes, that was it; they ripped out her heart.”
“Her heart!?” Sonata squeaked. “W-Why did they—“
“Tore it right out of her chest, poor thing,” Script sighed wistfully. “Ribs pulled apart, blood everywhere. The look on her innocent little face when they found her.” He gave his head a sanctimonious little shake, his face a picture of contrived melancholy. “Why, I do hope that Sunset doesn’t encounter a similar fate. That would be just awful, and so painful for close to her. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Sonata felt herself going cold. Clueless though she generally was, she’d cottoned on to what Script was doing, but that didn’t mean that the imagery wasn’t vivid. Sonata felt a pulse of sickness surge through her as her mind ground through the enacting the images described by Script in her head, only with Sunset as the medium. Artificial though it was, Sonata felt a pale shadow of cold dread wash over her, steeling her nerves. Little though she wanted to do it, she knew that she couldn’t live with herself if something happened to Sunset. She wouldn’t be able to go on without her. 
There was a full six seconds where nopony moved, and nopony seemed to breathe. Then Sonata tensed her muscles, and bowled Script aside with a cry. In two lunging steps she was upon the changeling still dangling from the ceiling, but before she’d quite reached him, two strong hooves clamped hard upon her shoulders. 
“Whoa, now, whoa!” Script called jovially over Sonata’s incoherent shouting as Loyal Stride held her back. “Well, that escalated quickly.” He gave her a covert wink before fixing his eyes on the changeling, who seemed to be trying to hoist himself higher towards the ceiling, his wide blue eyes fixed in shock on Sonata. “It’s not wise to keep lovers apart. If you’d be so kind to point us in her general direction we can let this whole unfortunate ordeal fall behind us.”
“I-I don’t know where she is,” the innkeeper started to say, but Script cut him off with a small, faintly amused chuckle. 
“I doubt that my colleague here can keep back this wounded lover for too long,” he said smoothly, sitting back and looking idly out of the window. “Passions are difficult to control. So let’s just drop the pretence and tell us where she is.”
“I was against the idea!” the innkeeper said desperately, struggling against his bonds more fervently as Sonata gave him the best evil-eye she could muster. “Honestly, I told ‘em it wasn’t a right thing to do! If the Queen ever—“ he stopped abruptly. 
“Queen?” Loyal Stride demanded, suddenly breaking into speech and scowling. “What queen? The last Equestrian changeling queen was executed decades ago.”
“Now, now, I’m not supposed to talk about that,” the innkeeper said in one breath, clearing his throat. 
“You really want to displease him?” Script asked with mock squeamishness. “He is the only thing stopping that one—” he nodded to Sonata, “—from pulling your wings off like the bug that you are.”
“I don’t know where she is!” the innkeeper shouted. “I was against the whole thing! I told ‘em it was foolishness! That’s all there is to it! I swear!”
“Mmm...” Script hummed. “I don’t know. Seems to me that you’d at least have some idea where—“
“Err, are her eyes meant to be doing that?” the innkeeper asked suddenly.
“What?” Script said brusquely. He followed the innkeeper’s line of vision, and paused. “Oh...” he muttered. “Oh dear. I was kidding about the story! Nopony really got their heart ripped out!”
Sonata wasn't listening, but gazed all around her, her heart churning with the washing waves of conflicting emotions. Unease and eagerness, fear and joy, a desire to run and a sudden, unaccountable hunger. The glittering green energy all around her smelled as it had done back then, relating to her the varied tastes of negative feelings washing over on its rolling tides. She drew a deep breath, and drank in raw power.


- To be Continued
	
> Sunset Wakes Up in Slime... Again
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sonata Dusk


Sonata stood almost limply, blithely unaware any more of Loyal Stride’s now slackening hold on her. The only thing that she was truly aware of at that moment... was the taste.
She knew that taste. It was like eating sweets that tasted the way they did in one’s childhood, before the recipe had been changed, or sampling wine from that one particular year; that one vintage beyond compare. It filled her with nostalgia, and something approaching satisfaction. Something that was tantalisingly close to feeling full or satiated, but not enough to banish the clawing of need. Of desire. The salivating taste of pure greed.
She looked around, her eyes roving first the floor, and then the window. Her newfound preoccupation seemed to elicit reactions from those in the room with her.
“Hm?” she said, feeling a tap on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw that Loyal Stride had his shield on his arm again, and raised to face her. It seemed that he had tapped her with it. 
Why would he do that? Sonata thought, only vaguely interested. Then the nagging little itch inside of her reasserted itself, and she returned to searching around for more of the sparkling energy. A part of her, deep down in her subconscious, knew that this was not the full extent of the hunger she should be feeling. But it still felt good. It made her feel powerful, predatory. Something so large and tremendous that it had time to be idle, to take its sweet time looking for its next meal.
“Eh, is she okay?” the innkeeper whispered.
“You did actually hit her with the shield, right?” Script muttered to Loyal Stride.
“Yes,” Loyal Stride replied, his eyes on Sonata’s back. “No effect.”
“Try harder,” Script said darkly. 
Loyal Stride gave him a narrow look. 
“There’s no more,” Sonata murmured. She felt oddly discomforted by this, and wanted to rush outside to see if there was anymore. Eh, the window was closer. “There is more!” she cried, uttering a little squee of delight. 
“Wait!” Loyal Stride said, blocking her path to the door. “Where are you going?”
“To the street,” Sonata replied. “Obviously.”
“Why?” Script asked quietly, giving her a rather penetrating stare.
“There’s more down there,” Sonata said impatiently. “You’ve got none left. Fast food, fast food, it’s always fast food. I need something more filling!”
Script looked quickly out of the window. “Don’t you want to find Sunset still?” he asked, glancing back at her whilst keeping one eye on the road below.
Sonata paused in her attempts to politely push by Loyal Stride. The name had clicked something in her mind. The thought moved slowly through her head, as though it was mired in some mental swamp. Eventually, the image of a golden-skinned person slid laboriously into Sonata’s mind. As she added features to this person, the nagging itch inside of her, the almost quenched thirst, the nearly appeased hunger, receded slightly. It wasn’t gone, but it seemed to become less important.
“Sunset,” Sonata repeated. “She’s... gone. She’s gone.” She stood stock still, feeling the warmth of her pendant on her chest. It pulsed with the light of the energy it had drained from the air. “You’re scared,” she said slowly to the innkeeper. “And you,” she continued, turning to Script, “you’re afraid of losing something.”
“I said hit her harder!” Script snapped. 
“I’m not hitting her!” Loyal Stride barked back. “What is she babbling about?”
“You’re afraid of losing her,” Sonata said still in the considering tone. “And... a baby.”
Script’s head twitched. “Baby? What baby?”

CLANG!

“Ow!” Sonata cried. 
“It’s not working,” Loyal Stride said. “Her eyes are still red.”
“What’s this about a baby?” Script demanded. 
“This isn’t the time,” Loyal Stride growled. “Is she a danger? Is her curse getting worse?”
“Well of course it is,” Script muttered, still glaring at Loyal Stride. “Does this mean I’m going to be an uncle?”
“Focus.”
“Wait a second,” Script said suddenly, pulling Sonata’s hoof from her sore head and pulling her face around. “You said there was more... whatever, in the street?”
“More,” Sonata agreed. “No, but, Sunset... we need to—“
“Can you follow it? Does it leave a trail?”
Sonata blinked at him. “Uh, kinda. It’s kind of like a—“
“Can you tell where it’s coming from?” Script interrupted. “This could help us find her. Concentrate, you beautiful, cursed fish-thing!” he demanded, squeezing her face. “Concentrate, damn you!”
Sonata said nothing to that, but did feel the gravity of the situation, if not from what he was saying, then certainly from the urgency with which he said it. 
“The changeling hive mind,” Script said, letting go of her. “The changelings around here will all know that our dear landlord is in trouble. The ones holding Sunset will likely have guessed what’s going on, and will be afraid of being found out.”
“And I can follow the negative energy they’re giving off,” Sonata finished, feeling a small spurt of endorphins at being able to follow his line of thinking.
“Oh, it’s negative energy you can see?” Script asked, rubbing his chin. “Fascinating. I should probably write something up on that.”
“Later,” Loyal Stride grunted, slinging his shield over his shoulders. “Let’s go, and quickly.”
“Ah yes, that reminds me,” Script said thoughtfully. Whilst Sonata stared out of the window, entranced by the negative energy swirling down the street, Script phased a coin-bag from thin-air, and fished out two golden bits. “For your trouble,” he said, winking confidentially at the innkeeper as he slipped the coins into other’s hoof.
“Oh,” the innkeeper said, bewildered, as his three captors swiftly exited the room. “Thank you, sir. I suppose.” He looked around, thankful for the first time in his life that changelings couldn’t die from the accumulation of blood in their skulls. “It’s very dusty in here...”





Even through her newfound determination, Sonata was vaguely aware of Script and Loyal Stride galloping next to her. Script made it difficult to ignore him.
“Come on, girl,” he called loudly. “What’s that? Sunset’s down the old well?”
“Will you stop that,” Loyal Stride chided as Script cackled. 
“Oh come on, just look at her. She’s like an infernal diamond dog!”
Sonata blinked. She blushed as she noticed that she was indeed holding her head close to the ground, rather like a dog sniffing a trail. 
“There’s a lot of negative energy around here,” she said defensively. “I need to be all concentrate-y.”
“Oh, please, don’t let me interrupt,” Script said amicably, putting on a surprisingly disarming smile. “Do go on. We’re right behind you.”
Sonata’s lips pursed. Even though she didn’t know how exactly, she knew he was making fun of her. Somehow...
What her real problem was, however, wasn’t that the trail was hard to follow; all of the various paths were clear as a primary-colour painting set in a cloudless noon-day sun. No, what was bothering her was the little itch in her head; the whisper in her ear.
Delicious...
She gulped. The greenish mist sparkled in a cheerful, attractive sort of way, enticing her. The pendant pulsed, moving involuntarily like a twitchy limb. Sonata could feel its desire to absorb the energy, could feel that same greed in her own veins. Under other circumstances she might have been tempted, but right now, with Sunset missing, the image of her marefriend burned clearly through the hunger like a harsh desert sun. And that made it easier to ignore the veritable flood of delicious, mouth-watering energy swirling like pistachio pudding around—
Sonata cleared her throat and focused her sights upon the tide she needed to find. Like rivers converging into an ocean, the energy flowed between buildings, over roads, sliding slightly up the sides of objects that got in their way, falling like slow-motion wave crests back into the sea of green. Sonata’s keen eyes roved across it, her nostrils dilating as she drew in lungful after lungful of the heavenly scented essence. It didn’t take her more than a second to determine which trail was the correct one. It reeked of anticipation, greed, and fearful anger. Sonata swallowed as she began to salivate.
“This way,” she said quickly, speeding off ahead.
“Keep an eye out,” Script said to Loyal Stride as they trotted in her wake. “It wouldn’t do to be caught out twice.”
“Where are we going?” Loyal Stride called to Sonata. “Can she hear me?” 
“Who knows?” Script answered inattentively. “A real life siren, though. Did you ever imagine us having such good luck as this?”
“There is no us,” Loyal Stride said in a routine sort of way. “And I’d hardly call it lucky. Good-natured mare though she is, you and I both know what will—“
“Oh don’t flatter yourself,” Script snapped. “You don’t know what will happen to her. Even I barely know what will happen.”
“Even you,” Loyal Stride grunted, rolling his eyes. 





In her previous stint as an emotion-draining, energy-leeching, soul-corrupting curse-being, Sonata had been much addicted to reading. Just as soon as she had learned how to read. Most people couldn’t back when she and her sisters had arrived on Earth. Before that, Aria would sometimes tell her stories when Adagio was running low on ideas for global conquest, and Sonata always enjoyed the wild tales Aria was able to make up, or perhaps remember. When Sonata had been freed of her plight, and been allowed to pursue her true talent once again, her many years of reading had been of great use in allowing her to come up with plausible subject matter for her drawings and paintings, even if they had eroded her social skills. She even wondered once or twice whether reading novels for much of the 19th century had dulled her brain a little; it had been a major concern at the time, much like music, television, video games, and public education had in later years.
As a veteran reader of some of the great literary works of modern times, Sonata fully expected to find Sunset in a dark, seedy area of town, possibly surrounded by individuals dressed in dark coats and trilbies. Or if not that, then perhaps a lonely farmhouse out in the fields, the sort of spot where one might retreat during gun fights, hiding from flocks of murderous birds, or the odd zombie apocalypse. 
It might not be considered very surprising, therefore, that she was understandably disappointed upon reaching their apparent destination. Trotting along like a Jack Russell terrier following a scent, her nose came into sudden and painful conjunction with a door. A terribly mundane, ordinary looking door. Pink, with little heart shapes cut into the wood.
“Huh?” she said, squinting at the door disbelievingly. She looked quickly around. The train station, a quaint little wooden building, stood beside a row of equally rural-looking – and Sonata noticed, empty – shops, which stood opposite a row of fairy-tale houses. The one Sonata stood before, second from the end of the row, looked so unremarkable, that for a second or two Sonata was sure that she must be mistaken.
“Why have we stopped?” Script asked. “Are we here?”
Loyal Stride glanced around. “Odd,” he commented. “No pony around shopping at this time of day?”
“Yep, we’re here then,” Script deduced.
“Like a showdown in the Old West,” Sonata added.
Sonata pushed on the door. “They’re in here,” she grunted. “I. Just. Know it!” She punctuated each word with a sharp shove of her shoulder against the door. “I think this door is—“ She leapt back as a length of heavy steel thrust into the wood, cleaving it like facts through a political debate. “Geez!” she shrieked. “Warn me first!”
“I don’t think you made enough noise that time,” Script said, rubbing his beard. “Maybe if you bellow some war chants at the same time, you can make sure the entire street hears you.”
Loyal Stride ignored them both. Hefting his sword from the door and sheathing it, he reached forward, and gave the door a tap. It creaked open, the lock dropping to the floor with a thunk.
“I’ll take point,” he said, stepping into the house.
Sonata gave Script a raised eyebrow, but Script merely looked amused.
Despite her anxiety for Sunset, and her preoccupation with the negative energy flowing around her hooves, Sonata still felt a natural tug of unease at the idea of breaking into somepony’s house. There was just something so... opprobrious about it. Opprobrious being a word Sonata had heard Rarity using to describe a slight crease she had observed on her newly stitched dress. Sonata had said the word in her mind a few times to see how it sounded, and then had immediately forgotten about it.
Just as she came to the end of this small memory, she was nearly frightened out of her skin as a voice hissed out of the dark.
“Halt!” 
Two figures appeared out of the gloom. They stood either side of what Sonata could just make out was a comfy-looking sofa, glints of gold reflecting off their armour. 
Loyal Stride was already on his back legs, his shield raised and his eyes hard. Script gave the two royal guards narrow looks. Sonata on the other hand had her eye on something else. 
“Who are you?” the second guardspony demanded. “What are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same of you,” Script said quietly.
“This is an official investigation,” the first replied in a hard tone. “Leave immediately. Whatever reason you have for breaking into this house, we’ll forget it this time.”
“What do you think?” Loyal Stride asked, not taking his eyes off the two ponies.
“Oh please,” Script scoffed. “This story is so full of holes, I could cut a slice off and make a grilled cheese out of it.”
“Leave now!” the second guard snapped. “We will not warn you again.”
“So this is an official investigation?” Script asked, stepping forward suavely.
“Yes, which you are interrupt—“
“Under the authority of...?” Script asked, looking politely inquiring.
“Princess Luna,” the first guard said, frowning at Script.
“Very well, then tell me something,” Script went on, waving a hoof vaguely. “How did you get in here?”
The guards frowned even more. “What?”
“How did you get in here?” Script repeated. “The door was locked. We just had to break it down. How did you get in?”
“Through the back door,” the second guard said promptly. 
“I see,” Script said, bowing his head. “So two royal guards on an official investigation... come in through the back door.”
The guards looked at each other briefly. “Yes, there’s a perfectly—“
“And investigate the house in the dark?” Script interrupted.
“We find it simpler—“
“In the house we happen to know our friend is being held captive in,” Script finished. “Odd that.”
“What exactly are you suggesting?” the first guard asked, giving Script a cold glare.
“You’re changelings,” Sonata said clearly.
The first guard’s face twitched, but the second guard gave a short, somewhat contemptuous laugh. “That’s enough of this nonsense,” he said, stepping forward. “You’ll leave now.”
“I can see your fear,” Sonata said, glaring at him. “Anxiety. It’s pouring out of you. Where is Sunset?”
“We told you to leave!” the guard shouted.
“Tell me where she is!” Sonata cried back.
She and the guard might have come to blows. Certainly Sonata was willing; her legs bent ready to spring, she felt a corrosive desire driven by Sunset’s absence to make the guard tell her everything he knew. It seethed inside of her, growing stronger the longer she stared, imagining the insectoid face of the changeling she knew the guard to be. But it never came to that. Taking advantage of the guard’s distraction, Loyal Stride leapt from the side and struck the guard in the flank with his shield. The guard was sent sprawling over the sofa, a brilliant green light momentarily illuminating the room as its limp form shifted into that of its true form. 
The other guard hissed and erupted back into its natural form. With a sudden burst of movement it vanished into the shadows before Script’s horn-light could illuminate the room.
“Ahh,” Script said hastily. “I don’t think so.”
“Put me down!” Sonata raged. “Let me go!”
“Feel free to explode into full curse-mode just as soon as we find exactly where they’re hiding Sunset,” Script said, moving around Sonata’s flailing hooves and examining the false-guard. He was out cold. “Evidently we’re not getting anything out of him for a while.”
In the ghostly-blue light of Script’s horn, they could see all corners of the room. A perfectly normal looking Equestrian-style home, with comfy chairs, a colourful carpet, pictures on the walls, and the splish-splash of happy heart shapes everywhere they seemed able to get away with it. Floating in mid-air, fuming, Sonata looked around in hopes of finding where the changeling had fled to, when something in her artist’s brain nudged at her. Despite not being able to draw or paint anymore, it seemed that not all of Sonata’s talent had quite left her, for as she looked frantically around, she noticed a half-perceived oddity.
“Look at the pictures,” she said, squinting. “None of them are the same.”
“Not the brightest creatures,” Loyal Stride commented. “Their various disguises, no doubt.”
“Yeah...” Sonata said slowly. But that wasn’t the only oddity that she’d noticed about the room. As she bumped gently to the floor, she blinked, and looked down. “Does the floor sound right to you?”
Loyal Stride frowned, and looked down as Script popped his head around the corner of a window into the kitchen. “What about it?” he asked, tapping the carpet.
“No, no, over here,” Sonata said, giving the floor a firm stamp. Unlike the dull thump of wood evidently being held up by something solid, like stone or cement, where Sonata stood came the deeper sound of wood hanging over empty space.
“Do you think that perhaps the bad-luck accompanying being cursed causes some kind of quantum-level vacuum-effect that needs to be balanced out by an excess of good luck in those around you?” Script asked. 
“I’m not unlucky,” Sonata responded robustly, trying to ignore the little pang in her chest.
Script brought his hoof down on the section of carpet where Sonata had tapped. There came a loud cracking sound.
“Are you okay?” Sonata asked, cringing and trying not to chuckle.
“I’m fine,” Script muttered, nursing his ankle. “Strider, could you...”
Loyal Stride stepped forward, and pausing only a moment to give Sonata a knowing side-glance, smashed the floor-boards with absurd ease. Sweeping aside a section of the camouflage carpeting, the three of them peered down into the darkness. Script’s horn light illuminated an earthy passageway, parts of the wall covered in solidified, shiny-green... something. 
“Let go!” Sonata complained as Loyal Stride held her back. “We have to get Sunset!”
“That’s not where they’re hiding her,” he replied. “That’s part of the underground network. If you tracked their energy here, they won’t be down there.”
Sonata knew that he was right. As she fought the pull of the energy like a hungry child trying to abstain from a fresh meal, she found that her ability to see the energy dimmed as she fought the desire to consume it. Nevertheless she could see that the green mist swirled around, but neither into nor out of the hole. The changelings, and presumably Sunset, were not down there.
“Well then, where are they?”
“Hmm, let me think,” Script said in a mock-thoughtful voice. “Duuuh.” He put on an offensively ridiculous slurred voice and walked drunkenly into the kitchen. “If we make hole in living room, den maybe hole in kitchen work good!” His horn flashed, and the entire floor lit up as though a wave of electricity had surged across it, leaving a neon-glow flickering over everything. Sonata’s eyes jumped to the centre of the floor.
“Wow,” she said, scraping her hoof against the glow of what was plainly another trap-door. “So, like, do all changelings have trapdoors in their houses?”
“I’m going to be honest with you,” Script said with his eyebrows raised. “Up till a few months ago, I didn’t know they lived in houses.”
“They usually live underground,” Loyal Stride muttered, his sharp eyes trailing across the fading lines. “Living in these houses is simply a part of their disguise. They probably feel more at home in these underground areas.”
“Hmm...” Script hummed, redirecting the magical glow. “It looks like this isn’t a tunnel at all,” he said, as like some bizarre X-Ray, the glow shifted downwards, visible through the floor as though it were transparent. “It looks more like a—“
“What are you doing?” Loyal Stride snapped, giving Script a shove. “They’ll sense your magic.”
“So? They already know that we’re—“ he paused as something caught his eye. Sonata looked down, and noticed an ominous green light flare from below. “Oh fu—!“ Script exclaimed. With a sound like a pylon exploding in a storm, the green light surged upwards, tracing across the pale blue glow, looking to Sonata like the competing colours motif from Tron. Before Script could even finish swearing, the green light surged upwards, converged upon him, and hit his horn like a bolt of lightning. 
The room filled with a blinding light; Sonata shut her eyes instinctively, looking away from its epicentre as the sound of screaming and the crackle of electricity filled the air. It lasted for barely a second, but left Sonata’s vision blurred with a fading light for a good few moments. When she’d blinked it away, she found to her surprise that nothing seemed to have happened. That was until she looked a little closer at Script.
His mouth hung open, his jaw rigid, and his eyes were bulging; the left one was actually pointing inwards at his nose. Very little exterior damage seemed to have been done, except that his horn was blackened and smoking – which Sonata took to be a bad thing – and his coat and mane seemed to be standing on end. After a few seconds, Sonata heard the faintest, most pitiable groan, like the sound of a mouse being stepped upon, and then Script toppled like a tree.
Sonata cried out.
“Don’t worry,” Loyal Stride said in his usual imperturbable voice. “He’s just out cold. He hit a surger.”
“A-A what?” Sonata asked weakly.
“Think of it like a magical mine. Changelings dot them around areas where they dwell; unfriendly magic hits the surger, and it sends back an equal amount of magical force in the form of a magical discharge. He’s just lucky he was using a fairly minor spell.”
“Will he be okay?”
“From that? Yes, he’ll be fine. But he’ll be out for a few minutes at least. Possibly several hours. There’s nothing to be done but wait until the magical static fades of its own accord.” 
“That sounds painful.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that it is,” Loyal Stride said, concealing a small smirk. “The changelings will assume that we’ve been discouraged from entering their hidey-hole for the present, so now is the best time to attack.”
“A-Attack?” Sonata asked nervously. “Shouldn’t we try to move Script somewhere safe?”
“It’s best that we don’t touch him. Also I don’t particularly care if he’s safe or not. I shall descend first, and divert their attention. Hopefully their focus on me shall distract them from your presence. Make your way unseen to Sunset, and try not to feel any strong emotions, or they’ll notice you.”
“And you think that’ll work?”
“It’s a plan,” Loyal Stride replied. Sonata took this instance of not actually answering the question as somewhat ominous.
“Okay. So I just go down after you and find Sunset?”
“Wait for me to get their attention. If necessary I’ll hold them off whilst you get Sunset clear. Make your way back up here and wait for me. Hopefully Script will have come around and he can help you.”
“What if you can’t hold them off? What if there are too many?”
“Then we die with honour,” he replied flatly. Then he seemed to rethink it. “Well, I’ll probably die with honour. If they’re doing what I think they’re doing down there, you and Sunset at least will die ignominiously as they slowly drain the love from you.”
“I’d really like to not die ignomninus— Ignomini...” 
“Ignominiously,” Loyal Stride provided. “Follow after me when you hear me engage them. And remember to remain unseen.”
Sonata stood by as Loyal Stride pulled up the trap door, unable to prevent her hooves from tapping occasionally on the tiles. An earthen passage straight down led into pitch darkness, with only a number of crude ledges evidently meant to be footholds. Sonata couldn’t help but observe how, as somepony who had until recently been a human being, this looked like an awkward thing for a pony to traverse. But in fairness, Loyal Stride managed it quite well. Indeed the only real obstacle he encountered was that his bulky armour, sword, and shield made the passageway a little tight.
Despite what Loyal Stride had said, no sooner had he disappeared into the darkness, then Sonata almost instantly tried to suppress her nervousness by focusing on Script’s predicament. She almost found that she could ignore the clouds of green mist in the corner of her vision when she poked Script in the side. 
“Ouch!” she squeaked, as a small arc of energy like a static shock jumped from Script’s coat onto Sonata’s leg. “Even when he’s knocked out he’s mean to me...” 
Whilst Sonata waited for sounds of Loyal Stride below, she thought about Script. She thought about how he had exchanged his help in an impossible pursuit for their taking him to see Princess Luna. Somepony that Sonata herself didn’t even know. Script didn’t need her, Sonata, for this bargain, at least not directly. The only practical reason for wanting her, Sonata, around, was to act as a part of the bargain with Sunset. So why did she get the unaccountable feeling that Script was being... not protective. No, that wasn’t the word... Something like protective... Watchful perhaps? He seemed to care that Sonata should come with them.
But why? If it was anypony else, Sonata might think that it stemmed from simple compassion and empathy, but Script was a different sort. Sonata was sure he possessed these qualities, but there were other aspects of him that would always trump any softer predications. No, Script’s motives had to be selfish in nature. Or if selfish was too strong a word, then certainly self-serving. There was something that he could gain from being watchful. 
That was, if he actually was being watchful, and it wasn’t just Sonata’s overactive mind seeing patterns where there were none. That was always possible.
The sound of a hiss from below nearly sent Sonata tumbling headfirst into the hole as she jumped. Clutching her heart, she peered into the hole, where what had previously been the blackest of darkness was now being filled with a dim, spectral light. Voices distorted by echoes of themselves warbled upwards and rang through the kitchen.
“That’s my cue,” Sonata said, trying to pump herself up. “Get. Sunset.” She muttered, breathing deeply. “Get. Sunset. I just have to get Sunset.”

Given the earthy walls that began the descent, it was a little surprising to Sonata that when she touched floor below, she heard the distinct ‘tap tap’ of hooves on a hard, smooth surface. Looking down, she saw a white sheen across a green surface from the kitchen’s light above. The floor appeared to be at least somewhat translucent, for as Sonata’s eyes adjusted she found that she was able to see that the surface was not solid like glass, but full of small air bubbles, and in some places dark masses and shapes. It was as though the floor was made out of green amber or solidified emerald honey.
Sonata licked the floor and recoiled. It wasn’t honey.
“What is this stuff?” Sonata wondered aloud until the sound of a grunt from ahead of her jarred her thoughts back to the task at hand. By a combination of acoustics and the outlines of walls made by the dim spectral light, Sonata was able to make her way forward down a perfectly straight corridor large enough for at least two ponies to walk down side-by-side. The walls and floor, and Sonata presumed the ceiling, were made of the same, solid green material that to her great distress, tapped loudly as she walked across it, no matter how light her tread. Before long however, the echoes began to die away, and she heard the distinct sounds of voices ahead.
“This is your last warning!” snarled somepony. “Get out now, or we attack all at once! You can’t stop us all!”
Sonata pressed herself as much against the wall as she could and peered into a sort of chamber. Although she couldn’t be sure in the insubstantial light, she felt a thrill of recognition as she noticed the room’s layout: It was the same hexagonal shape as the one where they’d discovered the giant, dormant changeling crystal. The floor changed at the end of the passageway, shifting from the green surface to the tiles like in the other chamber. Instinctively, Sonata looked directly ahead to see if there was a crystal there as well, but instead saw an insubstantial mass, glittering as though made of glass, but looking far too ungainly and bulbous to be a statue or crystal.
A clatter of metal, and Sonata’s gaze shifted instantly to her left. Loyal Stride, stood upright on his hind legs, had his sword levelled at a black mass. The mass gleamed with multitudes of blue eyes that all blinked independently of each other, several patches of it glowing with the eerie, ghostly light filtering into the passageway. 
“Just leave,” another voice said falteringly. “We don’t want trouble.”
“Then release our companion. That is not negotiable.”
“Impossible!” hissed another voice.
“Never! So pure!”
“We can’t...”
The multitude of voices confused Sonata for a moment, until she realised that the black mass was in fact an assortment of changelings all herded to one side of the room. Sonata’s respect for Loyal Stride’s authority and guile increased at least a tier or two at this. The changelings clustered tight together, some clinging to the walls and ceiling, all of their brilliant blue eyes fixed on Loyal Stride. Then she realised a problem: Where was Sunset? She didn’t seem to be anywhere in the chamber.
Was there another passage, maybe? Sonata wondered, peering around at the faceted walls. There didn’t seem to be. And nothing stood in the room except for the changelings, Loyal Stride, and the strange mass at the back. 
“We will not let her leave!” a changeling barked. “The love is too pure, so undiluted! We have never tasted a love so—“
“You don’t need her,” Loyal Stride interrupted sharply. “You parasites have other victims to feed from.”
Perhaps Sunset was behind the thing at the back of the room, Sonata mused. I have to look. Sunset would leave no stone unturned! She’d find me!
With the utmost care, Sonata lowered herself down to a crawl and, hugging the wall, tried to look inconspicuous. Sonata didn’t know if the changelings could see in the dark or not, but if not she should have been practically invisible to them. Reaching the mass without having made a sound, she felt a small amount of pride rise up inside her. That is until she caught sight of the mass up close. Illuminated by the magical glows being given off by the more jumpy-changelings, she could see that the mass was green and at least partially transparent, like the floor and walls of the passage, and that a large mass was suspended inside of it. This puzzled Sonata.
“We starve on them!” a changeling groaned.
“You don’t understand,” said another. “She must stay! Bring us the other one as well!”
“Yes!” another cried eagerly. “Together, they could sustain us!”
As Sonata peered at the dark mass within, she began to notice a few oddities about it. Things like, how it seemed to be about the same shape and size of the average pony. How it seemed to have something that might have been a head surrounded by a flurry of hair. How it had four distinct growths coming out of what might fairly be called its body.
Sonata reached forward a hoof, wondering if she could perhaps lean in and get a closer look, press her eyes to the surface to peer in. Her hoof touched the surface... and then sank inches into thick, viscous slime. Her entire body went cold and ridged. Before she realised what her throat was about to do, her mouth opened as wide as it would go.
Loyal Stride, and every changeling present, spun around at the sound of Sonata’s scream. Belatedly, Sonata clamped her free hoof over her mouth, stifling the sound, and stared around at the eyes pointing at her.
“Err...” she squeaked.
No pony replied. But after a second or two, several of the changelings seemed to recover from their shock. Far too late, Loyal Stride turned back around, slamming the first changeling with his shield. But the other four were too quick for him; they leapt upon him, almost bringing him to the floor. The other changelings piled in as well, hissing and shouting as they swarmed forward.
Sonata stood indecisive, unsure of what to do. She stared as Loyal Stride fought back, swinging his sword and thrusting with his shield. The swipes were erratic, fending off approaching changelings, whilst the shield sent any unlucky enough to be close reeling back with stars in their eyes.
“Get Sunset!” he roared, sending one changeling flying back into another.
“Oh!” Sonata squealed. “Right!”
She looked back at the mass within the slime. Understanding what was going on didn’t make the inevitable task any more inviting, but she had to do it. Bracing herself, she pressed forward, and seized hold of Sunset through the goop. The entire cocoon ruptured, spilling out copious amounts of foul green sludge, Sunset’s limp form falling with Sonata into the spill. 
Sonata almost vomited; it was a very near miss. The sight, smell, and sound of the foul liquid sent her gag reflex into overdrive. The taste of it on the other hand made her stomach feel as though a hand was reaching up and squeezing it tightly.
“S-Sunset...” she gurgled. “Come on, wake up. We have...*urp!* we have to go.”
Sunset didn’t move. 
“Come on!” Sonata urged, shaking Sunset’s limp body. “Wake up! We have to go! We have to—“ She froze, feeling over Sunset’s body. A terrible dread seeped through Sonata like poison until, with relief, she felt the pulse in Sunset’s throat. She was definitely alive, just unconscious. But how to wake her up...
Just then the room was filled with a brilliant blue light. From the direction of the passageway came an orb of brilliant sky-blue light, filing the space with a shimmering radiance.
“I’m not coming down there,” echoed a voice from above. It sounded groggy and put-upon, like someone with a hangover. “Does anypony have any asprin?”
“Take them!” shrilled a changeling. “We can’t let them go!”
“Both of them! They’re both here!”
“Try the cabinet above the stove! That’s the medicine cabinet!”
“Thank you,” Script called down. 
“Sonata!” Loyal Stride barked, backing up as the horde pressed down upon him. “Pick her up and go! I can’t keep them back—“
“Don’t leave!” a changeling rasped, bypassing Loyal Stride and leaping at Sonata. It bowled her over, away from Sunset’s body.
“Please don’t leave, we need your love,” another said pleadingly, trying to press itself passed Loyal Stride’s shield. 
“We’re so hungry,” another groaned, pawing longingly at Sunset’s prone form. 
Sonata’s skin crawled as she and Sunset were set upon, eager hooves and faces pressing in from all sides. She felt herself being lifted from the floor, dragged towards the wall. She saw Sunset being dragged up as well, being tugged back to the ruptured cocoon.
“No!” Sonata cried out suddenly. “No! Stop it! Get away!”
“We’re so hungry!” they repeated. “Always so hungry. Please stay, you can save us.”
“Let go of her!” Sonata shrieked, as Sunset’s face began to sink out of sight into the ooze. “Stop it!”
“So delicious, just a taste of it.”
“No!”
“Delicious. So long since we tasted it.”
Sonata fought, kicked, twisted, and cried out. The blue light illuminating the scene threw everything into a parody of black-and-white, sharply outlining the changeling’s black forms, glinting off of Loyal Stride’s armour so that he appeared to be radiating a celestial light, and sparkling off of the walls in vivid aquamarine so that they appeared to be fighting beneath the ocean. 
At first, Sonata thought that this impression was what was making her vision blur, making it seem as though she was seeing underwater. But then she realised that she wasn’t seeing the fuzziness of water, but that of mist. Thick, green mist tinted blue by the glare of the orb, sparkling invitingly. And all of a sudden, Sonata’s resistance to the call was gone as her panic engulfed it. One thought penetrated her mind like a spear through thin plywood: 
Get Sunset!
Sonata opened her mouth. Everything stopped.

It took Sonata a long time – or so it seemed – to open her eyes. When she did, she first noticed that the orb above them was emitting a low hum, not unlike that of a light bulb. Her eyes adjusted gradually to the almost harsh light being given off by it, but when she was finally able to see fully, she almost leapt out of her skin. She was surrounded, literally surrounded, by changelings, all of whom were sitting down, and staring blankly into space. Not one of them was looking in her direction, or even seemed to notice that she was there.
Sonata made to say something, but then noticed that her mouth was wide open. She closed it, and then with a leap of her heart, looked around for Sunset. 
“Ugh...” Sunset groaned when, for the second time, Sonata pulled her from the slime with a squelch. “Sonata...? That had better be you,” she said feebly. “Were you singing just now?” She looked down at herself. “Um... why am I covered in slime? Again.”
“Are you alright?” Sonata asked, ignoring Sunset’s questions. “Can you walk? I don’t think we have much time.”
“What?” Sunset looked blearily around, wiping a dollop of green ooze from her chin, and then nearly leapt backwards back into the pile as she spotted the changelings all around. “What’s going—“
“We can explain later,” Sonata interrupted. “I don’t think this’ll last long. I’m not entirely sure what I did.”
“What you did?” Sunset repeated, sounding awed as she peered closely at a nearby changeling who was swaying vaguely from side to side, as though to some slow melody only it could hear. “Hang on, what about Loyal Stride?”
Sonata looked around and cursed inwardly. As was to be expected, Loyal Stride was also sitting down and staring into space. With his massive frame and bulky armour, it looked incredibly strange to see him sitting so meekly.
“Can you wake him up?” Sunset asked.
“I... don’t know,” Sonata mumbled. “He should wake up eventually.”
“Yeah, but unless you’re up to carrying him back up to the house, we need to wake him now. Where’s Script?”
“Up there,” Sonata pointed upwards. “That’s his spell lighting the room. I haven’t heard from him since I...” Her words tailed off, as the full impact of what she’d done hit her. In a single act of desperation and panic, she’d allowed herself to once again give in to the pendant’s power. And what was more, she’d lashed out at everypony; changeling and ponies alike, everyone around her had been caught in her attack, whatever it was. The thought of it chilled her blood. The only thin ray of fortune to breach this gloomy realisation was that, immersed in the slime, Sunset had not heard her, and thus had not been affected.
Bounding around the stunned changelings, Sonata reached Loyal Stride. 
“Can’t you bring him out of it?” Sunset asked, squelching over to her.
Sonata stared into Loyal Stride’s face. His deep blue eyes were wide, the pupils tiny, as though something terrifying and invisible were pressed nose-to-nose with him. “I...” Sonata began feebly. “Um... don’t know how.”
“What do you mean you don’t know how?” Sunset asked, sounding dumbfounded. “Just... I don’t know, order him to?”
Sonata had no better ideas. “Loyal Stride. I, um... command—No, I... order?” Sunset nudged her impatiently. “Okay, okay!” Wiping ineffectually at the residual slime on her shoulder, Sonata cleared her throat. Directing her focus onto Loyal Stride, she said in a confident, commanding voice “I command you to wake up!”
Nothing happened.
“Is that how it’s supposed to work?” Sunset asked, frowning.
“I don’t know,” Sonata said, going red. “I don’t remember releasing anypony from hypnosis before.”
“What?” Sunset asked incredulously. 
“Somepony either released them, they broke the spell themselves, or the spell wore off. Our spells were never permanent, we needed to maintain them.”
“Well how did they break the spell?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh... well, couldn’t we knock him on the head? Would that shake him out of it?”
“Maybe?”
“You don’t sound sure.”
Sonata wasn’t sure. “Maybe if I sing at him again, that’ll make him—“
Sunset reached up and thwacked the side of Loyal Stride’s helmet with her hoof. The helmet made a muffled gong-like sound that could barely be heard, at least on the outside. By the look of Loyal Stride’s face, it seemed like he was being deafened; his eyes wobbled in their sockets, and his white face seemed to tingle as all the small hairs that made up his coat rose up like goose-bumps.
“Did that do it?” Sunset whispered, looking into Loyal Stride’s still wide eyes.
“I don’t know... maybe?” 
Sunset narrowed her eyes. “What’s—“ She caught her breath, which made Sonata look at her in surprise. Following Sunset’s line of sight, she looked up closer into Loyal Stride’s face. In the gap at the front, where his chin was clearly visible, rested several glistening drops of sweat.
No, that’s... not sweat. 
Sonata’s heart clenched in her chest as she looked back up to his eyes, and saw just what the drips of moisture really were. And it suddenly became clear what she had actually done.
Slowly, tremulously, she looked around her. Her breath hitched in her throat as she saw the tears flowing all around her. Eyes cast high like starving people reaching for proffered food, tears trailed unrestrainedly from every face. Every changeling was crying silently, trails of tears running down their glossy cheeks. Sonata knew exactly what she had done, and whatever horror she’d felt before tripled within her.
”I’m sorry,” Sonata breathed. “Please... I’m sorry.”


-To be Continued
	
> Angry Make-up Love
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sunset Shimmer


The effects of waking from a period of deep rest are, for most individuals, a somewhat taxing business. Most of us reserve the right to fully awaken at our own paces, rubbing the sleep from our eyes and trudging our way to the bathroom and crank our brains into the gruelling task of thinking about the coming day.
Sunset Shimmer had not been afforded this most basic of life’s usual courtesies, by virtue of the fact that her period of rest had stemmed from kidnap and temporary storage in a vile green cocoon, rather than settling down of her own free will. Perhaps she could be excused therefore for feeling a little disorientated when, rather suddenly, she found herself lying in the hooves of her marefriend, and covered in slime. Sunset had never been so unfortunate as to have eaten a slug, but spitting a thick globule of the green ooze from her mouth, she thought that she had a pretty good idea of what eating a slug might be like.
Being in this susceptible mood, she had found it even more distressing to find herself surrounded by daydreaming changelings, a dazed Loyal Stride, and to top it all off, Sonata undergoing some deep internal struggle. And then there was the crying. For some reason, everypony around her was crying.
Creepy, Sunset thought slowly.
Under usual circumstances, Sunset might well have taken one look around and removed herself as discreetly as she could. As things stood though, with her erstwhile kidnappers so close at hoof, she needed to get Sonata and Loyal Stride to move. It became apparent however that this was not going to be an easy task.
“I’m sorry,” Sonata whispered, over and over, like some bizarre chant, staring around at the changelings.
“Sonata?” Sunset asked, moving her face in front of Sonata’s eyes. “Sonata, come on, we have to go now, before they snap out of it.”
“But... but I’ve...” Sonata muttered, her eyes unfocused.
“Sonata, whatever is going on, can it please wait until later?” Sunset asked desperately, trying to shake off her torpor. “If they come around, we’re in real trouble!”
This seemed to have at least some small effect on Sonata. Her eyes darted from here to there, seemingly searching for something to focus on. “I... I hurt them.” She looked up at Loyal Stride. “I hurt him. I think Script heard me too.”
“Hurt them?” Sunset looked around, suddenly struck with a coldness in her heart. “What exactly did you—“ She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter right now; please, we can talk later, let’s just get out of here!” Sonata still seemed to be wrestling with what she had done, but gave a small nod. “Come on, help me with him.”
Loyal Stride was running a hoof over his nose, squeezing his eyes. “What... where is this? Where’s Pen Stroke?”
“Pen Stroke?” Sonata asked curiously.
“Never mind,” Sunset said urgently. “Let’s go, before they wake up as well?”
Fortunately, Loyal Stride put up no questions or objections. For once Sunset was glad of his austerity and pragmatic attitude, as he took one bleary look around, and instantly seemed to remember their predicament. 
“Back up to the house,” he said, turning to the passageway to the trapdoor. 
“Right behind you. Come on, Sonata.”
Sunset gave a tug on her shoulder. Sonata offered no resistance, but kept her glistening eyes fixed on the still-crying changelings. Alone in the shining chamber, they looked like sad, abandoned statues, worn dark by time’s slow march.

Pushing Sonata up ahead of her, Sunset was surprised to find Script standing in the kitchen, a damp cloth draped over his horn. 
“Erm...”
“No questions,” Script interrupted in a delicate voice. “No comments. No quips. The asprin hasn’t kicked in yet.”
“Since when does Equestria have asprin?”
“No questions!” Script snapped, his voice rising in pitch rather than volume as he put a hoof to one temple. “I’m going to assume that the changelings are still trapped in a trance showing them their most painful nightmares. If so, we should leave.”
Sonata sniffled.
“I know this is a question,” Sunset said, frowning slightly at her marefriend. “But what makes you say that?”
“Because that’s what happened to me as well,” Loyal Stride said quietly, a steely glint in his deep blue eyes. 
“I-I didn’t mean to,” Sonata whimpered. “I’m sorry. They wouldn’t stop, and... I just wanted them to back away, but—“
“Oh will you stop your pathetic moaning!” Script growled, clutching his head. “Nopony cares. Let’s just go.”
“Didn’t she affect you as well?” Loyal Stride asked, giving him a narrow look.
“No,” Script grumbled. “I didn’t see horrific scenes of Roam ablaze with black fire whilst a shadowy figure laughed insanely over the blood-soaked remains of those I love. You?”
Loyal Stride hm’d at this, but made no other reply but to return his expression to its studied impassivity; Sunset felt an ominous weight upon hearing Script’s words, and a corresponding curiosity to know more details what it was that Script had seen. It seemed like the kind of thing to clue her into what his motives were. 
Whilst the two stallions trotted moodily from the kitchen, Sunset took stock of Sonata’s appearance. Whilst being covered in green goo might usually have been a cue for humour, Sunset couldn’t find a single legitimate avenue for jocularity here; it wasn’t the time or place. Sonata seemed to have been jolted out of her sobbing by Script’s harshness, and was standing limply with her head hanging. Sunset had rarely seen Sonata look so defeated before. Sunset knew that her marefriend was prone to wild changes in temperament, but it was generally a rare event to find Sonata so far dejected as this; it just wasn’t in her nature.
Sunset pondered this all the way back up the street to the inn, where the remaining occupants seemed to be confused about the innkeeper-less state of the bar. Bypassing the befuddled Nightlanders, they made their way surreptitiously upstairs and back to their rooms, where Sunset stopped dead.
“Oh dear!” the innkeeper exclaimed, startled. “Ack! Whatever you did, please don’t do it to me!”
“How long have you been like this?” Sunset asked, waving her horn and dispelling the invisible bindings.
“Oh, err,” the innkeeper said thoughtfully, dropping to the floor on all fours like a cat. “Whenever your companions went to getcha.”
“They left you hanging upside down all that time?” Sunset asked, aghast.
“Oh, don’t you be worryin’ about that,” the innkeeper said dismissively. “We don’t get the whole blood-rush-to-your-head problem you pony-folk do. Now seein’ as how the other’s plan obviously didn’t work, can I ask whatcha did wi’em?” He shuddered. “It doesn’t feel pleasant.”
“They’re down in some elaborate underground room,” Sunset explained quietly, noting Sonata’s rising colour at the mention of the subject. “They’re all in a trance for the moment. Make some loud noises and they should come around.”
“Trance?” the innkeeper asked, looking troubled. “I don’t know what counts as trances to you, madam,” he said seriously. “This feels like nightmares if anything.”
“You can feel what’s happening?” Sonata asked fearfully.
“Oh arr,” the innkeeper assented. He looked back as he reached the door frame, his electric blue eyes glittering with some unknowable emotion. “What they did to ye two was foolish; I advised ‘em against it. I don’t think you’ll be havin’ anymore trouble with the likes of us on the street. I will say this though. Us changelings have a reckoning of what goes on with each other, no matter how far away. The Queen will know what has happened, and she’ll now know your faces.”
With that, the innkeeper left the room. Sunset pondered these words for a moment or two, trying to see the danger in what had happened. As it stood, she and Sonata were likely to still be giving off a dinner-bell, but if the changelings were now scared of them because of what Sonata did, then all they had to do was avoid the Queen. Wrack her brains though she did, she couldn’t think of a single scenario where she or Sonata would have to seek an audience with a changeling queen. 
The real problem, Sunset noted with a churn of the stomach, was the state Sonata was in. It seemed to Sunset at least that even her coat of dusky blue hair was paling to white.
“Sonata, come on,” Sunset said quietly. “We can’t stay here, we have to go.”
Sonata didn’t respond. She was holding her pendant between her hooves as though praying on it, but it occurred to Sunset after a moment or two that she wasn’t holding it, she was squeezing it. With a cry of mingled rage and anguish she pulled at it, yanking it jerkily as though determined to rip it off.
“Stop it!” Sunset cried, as the necklace tugged hard at Sonata’s throat. The chord looked deceptively thin and weak, but evidently was not going to be so easily moved. “That’s not going to help anything.”
“I. Want. It. Off!” Sonata’s hooves slipped off the stone, and she struck the wall in fury. “Blast it off!”
“W-What?” Sunset stammered. 
Sonata thrust her chest out, staring Sunset directly in the eye. “Blast it. Get it off me!”
Sunset stared at her for a full three seconds, and then remembered that she had a voice. “Look, I know that you’re scared—“ Sonata let out an impatient exclamation and stamped her front hooves into the floor. “It was obviously an accident.”
“An accident?” Sonata repeated with a slightly hysterical laugh. “Let’s hope they see it that way.”
“To be honest, I’m not too fussed what the changelings think,” Sunset said, frowning slightly. The kidnapping was still fresh on her mind, and the smell of the gunk she’d been suspended in still fresh on her golden coat.
“I meant Script and Loyal Stride!” Sonata wailed. “They got caught up in it too, and I made them see—“ She choked up as her eyes filled with tears again.
“What exactly did you do?” Sunset asked, starting to become genuinely concerned given how much it seemed to be torturing Sonata. 
“I-It was an accident,” Sonata sniffled. “I didn’t m-mean to.”
“I know, I know,” Sunset said gently, sidling up to Sonata to offer comfort in her proximity. “Come on, it can’t have been that bad; they were all still standing, weren’t they? And Loyal Stride came around quick enough.”
Sonata remained quiet for a few moments, seeming to wrestle with herself. Then eventually, after gulping a few times, and with many interruptions, she managed to explain the specifics of what she had done. 
Sunset cleared her throat a little, as it had gone dry during the brief explanation. 
“So you...” she cast around for as innocuous a sounding sum-up as she could. “You gave them nightmares. You scared them a little. When you said that you hurt them, I was kind of expecting you to say that you’d made their brains explode, or something.” She tried for a laugh, but it died as Sonata looked up at her. She cleared her throat again.
“You don’t get it,” Sonata rasped, swallowing. “I showed them their worst possible fears. Things they probably didn’t even know they feared. And it came so easily, I... I could have done it at any time, to anypony. I could still do it! What if I’d done it to you?”
Sunset blinked. “Is that what this is about?” she asked in surprise. “Sonata, believe me when I tell you that you don’t have to worry about that. I already know what my worst fear is, and no amount of spooky siren magic is going to make it any worse.”
“What’s that mean?” Sonata asked, wiping the moisture at the corners of her eyes.
Sunset pulled her into a hug. “The worst thing that could happen for me would be to see you lapse into hysterics over something you did accidentally. So if you could hold it in for a little while we leave town, I promise I’ll help you with it.”
“You’re not being serious,” Sonata said moodily. “If you hadn’t been in that goop, you would have been hit by the same thing.”
“Maybe, but I wasn’t, and—“
“And what if I actually had eaten you when I went giant serpent-mode?”
“But you didn’t, you spit us all up again. Which was gross, but appreciated given the circumstances.”
“But what if—“
“Enough what ifs,” Sunset said firmly, putting a hoof to Sonata’s mouth. “We’re going to Last Light, Princess Luna and Twilight can help us cure you. I know with their help they can do something. Even if they just make it go dormant again.”
Sunset had to admit that Sonata’s reaction to this was rather unexpected. Instead of cheering up, or even lapsing further into the dregs of sorrow, Sonata looked up with fresh hope in her face. She turned quickly and put both hooves on Sunset’s shoulders, a wild look in her eyes.
“Oh! Oh!” she cried. “Um! Thingy! Changeling said... err...”
Sunset stared. “Sonata, use your words.”
“When you left, a changeling came in. Put a spell on the room. Told me things!”
Sunset kept quite during this explanation. She knew from long experience with Sonata that interrupting her whilst she was in an excitable mood was about as wise as poking a wet finger into an electrical socket, even if the entire story she was relating made Sunset want to cry out in alarm, or ask her why, in the nine levels of Tartarus, had she not tried to escape.
“The Roamans are bringing Princess Celestia to Equestria?” Sunset repeated. When Sonata nodded eagerly, Sunset frowned. “I’m guessing that you think we should go see her?”
“Absolutely out of the question.”
Sunset looked around with half-lidded eyes to find, to her utter lack of surprise, Script standing in the doorway looking annoyed. For a change. Behind him stood Loyal Stride, still in full armour, but back to his usual stoic-looking self. 
“Whatever madness infected your mind when you decided to show me that cavalcade of comedy horror, it stops right now before the asprin wears off.” He patted the floor. 
He even manages to do that in a condescending way Sunset thought irritably.
“Now get over here.”
“Can’t we talk about this?” Sonata asked, sounding desperate and disheartened.
“We can talk about whatever you like when you’ve gotten your cursed, hippocampus butt over here.” He tapped the floor more insistently. “Tout de-frickin-suite!”
“I get that you want to get out of here quickly,” Sunset began. “But I don’t see—“
“You’re damn right I do,” Script interrupted as they all stood around him. “This town has annoyed me, not sold me what I want, insulted my larger-than-average intelligence, and pony-napped somepony I regard as—“ Sunset blinked about to feel an unanticipated warmth of regard for Script, “—somepony I’ve met.” Which died a cold death as the frosty wind of self-reproach drove it six feet under.
“I see,” Sunset said, monotonously. “So we’re going to march out of it like a can of sardines?”
“No, we—“ He paused. “What the hell is a can of sardines?” Before Sunset could sigh and then proceed to explain, he went on: “No, we’re going out, flying thunder-god style!”
His horn ignited. Blue light flooded the room. Having been an avid Star Trek fan in the human world, Sunset had a fleeting impression of being on a Federation transporter as she felt herself being sucked, as though through a colander, into the everything of magical transition. 
Being no slouch at teleportation herself, Sunset was familiar with the sensation, like having multiple parts of her body being pushed through numerous holes in the fabric of space-time, and then being deposited somewhere else on the other side. What impressed her, when she took stock of their surroundings, was that they had all been moved at once, and how far they seemed to have travelled.
“It really annoys me how utterly competent you are,” she muttered so that Script wouldn’t hear her.
“Damn it, I missed,” Script huffed.
“Missed what?” Sonata asked.
“The abandoned cottage,” Script replied.
“That sounds like the sort of thing you should say in a spooky voice,” Sonata muttered musingly.
“Very well,” Script obliged, hunching his shoulders and making his eyes bulge as though about to have a seizure. “The abaaaandoned cottaaaaaage!” 
“What cottage?” Sunset inquired. 
Script turned around, and pointed. They were standing on a road, which had evidently seen better days. Along one side of the flattish earthen track stood a white fence turned grey on the border of seemingly endless farmland, and on the other side a rolling glade of trees with innumerable little hills and knolls like the quaint pictures of fairyland in a child’s book. Where Script was pointing, was a smallish looking white-stone dwelling. It was at least a mile away.
“Missed!?” Sunset exclaimed, looking over her shoulder and scowling at what she saw. “You barely moved us fifty feet from the town!”
Script cleared his throat as their companions looked back too, and found this to be so. “I had a headache at the time. Headaches interfere with my concentration.”
“Oh, give me a break,” Sunset scoffed in a disgruntled tone. “Come on, we’ve got a march to get started.”
Loyal Stride pursed his lips. “A mile is hardly a march,” he mumbled, as though unable to help himself.
“So anyway,” Sonata piped up. “Princess Celestia! She knows how to undo curses proper!”
“This again?” Script said disparagingly. “That was told to you by a changeling. Need I remind you of whom it was we just had to flee from?”
“Huh?” Sonata asked, confused.
“He has a point,” Sunset said grudgingly. “Nothing that I know or have since discovered about changelings leads me to think they’re the least bit trustworthy. They’ve attacked us twice in as many days.”
“Precisely,” Script said pedantically. “And on top of that, they’re naturally lascivious, mendacious, and generally have bad manners. I mean really, who ponynaps someone without a spoken announcement of intent?” He looked to Loyal Stride with a I know you get me look on his face. As usual, Loyal Stride’s face featured all of the expression of a rock sitting on a stone floor with a perfectly neutral light-source.
“But,” Sonata said with an air of desperation. “But the innkeeper was nice.”
“You get the odd weirdo in every group,” Script said blithely. Sunset narrowed her eyes at him, and then noticed that both Sonata and Loyal Stride were giving him similar looks. “That doesn’t mean that the rest of his filthy kind are decent.”
“You know, for a stallion who claims to be all indignant about the oppression of unicorns, you have a surprisingly dispassionate view of other oppressed groups.”
Script let out a sound of derision. “Oh please, it’s not like you Equestrians can talk. If anything, you’re worse than we Roamans.”
“Don’t you routinely slaughter changelings?” Sunset asked icily.
“Well, not me,” Script said quickly. “Strider’s lot do all that. National security and that sort of thing. But yes, we do. As opposed to you, who simply bar them into a savage and unsustainable wasteland where they slowly starve to death. Much more civilised.” He paused long enough to give an ironic slow-clap with his front hooves. “How noble of you to let nature take its course.”
Sunset reddened. “What do you expect us to do?” she snapped.
“Um, I don’t mean to interrupt,” Sonata put in. “But could we talk about Princess Celestia now?”
“We’re not going,” Script said sharply. “End of discussion. None of it makes any sense: The Princeps would not bring the leader of a country he was trying to conquer back to that country before said conquest was completed. If at all! Vespegasus is frankly too level-headed and practical to do something quite so brazen as that in the first place.”
“I hate to admit it, but he’s right,” Loyal Stride said thoughtfully. “Boasting and displaying one’s victories is a standard and expected part of military tradition, especially when trying to score points in the political arena. But no sane military commander would show off before winning any battles. It just makes one look a fool.”
“It makes sense,” Sunset said, thinking it over. “It would be kind of stupid to boast before you’ve actually done anything.”
“Although,” Script said slowly, as though reluctant to concede the point. “Vespegasus has kind of got something to prove, in a way.”
Sunset frowned as Script glanced at Loyal Stride. Catching the look on the latter’s face, Sunset nearly caught her breath. It was just about the coldest stare she’d ever seen. As a former student of Princess Celestia, Sunset had confidently expected that she’d seen the epitome of cold stares before now – it was hard to best the sub-zero stare of a disappointed mentor – but she had to admit Loyal Stride’s current expression was a strong contender.
Whether or not Script truly noticed this, or was ignoring it, Sunset didn’t know, but he went on. “Because of us and a few others, actually.” He nodded at Loyal Stride. “And Vespegasus’ eldest son, Trotus. My sister, a few of our colleagues—“
“Stop,” Loyal Stride interceded. The firmness in his voice was like the fall of a hammer stroke. A hammer of the godly kind. Sunset could see Script debating whether to go on or not to go on regardless.
“Fine, I’ll just sum it up like this: The thing that happened that I won’t go into, was something of a minor scandal in the imperial court. It hurt Vespegasus’ family reputation since his own son was involved.” He sketched quote marks in the air. “In truth, he was nowhere near and was completely ignorant of it, but he was present and officially in charge, and Loyal Stride here was his elected captain of the palace guard.”
“So the blame seeped upwards,” Sunset surmised. 
“Yep,” Script said. “From Strider here to Trotus, and from him, to his father. And considering the Flyvian dynasty is a new ruling family, an early tarnish – no matter how small – is kind of a big deal in the imperial court. Especially considering what Vespegasus had to do to gain power.”
“Which was what?” Sunset asked. 
“Oh, nothing really,” Script said with an air of unconcern. “Just settle a fifty-year civil war that flared up every time the previous Princeps was assassinated. Do you know how many Princeps we went through in those fifty years? Or how difficult it is not to be assassinated when ponies start a trend?”
“Fifty?” Sonata suggested.
“Well, forty seven actually,” Script muttered. “Time of the forty-seven kings, they’re calling it, I heard.”
“Funny,” Sunset commented, knowing she was wading into dangerous waters. “Forty seven kings. Dynasties. This all sounds like monarchy to me. Doesn’t sound much like a republic.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Script said scathingly. 
Sunset tried not to smile here. When in the human world, her form of employment had mirrored that of her job in Equestria: Accounting. Unlike Equestria however, she had the internet in the human world, and had spent a great deal of her professional life in front of the screen. Consequently, she frequented videos sites, forums, and social media sites like everyone else had. And nothing quite made Sunset’s day than running into some crack-pot conspiracy theorist or other person with equally inane notions of reality going into sudden-death mode, trying desperately to defend their ideas with every sort of mental-gymnastics and sophistry they could muster. The signs were right there in Script’s face.
“There is a subtle, delicate, and very important difference between a king, and a princeps. Whereas a king is solitary, and held accountable by no pony save the spirits themselves, a princeps is accountable to the senate and the people. A king rules his country by right of birth, and none may challenge that authority. A princeps is there to provide a focal point for the republic’s many territories, which cannot be ruled solely by the slow and meandering debates of the senate when a crisis is at hand, and—“
And so it went. By the actual end of Script’s fallacious speechifying, they’d reached the little cottage, and Sunset was just drinking in all of the chaos she had wrought. It honestly gave her great pleasure to see Script squirm.
“You are such a hypocrite,” she sneered at him. “You claim to want to know truth so badly, but you’re willing to lie to yourself that badly.”
Script’s face underwent an extraordinary level of emotional turmoil. Sunset could tell he was dying to retort, but he didn’t seem able to find the words he wanted to hurl back.
“Guys!” Sonata shouted, making them all jump. “Please! Can’t we discuss this?”
“We are,” Script said, shaking his head. 
“Not that government stuff!” Sonata barked, stomping a hoof. “No pony cares! I want to go find Celestia!”
“Oh do you?” Script cried back, matching her volume. He stood in front of her, glaring downwards into her hard magenta eyes. “Well I’ve got news for you: For the last time, we’re not going!”
“You don’t decide that!” Sonata snapped, glaring right back. “We haven’t even talked about it!”
“There’s nothing to talk about!” Script sneered. “It’s a stupid idea, from a stupid source. Just supposing,” he said quickly before Sonata could start. “Just suppose for a moment that it was true, and we went. Then what?”
“We find Celestia and get her to get this thing off me!” Sonata said, scowling.
Script nodded sanctimoniously, giving his slow clap again. “Wonderful plan. Masterful even. Agamemnon himself would tremble at your awe-inspiring level of strategy.”
“Shut up!” Sonata screamed. “You are the most sarcastic, mean-spirited, egotistical, selfish pony I’ve ever met! Stop treating me like an idiot and listen to what I’m saying!”
The area in front of the cottage fell utterly silent. The dim, shadowy landscape of Luna’s eternal twilight rested with a distinctly unsettling atmosphere upon the senses as soon as the silence had fallen. It was an unnatural quiet that was making the already uncomfortable argument all the more tense. Even the wind seemed to have paused at Sonata’s words.
Sunset was legitimately impressed. Dearly though she loved Sonata, Sunset was not of the opinion that she could be so insightful as that into somepony else’s character. Sonata’s power of discernment just didn’t lie in that direction. She supposed that Script’s obnoxious personality just permeated too far for even the oblivious to ignore. 
Not that Sonata was oblivious, of course, Sunset chided herself. 
Evidently Script was impressed to some degree as well. He gave Sonata a narrow look, and then drew in a long breath.
“Fine,” he said levelly. “Speak.”
Sonata glanced sideways at Sunset, and then at Loyal Stride before looking back to Script. Sunset watched her closely, feeling sympathy for her as she marshalled her thoughts. She could tell that Sonata felt very strongly about this, and so she for one was going to listen to what Sonata had to say.
“Look, I...” Sonata made an impatient noise. “I’m... I’m scared, okay?”
There was a pause. 
“I’m assuming there’s more to what you want to say than that,” Script guessed.
“I don’t remember much about the first time I got this,” Sonata said, nudging her pendant. “I don’t know what I did back then, who I hurt or what I ruined. But this time...” she swallowed. “This time, I’ve done horrible things. I’ve hurt ponies. And I didn’t want to do any of it! It all just sort of happened. I’m not saying that it’s not my fault or anything, I’m just saying that I didn’t plan to do any of it. Turning big, or letting out that fear tune—“
“I think we all get the point,” Script said, not unkindly. “You’re afraid of what you’re going to do in the future. You’re afraid of how much the curse is beginning to influence you, what it might make you do as it grows stronger.”
“Yes!” Sonata cried, evidently pleased that Script had cottoned on.
“Sonata...” Sunset said quietly, wanting to say something comforting. Script beat her to it.
“This is why you should have let me kill you,” he said wistfully, shaking his head as though a wonderful opportunity had passed them by.
“You seem to forget,” Sunset said with a bite of anger in her voice. “There’s no cloud-ships out here with their anti-magic machines.”
“You’re point?” Script asked, superbly unconcerned with her aggressive tone.
“My point being that if you don’t want to find out what it feels like to have three separate teleportation spells sending you three different places at once, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”
Script raised his eyebrows. “That’s inventive,” he said, as though genuinely impressed.
“You’re not listening to me!” Sonata spat. “Any of you! This thing is getting stronger, and I can’t stop it. It hits me when I’m scared or desperate, and—and it’s never gonna stop!” Perhaps out of habit, or a desperation for the one individual whom she believed would listen to her, Sonata looked directly into Sunset’s eyes. “Princess Celestia knows how to stop it. Please. We have to go.”
Sunset held Sonata’s gaze, but her certainty was far less steady. The intellectual in her could see the entire scenario riddled with holes like the wall of a New York policeman’s house after busting a mob boss. Sonata’s entire case rested on hearsay from a source that only she had contacted, and was even in the best circumstances unreliable. There was no evidence whatsoever to support the claim that Princess Celestia knew anything, or that she was going to be where the changeling had said she would be.
“Before I came to the Land of Friendship,” Loyal Stride said slowly. “There was a missive from Roam about the Princeps coming to Magna Badtis.”
“Oh wonderful, the invasion commences,” Script said, clapping a hoof to his forehead.
“With an entourage,” Loyal Stride added.
“The army,” Script surmised. “You two might want to practise bending your legs,” he said to Sunset and Sonata. “You’ll need practise kneeling and grovelling.”
“It didn’t specify army,” Loyal Stride said sharply. “Entourage could mean—“
“Oh don’t tell me you’re throwing in with serpent-lips here,” Script snapped irritably. 
“It’d be too dangerous to go to the army camp,” Loyal Stride added solemnly. “No matter how desperate the situation, none of you three can go there, and I’m not entirely sure that I can anymore. Even if Princess Celestia is there, it’s a moot point.”
Sonata looked utterly crestfallen at this, but quickly looked to Sunset for support. Sunset honestly, desperately wanted to give it. It pained her more than most anything to see Sonata so full of a hope that she would have to crush. But it had to be done; she couldn’t approve of such an excursion as the one Sonata was proposing. The idea was lunacy.
“I’m sorry, Sonata,” she said quietly.
Sunset couldn’t bear to look at her. The first moment or two of seeing the pain build in those deep magenta eyes had driven Sunset’s gaze away. It was cowardly, Sunset knew, but she couldn’t help it. Sonata made no noise; she didn’t cry, or even try to argue. There was just silence again, until Script cleared his throat.
“Well,” he began, unusually tentative. “That’s that decided then. We’ll sleep on the bottom floor, you two take the bedroom.”





Having never had a serious disagreement with Sonata before, Sunset felt herself on extremely uncertain ground. Sonata’s buoyant personality and general inability to let the world dictate her happiness to her usually meant that any and all disagreements were resolved through an amiable level of diplomacy, either she or Sunset making concessions out of a general guilt at coming out ahead of the other.
But this was far different than choosing what kind of wallpaper to have in the hallway, or deciding what to have for dinner that week. Sunset could tell that Sonata was nothing short of terrified of what her pendant could, and seemed set upon doing. It was understandable that she’d react to the promise of help, but Sunset couldn’t count herself as looking out for Sonata’s best interests if she let her go off on some fool-hardy quest based on what was essentially gossip.
“Sonata, if Princess Celestia knows a cure, then I’m sure Princess Luna does as well,” Sunset said, trying to be consoling.
“Luna was stuck in the moon for a thousand years,” Sonata grumbled thickly. “She probably doesn’t even know how to dress properly.”
“Sonata, don’t be rude about Princess Luna,” Sunset said reprovingly. “And that’s ridiculous anyway. Most ponies don’t even wear clothes.”
Sonata didn’t reply, but stared out of the window. The room they were in was large, taking up the entirety of the second floor but for the bathroom; Sunset felt sure that at some point in its life, it had been crammed full of furniture and superfluous objects to make up for its inherent emptiness. The floor was interlaced with lines of dust, some areas thicker, other areas lighter. For now, it contained nothing but an old and musty smelling bed, a broken wardrobe, and an old laundry basket, which seemed to have been used at some point as a makeshift waste-paper bin.
“Sonata, I’m sorry that we couldn’t agree on this, but I think it’s for the best if we—“
“Of course you do,” Sonata snorted. “It’s all just for the best.” Whether consciously or not, she touched the pendant at her neck, still refusing to look around at Sunset.
Sunset regarded Sonata unhappily for a few moments, trying to suppress the sudden dryness in her throat. 
“We’ve never really had a fight before, have we?” she asked, her voice a little hoarse. “We always got along so well on most everything.”
Sonata lowered her head a little. “Why couldn’t you just support me in this?”
“I am supporting you,” Sunset said earnestly, putting a hoof on her shoulder. She took it as a good sign that Sonata didn’t shake it off. “Please believe me, I do support you, it’s just that this... this just feels wrong. Princess Celestia being brought to Equestria again, just when we appear, when she’s been captive in Roam for half a century? Doesn’t that sound odd to you?” When Sonata didn’t say anything, she went on. “Look, it’s not just Princess Luna. Twilight will help us, I’m sure of it; if anypony can find a solution to any problem, she can. She’s read just about every book ever written.”
“But what if this problem isn’t in a book?” Sonata demanded. “You heard Script. Curses can’t be broken. Even your friendship rainbow-thing only made it go dormant.”
“We’ll worry about that when we come to it,” Sunset said firmly.
“How can you say that?” Sonata sobbed, her eyes welling with tears. “I couldn’t live with myself if I did something to you! We’ve been lucky so far, but that’s all it’s been! Luck!”
“I don’t believe that,” Sunset stated. “I don’t believe that in the least. Every time your powers have awoken, you’ve never hurt me with them. You mean to tell me you accidentally spat me back up after swallowing me on that cliff?”
Sonata’s shaking lips pressed together. “Well, no. But—“
“And when you showed Loyal Stride what your singing could do,” Sunset interrupted. “Did that song affect me?”
“No, but I didn’t target Script either, and I—“
“And when you disoriented all those changelings—“ Sunset began.
“That was only because you were in the slime!” Sonata cried. “If you hadn’t been—“
“You just stunned them,” Sunset finished loudly, drowning Sonata out. She put her hooves on Sonata’s shoulders. “You could have destroyed those changelings. You could have done any number of horrible things to them. By what you told me, you didn’t even think about it. Doesn’t that tell you what kind of person you really are?”
“I made them see—“
“Things they fear,” Sunset agreed. “In a moment of unconscious panic, you chose to stun them. Are you saying you couldn’t have done something worse? A lot worse? Even if you turn right back into what you were before we met,” she said quickly, pre-empting Sonata’s next objection, “then what? You think I could love you any less? You’re a good person who wouldn’t hurt anypony on purpose, and that’s all that matters to me.”
Sonata stared at Sunset, her eyes wobbling in their sockets. It seemed to Sunset for a moment that Sonata was going to say something. Then her eyes filled with tears so fast that Sunset nearly jumped. In what Sunset could only describe as a blur of movement, Sonata’s face was suddenly much closer, her forelegs suddenly wrapping themselves around Sunset’s neck. 
“Mmph!” Sunset exclaimed as her back hit the bed, Sonata’s pleasant weight holding her down. More surprised by the suddenness and timing than the action itself, Sunset made no move to oppose Sonata as the latter kissed her passionately. When Sonata broke the kiss and started on her neck however, and a deep rumble began in Sunset’s body, she felt the need to say something.
“S-Sonata...” 
She made to say something else, but in the crucial moments where she needed to think of something to say, she felt Sonata’s grip on her tighten a crucial fraction, and... and several droplets of something hit the sensitive area of her neck. She let out a soft breath, and then craned her neck to peer quickly out of the window. To her relief she saw both Script and Loyal Stride in the little cleared area beyond the road, apparently talking or something. As long as they were out of the house...
Sunset had to admit that it felt kind of weird with her pony anatomy. She’d never had much inclination in her past life for this kind of intimacy. It had been something she’d learned about amongst a thousand things, and one of the less important things that in her view couldn’t get her power.
Dear Celestia, imagine what I might have done in college... she thought, as she returned Sonata’s kisses.



- To be Continued
	
> The Renowned Home of the Phenomenal, the Extraordinary, the Amazing- [Out of Space]
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sunset Shimmer


For somepony who had gone to sleep in another pony’s abandoned house, Sunset felt surprisingly well rested the next morning. 
Then again... she thought with a bleary smile. She looked to the other side of the bed, and was somewhat disappointed to find that Sonata wasn’t lying next to her. 
Not like her to get up early. Giving a mental shrug, she slumped out of the bed and yawned, wondering where the bathroom was, and whether or not it still worked. Her mind wondering vaguely to last night, she recounted with a guilty sort of pleasure her first complete sexual experience. Thinking on it retroactively, she honestly found it a little strange that her first time had been as a pony, even though she’d been born one. She’d met, known, grown to love, and lived with Sonata as a human, and so one of the big strides of their relationship being done whilst not a human did kind of protrude itself out of the overall context.
But not for long. Apart from the crying, the anatomy, and the residual smell of changeling slime, it had been everything Sunset had imagined it would be, and nothing could ruin her buoyant morning mood.
“Aah!” she yelped as she opened the door. The door thudded against something hard and annoying. The thing grunted and jumped, blinking rapidly and looking around.
“I swear, I only had a few!” Script gabbled. Then his eye caught Sunset. “Oh, it’s you,” he said dismissively. “What are you doing down here?”
“Up here,” Sunset corrected.
“What?” Script looked around, taking in his surroundings for the first time. “Mmm...” he said, disconcerted. “Why don’t I remember coming up here?”
“Were you spying on us?” Sunset asked indignantly, the thought just occurring to her.
Script raised an eyebrow. “Spying? Why? What were you doing?”
Sunset blushed. “N-Never mind. If you didn’t see—“
“Ooh,” Script said, nodding. “You were engaging in relations. Very good. That’s sure to cheer her up. You noticed that your significant other was feeling upset and took appropriate action. It’s good to see some practicality around here, since you Equestrians tend to be a very feelies sort of ponies.”
“Oh dear Celestia,” Sunset muttered, turning geranium red.
Script frowned. “What? It’s perfectly natural for couples to engage in coitus, isn’t it?”
“We’re not talking about this,” Sunset said, pushing passed him. 
“Why ever not?” Script asked, evidently puzzled. “There’s bathhouses in some of the major cities in the northern territories where ponies can go to—“
“Seriously!” Sunset called over her shoulder. “Not talking about this!”





“I don’t know why you’re acting so squeamish about it,” Script continued in a slightly put-out voice, following Sunset into the kitchen. “Why, I believe I remember a bathhouse that doubled as a temple to the spirit of intimacy and female love. Well renowned for the wall art.”
“Will you please stop,” Sunset groaned, putting her head on the table. “I seriously, honestly, desperately don’t want to talk about this.”
“Oh, suit yourself,” Script sighed, shaking his head. “I really don’t see what the big deal is. It’s not like I was going to ask for specifics or anything.”
“Specifics about what?” Sonata asked, trotting into the room with a pile of plates.
“About your late-night activities,” Script said without any hesitation. “Congratulations, by the way.”
Sonata, who’d been about to set the small pile of plates on the table seemed to lose control of her jaw. Biting hard into the bottom-most plate, the thing cracked and sent the rest crashing to the floor.
“Huh!?” she said, blinking rapidly.
“Ignore him!” Sunset snarled, staring at Script.
“By Sunset’s reticence in talking about it, I’m assuming that it was your first time. I hope that it was memorable. Although,” he continued, not noticing Sonata’s colour rising to match Sunset’s. “I don’t suppose you could explain exactly why she’s being so prudish about it. It’s a perfectly natural thing.”
“What’s going on in here?” 
Just to add further to Sunset’s discomfort, Loyal Stride clanked in, for some reason wearing his armour and carrying another small pile of plates.
“How did that happen?” he inquired gravely, setting his own plates down and running one eye over the shattered pile on the floor.
“Sunset and Sonata engaged in sexual relations last night,” Script said conversationally.
“I will murder you!” Sunset hissed.
“And what’s that got to do with broken plates?” Loyal Stride asked, evidently unenlightened as he ignored Sunset’s death-glare at Script.
“For some reason, they appear to be feeling embarrassed about it, which leads me to think that perhaps it wasn’t all they wanted it to be,” Script continued speculatively. “What’s for breakfast, by the way?”
Loyal Stride blinked and raised his eyebrows. “Hm,” he said succinctly. “Perhaps it’s just a cultural difference.”
“Why are we still talking about this?” Sunset demanded whilst Sonata rattled through a number of facial expressions, trying and failing to find one appropriate to the situation. “Correction. Why are you two talking about it? It’s nothing to do with either of you.”
“No,” Loyal Stride agreed. “Don’t take the wrong meaning, it’s not as though ponies in Roam routinely boast about their sex lives.”
“Outside of the bar, the home, the workplace, their paramour’s apartment, at least,” Script added casually.
“It’s just not something we’re uncomfortable with talking about if the subject arises,” Loyal Stride finished, ignoring Script’s part of the conversation. “Practically speaking, it doesn’t make much sense to be private about something everypony knows that you’re doing.”
“Thank you,” Sunset said through gritted teeth. “I’ll be sure to think long and hard about that particular philosophical point. For the moment though, can we just move on?”
“Well,” Loyal Stride said, rummaging through a wooden crate. “We didn’t find much. There were a few apple trees around.”
“And berry bushes,” Sonata added, her tone suggesting that she was eager to carry on changing the subject.
“Apple trees,” Script grumbled. “You know, when I was living in my hole, I didn’t have to forage for food like this.”
“You still are living in your hole, Script,” Loyal Stride said softly.
“I missed you this morning,” Sunset said to Sonata as she sat down opposite her. “It’s not like you to get up so early.”
“Yeah...” Sonata said distractedly. “I woke up and just couldn’t get back to sleep, so I went for a walk.”
“Did you pass Script on the way out?” Sunset asked with a snicker.
“What?” Sonata asked, as though coming out of a reverie.
Sunset explained briefly about finding Script lying outside of their door. Sunset laughed lightly, expecting Sonata to find the humour in it as well. To her slight surprise, Sonata did not laugh, but stared at the table as though something was bothering her.
“Is something wrong?” Sunset asked tentatively. 
“Huh?” Sonata said suddenly.
“You seem really distracted this morning.”
“N-No, I—“ Sonata stopped herself. She swallowed, and then glanced a few times up at Sunset. “I just... I feel like I pushed you.”
Sunset narrowed one eye. “Pushed me?” she asked slowly.
“Last night, I mean. I was... I didn’t think about if you wanted to—“
“Oh!” Sunset exclaimed, realising what Sonata was getting at. “Don’t think of it that way. You didn’t force me into anything.”
“It’s just that I was... you know, upset and everything, and I kinda felt like maybe I made you do something you didn’t entirely want to do.”
Sunset actually snorted here, which seemed to take Sonata off-guard. “Trust me, Sonata. I don’t regret anything of last night. You didn’t make me do anything that I didn’t want to.” She put a hoof over Sonata’s, hoping this would cheer her up. To Sunset’s slight dismay and confusion, Sonata didn’t seem too well consoled.
“I just didn’t want the first one to be like that,” Sonata said, almost as though to herself.
“That was your first time?” Script interrupted, breaking off his own argument with Loyal Stride. “What? You’re talking about it openly at the breakfast table. Which is kind of rude, by the way.”
“This coming from the stallion caught spying?” Sunset asked, giving Script a cold stare.
“I was not spying! I don’t even remember going up stairs. For all I know, Strider dumped me there because he can’t stand being near me.”
“Do you snore?” Sonata asked.
“Yes, he does,” Loyal Stride replied.
“Didn’t you pass him on your way out of the bedroom?” Sunset asked Sonata.
Sonata took a bite of the apple that Loyal Stride had set before her, and chewed it up before answering.
“No,” she replied, examining the bite-mark she’d made in the fruit’s gleaming surface. “But I got up pretty early. He probably came up after me.”
“Didn’t you sleep with Loyal Stride?” Sunset asked. “In the same room, I mean.”
“I... don’t remember,” Script said, scowling. 
“Come to think of it, I don’t recall either,” Loyal Stride said, slowly. “I know we talked, but after getting back inside, I don’t remember much of anything. I think I was quite tired at the time though.”
“Fighting off thirty changelings didn’t look easy,” Sonata said, a little forced humour in her voice. “Maybe Script just sleep-walked upstairs.”
“I guess that’s possible,” Sunset said sceptically. “Although it’s also possible he’s just a pervert.”
Script shrugged. “I don’t sleepwalk, do I?” he asked Loyal Stride.
“Script, I honestly don’t know half of what it is that you do.”
“So on to the question of the day,” Script said in a business-like tone. “How to get to the camp. Tricky, tricky problem.”
“Is that meant to be funny?” Loyal Stride asked. His brow furrowed slightly, and his tone veered a little away from its usual solemnity; all the signs of his being utterly incredulous.
“It’ll be troublesome,” Script conceded hastily. “You know, given that we’re a deserter, two foreigners, and a dead-colt, but still—“ 
“So how do we do it?” Sunset interrupted, wanting to get to the point before Script could go off on some witty tangent. 
Script blew out a long breath, rather as though the question of how to break into a military camp of the most powerful professional army on the planet, was akin to deciding between two flavours of cake. 
“To be honest, I’d feel better deciding that once we’ve had a look at the camp. If it’s the same as when I left, I’m pretty sure Strider and I could come up with something.”
“Couldn’t Loyal Stride just take us in?” Sunset suggested. “Pretend we were prisoners or something?”
Script spewed the glass of water he’d just lifted to his mouth. “What a preposterous notion!” he cried. “Do you think the Roaman military is a joke? They wouldn’t fall for some half-brained, newspaper comic prank like that in a million years!”
Sunset tried to limit the scope of her blush as she drew in a calming breath. “You know what I like about you, Script?” she asked through gritted teeth. “Your understanding an encouragement.”
“Ha! Nice,” Script approved.
“There’s got to be something we can do,” Sonata said, a little desperately.
“Naturally there is,” Script said magnanimously. “But it’ll need planning. Meticulous, well-thought-out, flexible, organic planning of the sort favoured by crime-novelists of the early expansion era.”
“Huh?” was the only response after a fairly lengthy pause. Sunset had to admit that Sonata even managed to make cluelessness utterly adorable. To her loathing, Script smiled as though he’d planned for the question.
“I’ve had a lot of time for reading,” he said smugly. “Anyway, I think the first thing to do is to scout out the situation. We can stay in one of the border towns for a week or so. We can’t take too long though if there really is an invasion coming.”
“I reluctantly agree,” Loyal Stride said, swallowing a small cluster of blackberries.
“Why reluctantly?” Sunset asked. “Don’t you think it’s a good idea?”
“Oh, he does,” Script answered first. “He just doesn’t like that I said it.”
Loyal Stride didn’t deign to respond.
“Well anyway,” Sunset said quickly, spotting a potential argument arising. “Any idea where we should go?”
For an answer, Script raised his horn. A faint blue aura hummed like a nightlight from its tip. “Not there...” Script muttered. “No... no, no...” With a brief sound of satisfaction, the light suddenly flared, and down onto the table floated a perfectly square piece of high-quality paper. Four pins popped into existence above and fell simultaneously to impale the paper at its corners to the table. Script jabbed the paper. 
“I suggest we start somewhere here,” he said.
Everypony leaned in, and Sunset almost instantly became lost. The paper was evidently some kind of map, but its utter lack of any colour, interlacing series of complex squiggles and lines, and the fact that everything was detailed with what looked like serial numbers rather than names, made the entire thing utterly incomprehensible. At the top, however, underlined and written very neatly in Times New Roaman, were the words 

Magna Badtis – Southern Equestria – The Nightlands

“Where did you get this?” Loyal Stride asked, a dangerous inflection to his voice.
“It’s a copy of a map I borrowed back at the camp,” Script said. “I put it back, I just needed to make myself one. That was allowed, you know.”
“How can you tell what anything is?” Sonata asked, looking at the map in the same way a D-average high school student might look at their trigonometry exam after three hours sleep, a coffee-less breakfast, and a stern warning from their parents that failing any of their classes would result in their phone being confiscated. 
“Oh, it’s really rather simple when you understand the theory behind it,” Script said breezily. “See here, that slightly thicker squiggly line between the white and grey? That’s a coastline.”
“And I’m guessing the faint grid is meant to be a measurement of distance,” Sunset pointed out, noticing a lacework of squares overlaid atop the veinings of incomprehensible lines.
“Precisely.”
“So why are there no names on this thing?” Sonata asked.
“Well, because it’s a military map,” Script said, exasperatedly. “If this fell into enemy hands—“
At this point, Loyal Stride let out a faint cough.
“—we don’t want them to be able to gleam any information from it. Troop positions, encampments, points of interest and all that sort of thing.”
“So which part of this is the Roaman side?” Sunset asked.
Script drew his hoof around a more sparsely detailed area that had several clusters of symbols and lines dotted around the lower part of the map. 
“This is Magna Badtis, the area of the Badlands occupied by Roam.”
“It doesn’t look like much,” Sunset said, her lip curling slightly. “That’s all you guys did in over fifty years?”
Loyal Stride rumbled into speech. “Magna Badtis is a mining settlement. It’s not really a viable spot for colonisation, as there’s so little space for farmland.”
“It barely supports the legion, and last I heard its mineral deposits were running out,” Script added. “What? Oh, you think these two are going to use that information to destabilise the mining operation?” Script sneered at Loyal Stride as the latter gave him a sharp look. “Nothing we say to these two is going to affect Roam’s position.”
Loyal Stride didn’t say anything, but stood looking huffily disapproving. 
“I’m guessing that this is the mining settlement,” Sunset said, pointing at a cluster of small square symbols.
Script actually looked mildly impressed. “Yes. And this is the military encampment. Practically a small town,” he went on, indicating an orderly rectangle diagonally facing a pair of ridges that led to a dotted line. “It guards the border mostly, but its real objective is to protect the local industry.”
“Where do you think we should go first?”
Script raised his hoof, keeping it raised a little longer than he strictly needed to, and brought it down dramatically onto a point just above the dotted line.
“Epsilon Dash Twenty Three,” he said. “Otherwise known locally as Appleoosa.”
Sunset blinked. “Never heard of it.”
“Large farming community,” Script explained. “I’ve never been there, but they apparently have a wonderful road system because of some local story to do with buffalo I think. But anyway, if we can just get here—“
Sunset listened to Script describing his plan, but at the same time couldn’t help but notice Sonata’s distracted expression. She desperately wanted to comfort her marefriend right then; she couldn’t understand why Sonata was feeling so guilty about the previous night. Surely Sunset’s own... well, reaction, should have told Sonata that she had hardly been against it. But guilt didn’t work that way, of course. For now all she could do was put her hoof on Sonata’s, let her know that she was there for her.
“Well, we’re not taking the train,” Loyal Stride said, bringing Sunset back to reality. 
“What?”
“Perhaps not,” Script said thoughtfully. “It would be the most expedient way there. But perhaps it’s not the safest since we have somepony watching us.”
“It was the changeling who told us that,” Sonata reminded them. “How come you believe her about that?”
“Because even if she’s lying, she was still watching us. So that’s still somepony.”
Sonata pursed her lips. “Oh. Yeah.”
“So what do we do?” Sunset asked. “Walk? If so, we’ll have to go around Gauzeville.”
“I think I have an idea,” Script said after a short pause, forcing the words through his teeth. “Let it be known that I’d rather not though.”
“We’re doing that then, whatever it is,” Sunset said promptly.
“Oh, you are just delightful,” Script said with a metallic smile. “Actually,” he said, as though a thought were just occurring to him. “I have something I think we should talk about. Just you and I.”
Sunset blinked as Script stood from the table, and then looked at Loyal Stride and Sonata. Loyal Stride was frowning curiously at Script, and Sonata looked just as surprised as Sunset felt. As neither of them seemed to have any idea what was going on or what she should do, she stood from the table and walked outside. 
She found Script admiring a tree dividing the fence across the road from the cottage. The tree was enormous, both in height and girth, dark and brooding with its wide canopy of deep green leaves high above. 
“Have you heard of the Grand Oak of Last Light?” Script asked in a speculative tone.
Sunset paused behind him, following his train of sight upwards. “Um... I can’t say that I have.”
“No,” he conceded. “I don’t suppose you would have, would you.” He turned away from the tree, a preoccupied air defining his features. “Maybe we will one day, if we ever reach Last Light.”
“It’ll be good to see Twilight again,” Sunset agreed. “But getting to see Princess Celestia is important too. More important, arguably.”
Script seemed to consider this. He drew in a sharp breath and exhaled. “Yes, I suppose it is. And so therefore, I’ve decided to let you in on a little secret of mine.”
Sunset narrowed her eyes but didn’t say anything. This struck her as being somewhat of an ominous pronouncement. Especially coming from him.
“In exchange for what?” she asked slowly.
Script put a hoof to his heart and put on a pained grimace. “You wound me,” he said morosely. “What I gain will be you actually being able to do something in a succendum field. If we’re going to the camp, I’d really rather not have to use magic whilst there, but if we do, I don’t want to be caught having to protect you or the others on my own.”
Sunset opened her mouth slightly. She knew what he was getting at, or at least thought that she did. It was actually a question that she’d wanted to raise quite a few times herself, but had been put off doing so by the fact that it was Script she had to ask it of. The idea of asking him for anything just kept putting a bad taste in her mouth.
Despite his brash tone and generally distasteful personality however, she recognised that – here at least – he was doing her a favour of a sort. She had to appreciate that.
“Are you going to tell me how you can still perform magic when that field is on?”
“You phrased that wrong, but in short, yes. I’m going to teach you my technique. Brace yourself, because you’re not going to believe anything of what I’m about to tell you.”
Sunset couldn’t help smiling a little. “Oh go on, try me.”
Script smiled back in rivalry of Sunset’s smile. “You mustn’t tell anypony else about this, at least not until the period of our collaboration is over. If those I think are behind all of this are watching, I don’t want them to be able to counter this.”
“Behind what?” Sunset asked, frowning. “It occurs to me, you know, that I don’t actually know what you motivation is in all of this.”
“Never mind that. Now listen closely,” he said fixing Sunset with his sharp green eyes. In the eternal twilight of Luna’s dominion, an eerie shade of purple streaked across the green, putting Sunset in mind of the sinister kinds of dark magic that her parents had described in her foalhood stories.
“I learned how to do what I can do by studying across both of our cultures, combining lore and piecing together clues from a hundred different stories. Give or take,” he added swiftly. “There is an explicit connection in the conspiracy trying to bring down both your country and mine, and I’m beginning to have real, tangible proof to back it up at last!”
“Okay,” Sunset said cautiously, noticing the manic glint growing in Script’s eye. Perhaps he realised this, because he flushed slightly and cleared his throat.
“Yes, well, one line of evidence to my theory is precisely this, the fact that I can perform this magic based on studying these histories. And what’s even more interesting is that – in Equestria for certain – the information has almost certainly been intentionally suppressed.”
Sunset scowled in confusion and gave her head a little shake. “What? The information of how to resist an anti-magic field has been lying in an anthology of old histories and has been intentionally hidden by entities unknown?” She pursed her lips and gave him a Are you sure you didn’t just imagine all of this? sort of look.
“No,” Script said, the glint reappearing in his eye as his moustache quivered. “That’s simply an unintended side-effect. What’s been suppressed is what the technique actually is, and why it has been suppressed. And I know full well who is suppressing it.”
“Well, what is it?” Sunset asked, becoming slightly impatient with Script’s dramatising. 
Script let the question hang for a moment or two, and then in a slow, clear voice, he said “The secret of how to become an alicorn.”
A very pregnant pause followed this pronouncement. 
“And for a second there,” Sunset said coldly. “I thought you were serious.”
“What kind of reaction is that?” Script asked indignantly. “It’s the secret to the ultimate power trip!”
“What, do you have some snake oil and a bridge to sell me too?”
Script shivered. “Given who we have to contact for help today, I’m going to have to ask you not to make jokes like that.”
“There is no secret to how to become an alicorn, it has to be earned through an act of destiny.”
Script nodded, as though he knew that already. “Yes, yes, but what is it that you actually have to do?”
Sunset frowned. “No pony knows,” she answered. “It’s destiny. It either happens, or—“
“No, no, you’re quite wrong there.” Script waved a hoof dismissively, his face a mask of lazy impatience. “Somepony in this land of yours knows all-too-well what the procedure is, and has hidden it from you all out of quite understandable fear for the good of the populace.”
Sunset thought about this. “Well, it would be problematic having tons of alicorns flying around. They all imbibe a powerful natural force.”
“Nice guess, but that’s not why it’s a secret.” 
Sunset felt an unaccountable sort of fear sweeping over her scalp and down her back. The look on Script’s face was beyond excitement, it was creeping on to be an almost obscene hunger, as though the very thought of what he was about to say was awakening darker parts of his imagination.
“I discovered the means by which a normal unicorn could tap into alicorn magic. Pure, undiluted, unaligned alicorn magic.”
“Insane,” Sunset snapped, almost instinctively. “It’s impossible. Alicorn magic is a perfect blending of unicorn, pegasus, and earth pony magic, inherent strictly to the individual species. A unicorn can’t walk on clouds, or have the kind of harmonious connection to nature that earth ponies do. Not naturally.”
“Firstly!” Script objected, his voice several pitches higher than usual. “Both of those statements are wrong. Secondly, you’re missing what would usually be the actual problem.”
“The fact that even if a unicorn did have access to those magical affinities, they still couldn’t blend them into alicorn magic,” Sunset said quickly. “Yes, I know. That’s the impossible part. One would have to have the affinity itself, and a means of attaining that is completely unknown except for alicorn transformation or birth.”
Script paused. “A trifle too succinct,” he said, his beard in the air. “But correct in essentials. Yes, that is the supposedly impossible part. But, as I have already said, I have learned how to harness it. And before you say ’impossible’ again, you philistine,” he said, cutting off Sunset before she could open her mouth. “It’s not. You’ve seen me do it.”
“I’ve seen you do some kind of magic,” Sunset admitted dismissively. “Admittedly powerful magic, which can be done in an anti-magic field. But alicorn magic?” She made a small sound of disbelief. “You’d have better luck selling me the bridge.”
Script gave her a heavy-lidded look, his features conforming into a perfect Oh really? Without another word, he raised his horn again. In the purplish haze of the reduced sunlight appeared a scroll, bound by a thin red cord. It descended majestically in the twinkling blue aura of Script’s magical aura.
“I have here,” he began, “the key to alicorn magic. An ancient scroll detailing precisely how to—“ he stopped as the scroll opened, something on it appearing to catch his eye. “Oh, wait, my mistake,” he said, turning the scroll to Sunset.
Sunset briefly saw a dramatic woodcut of a bridge, over which was an underlined title.

Deed of Ownership

“Hah!” Sunset said loudly and flatly. “That’s actually pretty sad, you know.”
“Worth it though,” Script snickered. “No, no the secret to alicorn magic was a lot more complicated and red-thread-on-interlocking-newspaper-cuttings than that.”
“How is that a thing?” Sunset blurted.
“But the main piece of evidence, and which will likely get you to believe me, is right here.”
Once again, with a dramatic flourish, Script raised his horn. Instead of some mystical tome appearing in a flash of light, Script’s horn glowed blue, but nothing seemed to happen. Sunset looked around for some sign of magical activity, but nothing occurred except that Script’s calm expression was turning slightly pained. He frowned, and then grimaced. He grunted with apparent effort.
“Um... are you—“
“Fine,” Script said between his teeth, glaring at the cottage. 
“No, really, you look—“
“MMM!” Script growled. 
Sunset was spared replying to this by the sound of a loud bang from behind her. Turning around, she found that the cottage door was... moving. It bulged, juddered, shook, and then burst open. Through it came Loyal Stride, sliding along the ground with a faint twinkling glow around his side saddlebag. He didn’t struggle against the pull, but stood perfectly still, his hooves dragging the ground. Sunset watched this with a spasm of irritation pulsing in her temple.
“Oh for the love of Luna’s ripe, round moon!” she cried, flaring her horn to undo the clasp of the saddlebag. Out flew a single, thick tome, only about half the size of Sunset’s sudden bad mood. 
“Thank you, Sunset,” Script said, ostentatiously giving Loyal Stride the evil eye.
Loyal Stride raised his eyes skywards and walked back to the house.
“Can’t you guys just come to some kind of agreement?” Sunset demanded. “Seriously. That was just foalish.”
“We have, remember? He keeps my books, and doesn’t try to drag me back to—“ he stopped and looked suddenly as he’d had an epiphany. “We’re going back anyway. We’re doing what he wants. He can give me my books back!”
“Focus,” Sunset said sharply.
“Well I’ve tried talking to him!” Script replied, disgruntled. “He doesn’t believe me still, despite everything that’s happened.” He sighed, suddenly sounding tired. “Anyway, back on topic.”
He held up the book. Sunset glanced over the title written on the spine.


Magicke oft the Krystalle Author Unknown. Reprinted 2:872 Celestial


“I’ve read this before,” Sunset said, levitating the weighty tome from Script’s aura and flicking it delicately open. She read a few lines of page seven, which began a chapter called ‘Nature of Glass’. “It’s a collection of essays about the magic inherent to the crystal ponies, isn’t it?”
“The main work is essays, yes,” Script agreed, suddenly serious. “A great deal of rationalising and what can be generously called idle speculation in truth by ponies who knew nothing about the Crystal Empire because it didn’t exist during that time. The real substance however is here.” He shuffled the old pages to the back, where the pages changed from old and yellow, to old, cracked, brown, and varied. It was as though someone had taken pages lots of other books, and stuck them all together into one volume.
“Original source material,” Sunset said, impressed. 
“Indeed,” Script said with satisfaction. “About the only thing the authors did right. And take a look here.” He stopped at a page of faded yellow papyrus, and looked expectantly between it and Sunset’s face. 
Sunset however was utterly nonplussed. She looked carefully over the page, but didn’t see anything that jumped out at her. Frankly it was an unhelpful looking page of small script jammed next to a complex two-dimensional looking image of what might have been a crystal. Or a horn. Or maybe just a triangle. It was hard to tell.
“Oh come on, don’t disappoint me now,” Script said, grinning.
Sunset squinted at the page, and then gasped as she noticed what it was Script was hoping she’d see. The writing itself, not what it said, was what was astonishing. Sunset couldn’t read it, but she’d seen it—
“These are the letters that appear around your magical aura,” she said wonderingly. 
“In one!” Script cackled, striking the ground. “Exactly. This is the key!”
“Okay,” Sunset said, feeling that maybe Script wasn’t quite so crazy as she’d suspected. “How?”
“Well, from a standing start, it’d take months of research and planning, but don’t concern yourself about that. I already did the leg work. All I have to do is teach you the result, and that, I’m afraid...“ A brief flash of light, and a small booklet-sized sheaf of papers appeared in the air, bound with string. “There’s some required reading.”





“On the bright side,” Sonata said, trying to cheer Sunset up. “It doesn’t look like a long book.”
“It’s hardly a book,” Sunset mumbled, trying to decipher Script’s scribbling. “It’s just a collection of finalised notes. Orderly though it is, Script’s writing is just awful.”
Sonata leaned in and glanced over the chicken-scratch on the page. “And no pictures either,” she said empathetically. 
“If this was a real book, it’d be much thicker, maybe even a few volumes. This is just the how, it doesn’t give much in the way of explaining exactly what it is outside of the bare essentials. Somepony could make a career off of this subject alone.”
“I expect you to read that carefully, apprentice,” Script called from behind.
“Try again,” Sunset called back.
“Student?”
“No.”
“Minion?”
“Sonata,” Sunset said, suddenly addressing her marefriend. “How much sting do you think this booklet would inflict if it struck Script’s nose?” Sunset looked sideways. “Sonata?”
“Huh?”
“Are you spacing out on me again?” Sunset grinned. “I don’t like you looking so serious. It means bad things are happening. Granted bad things are happening, but...” She let her smile fade. “Oh come on, you’re not still on about last night are you?”
“It’s not that,” Sonata said, watching the dirt path ahead of them. “It’s just... I’m having second thoughts about going to see Princess Celestia.”
Sunset cocked an eyebrow. “It was your idea, if you remember.”
“I know it was,” Sonata said quickly. “But you guys were so against it at first.”
“True. It’ll be dangerous. They know that better than we do.” Sunset jerked her head back at Script and Loyal Stride, who were following at a distance and having a serious-sounding conversation. Or possibly an argument. 
“We decided to go through with it, and so we’ll just have to see what happens. Besides,” Sunset continued with an airy wave. “If things look too bad in Appleoosa, we’ll figure out something else. Equestria is a powerfully magical nation with a rich tradition of thaumaturgic lore. We’ll find something to break that rock off you and then we can go home.”
Sonata seemed to consider this for a moment. “I don’t see how, if so much time has passed. We could help Twilight,” she said tentatively. “That is what we came here for.”
Sunset sighed unhappily, the point about time hitting her harder than she’d like to think. “To be honest, Sonata, I’m starting to think that maybe things have gone beyond our help. Fighting off powerful beings trying to conquer Equestria is one thing. But an organised military force?” She shook her head. “That’s not the kind of thing that you can shoot rainbow lasers at and hope for the best.”
“We can try though, can’t we?” Sonata asked hopefully.
Sunset felt a swell of warmth burst inside of her. She chuckled and leaned into Sonata’s neck. “You are just too perfect,” she purred into Sonata’s ear. “By the looks of things, we’re stuck here, so we might as well help Twilight out with whatever she needs anyway.”
“Do you think she’ll need us for anything? She probably thinks we’re dead. Like, a long time ago dead.”
“Maybe,” Sunset agreed, smirking. “Can you imagine her face when we show up? We’re her friends. It’d be a kind of lying to not go see her. I’m not going to do that to Twilight. If she ever found out that we were here and we hadn’t tried to find her, I think she’d be really hurt that we’d kept that from her.”
“Friends don’t hide things from each other,” Sonata said, almost as though to herself.
Sunset looked at Sonata’s expression. Despite her efforts, it had slipped back into its distracted thoughtfulness. 
Just what is bothering her? 
She was about to ask her plainly what the matter was, determined to get to the bottom of this, when Sonata suddenly looked up, her eye apparently caught by something ahead of them. Sunset turned to follow Sonata’s line of sight, and did a double-take.
“Wow,” she said flatly, a word she did not use often, or lightly. “Is that really...”
“You don’t think they’re still alive, do you?” Sonata asked in an astonished whisper.
“I don’t see how they could be,” Sunset said, her voice just as awestruck as Sonata’s. “It... it must be abandoned... surely...” 
Sunset let her sentence trail off. There was no chance in Tartarus that anypony else owned the building in front of them. But it simply wasn’t possible.
Nestled in and amongst crowding trees in an overgrown plot of shrubs and bushes was a tall, three-storey country house. Tiered tall and made of white-painted wood, the extremities were painted bright red, and decorated with a large number of old wood and metal instruments, most of which Sunset didn’t recognise, but all of which looked as though they were meant to make a lot of noise. Even the large garage on the western portion of the lawn had several whirling-clacking implements situated on the corners, all designed to look like pegasi-in-flight, or ponies playing trumpets. Several flood-lights rose up in the house’s front garden, unlit and tangled about with weeds and grass, pointing at the building’s facade, and a pair of large red curtains dangled from the third storey, sagging badly where they were held away from the building’s front by thick brocade ropes. All in all, it looked to Sunset as though somepony had attempted to make the house into a veritable stage, and she had a pretty good idea who that somepony – or those someponies – were.
Of course, the massive sign taking up most of the second floor’s exterior surface kind of gave the game away too.
“Yep,” Script said in a longsuffering voice. “I don’t relish the thought of asking them for a favour. But they’re the only ones whom I know who can possibly help us do this covertly.”
Neither Sunset nor Sonata answered him. Staring up at the sign, they both turned at the same time to look at each other, and then back at the sign.






Welcome to the Renowned Home of the Phenomenal
the Extraordinary,
the Amazing Flim Flam Brothers!

Below this, a small sign in a less ostentatious print read:

No Soliciting



- To be Continued
	
	
	
	
> An Example of Kindness Beyond Compare
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Princess Mi Amore Cadenza


For a long moment, Cadence allowed the sounds all around her to simply wash across her senses. She found it easier to process things when she didn’t have to actually take in individual meanings; doing so was like trying to listen to an individual bee buzzing in a swarm. It was ultimately futile, and simply the wrong approach to take; what mattered was the dance.
Opening her eyes, the glint of coloured sunlight washed over her as the stain-glass windows all around dazzled her momentarily, but she recovered quickly. The debate was still ongoing, with both houses having set up an unorthodox meeting to discuss the current crisis.
“But what is to be done?” 
What indeed, she thought sluggishly.
“This is simply not the sort of thing that can be ignored!”
If only I could.
This thought jarred at her internal sense of duty. She shook herself discreetly and directed her eyes in the direction of a high desk. The three most powerful positions in the room stood at either ends of the hall. Cadence’s throne stood grand on the northern tip of the room, whilst opposite her stood the rounded edge of the speaker’s platform draped in the flag of state. Whereas there were usually only three ponies there at any given time – whichever house head happened to be present at the time, and two clerks – today there sat five. Whilst this might sound as though the desk was crowded, nothing could be further from the truth. Both the Prime Minister and the Lord Chancellor sat next to each other, both banging their gavels and bellowing for order from their respective houses, whilst their three clerks waited patiently for there to come some actually intelligible report to make. The rest of the house was in uproar.
“Order!” Chancellor Old Guard roared. “There shall be order in this council!”
“Oh, I’m sure that there will be!” cried a delegate. “We’ve all heard of the kind of order the Roamans impose.”
“My city has heard all too well!” cried another, meaningfully. “Situated as close to the border as we are.”
“We can’t jump to any conclusions!”
“This kakistocracy will doom us all!”

It was at this point that Cadence usually wished to interject. Long experience however, had taught her that her input is best remembered when it is the last word. Her proclamations were law, and so she had to make them heard. A challenging prospect to be sure in this cacophonous din.
Cadence had few true allies among the politicians here. Those that she did have she held close, and entrusted with a great deal.
“Silence! 
Cadence had to repress a small smile here. It was remarkable and not a little strange in actuality that somepony with such a shrill and piercing voice could make such a good speaker. It was one of those rare occasions where what the speaker was saying managed to overcome the negative qualities of their voice. 
Though perhaps the scratchiness makes sure that everypony can hear her, Cadence thought, wickedly. 
Prime Minister Filly Buster was on her hooves, glaring around at the assembled. With her sharp yellow eyes and short, ginger mane, she looked so much like a lion that it was quite disconcerting to hear the bird-like voice. Adjusting her half-moon glasses, the Prime Minister tapped her hoof twice on her dark wood desk.
“This stalemate will not do. Improper though it might be, it seems that cool heads must seize the day before we leap headfirst into disaster!”
Cadence whimsically thought about having dramatic music playing above. Beethoofen’s Requiem would have suited the atmosphere, but Filly Buster’s concrete gravity and never-ceasing barrage of reigned-in-expletives frankly put Cadence in mind of Offenbuck’s Galop Infernal.
Next to the Prime Minister, Chancellor Old Guard brought up the bass. From beneath a large and unnaturally orderly moustache, his voice boomed like the harbinger of doom upon a dying world.
“Enough debate,” he said solemnly. “This meeting is adjourned until the members of each house can act their age.”





Unlike usual, Cadence remained seated as the various representatives and bureaucrats left the hall. Her eyes on the Chancellor and Prime Minister, they approached in formal fashion.
“Princess, I’m afraid that this simply will not do!” the Prime Minister began.
“For once I am most ardently in favour of the Prime Minister’s approach, your highness,” the Chancellor rumbled. “This situation might well have been avoided.”
“The information is to be trusted,” Cadence replied, gazing intently into their eyes. 
“That is not the issue, ma’am,” the Chancellor sighed. He levitated a handkerchief to his forehead and dabbed a little at the sweat. “I wish that you could have come to myself or the Prime Minister privately about this before announcing it in council.”
“The news of Roaman activity on the border is most inauspicious,” the Prime Minister added, firing her words off like a machinegun. “The houses almost never agree as it is, and the internal divides are just as crippling. The blocs are even now choosing sides.”
The Chancellor let out a wheezy breath of air. “Quite. The various departments take their views upon war very differently. The Roamans have a talent for making war profitable, but Equestria is not Roam. War would be an economic disaster.”
“Indeed!” the Prime Minister yipped. “And the various cities see things differently as well. Most don’t wish for war at all, but the border cities are deeply concerned. And Cloudesdale is even now trying to drum up support for a pre-emptive strike! Have you ever heard of such lunacy!”
“Speaking of which,” one of the clerks said, tentatively walking forward and bowing low to Cadence. “A list of signatures was delivered to the Foreign Office today regarding, um... something that requires your highness’ attention.”
Cadence took the offered scroll and read the short message, and skimmed the list of names. She bit her lip, and then unbit it. If things had come to this, then perhaps the situation was direr than she’d thought.
“Your highness?” the Chancellor asked delicately. 
Cadence turned the list around for them to see. Filly Buster regarded the proposition with a curious stare, occasionally glancing at Cadence as though looking for a sign of something. Old Guard on the other hand took a moment to place a set of small, round glasses on his thick snout, and then spluttered indignantly.
“P-Preposterous!” he choked. “Ask for Princess Luna’s assistance!? Absolute madness!”
“Chancellor, must you be so short sighted?” the Prime Minister demanded, acidly.
Before Old Guard could get over his huffing and coughing enough to respond, Cadence stepped in.
“Nothing has been decided upon,” she said firmly. 
“But your highness!” the Chancellor chuffed like an old steam engine. “Such a matter as sovereign-to-sovereign diplomacy is, strictly speaking, entirely in your hooves!”
“All decisions are ultimately in her hooves,” the Prime Minister said pedantically. “The houses are a farce. True power rests with the Princess.”
“Legitimately, yes,” the Chancellor grunted. “But the capture of Princess Celestia and betrayal by Luna left the public—“
“Lord Chancellor,” Cadence said quietly. “Please keep all accusatory diction to your private discussions if you please.” She eyed the old unicorn steadily for a moment. It gave her no pleasure to see the beads of sweat reforming on his brow, but she would not have such lies spoken directly in front of her. She may not be able to change the public’s knowledge as a whole – try though she had – but she would not tolerate Luna’s compassion and empathy be called a crime in her presence. 
“Princess Luna’s decision saved an entire civilisation from almost certain extinction. I may not be able to make you or anypony else see the good in her actions, but I will not have them spoken of in my palace.”
“Your palace, your highness?” Old Guard asked, dabbing his brow again.
Cadence’s chest clenched. The old, old argument. The constant challenge. Cadence was long passed being sick of it. She stared at the stout old stallion like the pencil pusher he really was. How easy it would be – in principal – to reduce him to a quivering wreck. To rob his mind and replace it with nothing but a teenager’s one-track—
“How dare you speak to her highness that way!” Filly Buster erupted. “You stand before her, casting spurious accusations about events so long ago that—“
“Thank you, Prime Minister,” Cadence said over her rant. “As you said, Chancellor. Until cooler heads preside, we shall adjourn.”
Old Guard glanced between the Prime Minister and his Princess. Then without a word he marched for the door, two of the three clerks following him. Cadence watched him out, and then raised a hoof.
“Leave us.”
The guards exited the room. As soon as the door closed, Cadence exhaled, and allowed the trembling to go on unimpeded. It was too much to bear.
“Your highness...” the Prime Minister began tentatively. 
“I’m fine,” Cadence said quickly. “Really. I’ve been doing this job for seventy years. You’d think I’d be good at it by now.”
Filly Buster regarded Cadence for a moment or two, and then gave her assistant a single curt look. The last clerk exited the room.
“Your highness, if I may speak plainly, I don’t think that any other princess could have done any better with the situations that you’ve been presented with. It’s all been utterly rapid-fire, problem after problem, impeded all the while by a forced process of democratic debate that’s done more to hinder the—“ She cut herself off. Perhaps the acoustics of the empty chamber made her more aware of the fact that she was ranting. 
“I appreciate your faith, Prime Minister. I honestly do. However, and I’m sure you know that this is never to leave this room, but if any conflict with Roam arises... well.”
“I’m aware of that, your highness,” Filly Buster said, unusually quietly. And then in a spectacular return to form: “Which is yet another example of the costly incompetence the current system is! The military could easily be twice the size it is now with the current amount in the royal coffers.”
“Equestria has never been much of a military power,” Cadence sighed morosely. “We don’t have the tradition that Roam has.”
Filly Buster seemed to be chewing the inside of her mouth. With a reluctance that was, again, entirely foreign to her character, she asked “Your highness... might I inquire as to how you came by this information about Roam’s activities? The specific source, I mean.”
“I received the information from border intelligence,” Cadence said, massaging her temple. 
“Yes,” Filly Buster said, licking her lips and pulling out a yellow paper from the folder she was carrying. “Yes, it details that in your deposition. But, if you don’t mind, what I wanted to know is—“
“I know what you meant,” Cadence said gently. 
The Prime Minister held Cadence’s gaze for a moment or two. “Your highness... if I might be so bold... you know that you can tell me if something is troubling you. Anything at all.”
Cadence smiled a little sadly. It genuinely pained her to keep secrets from those she trusted. But this wasn’t something up for debate.
She put a hoof on Filly Buster’s shoulder. “There are certain things that you know that I can’t share with you. Things that would harm you if ponies found them out. You are one of my oldest friends, and I hate keeping things from you, but there’re some things that I simply must carry alone.”
Filly Buster looked as though she wanted to say something more, but she seemed to decide that it would be pointless to press the point further. Touching the hoof on her shoulder, she turned to the main door. A hoofstep or so from it, she looked back.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, your highness,” she called back. “I think that you carry too much as it is.”





Other than Shining Armour, Cadence shared more with Filly Buster than with most anypony; she didn’t take omitting things from her lightly. The fact that Luna’s changeling spies had brought reports that Roam was making suspicious movements on the border was a troubling development. The number one priority of the Equestrian nation for over fifty years was the return of Princess Celestia. It was a widely accepted opinion that a great many of Equestria’s problems would be solved by the return of the rightful ruler: The government would no longer be subject to the council and Cadence, and restore the populace’s confidence in their safety and livelihoods. Equestria might then be reunited, with Luna being brought back into the fold under her sister’s watchful eye, and a cure found for the results of the plague. Cadence would be free to return to the Crystal Empire, and everything could return to normal.
It was a naive hope that Cadence clung to as though it were her only surviving child. The only dark spot in this wonderful dream was her aunt seeing just how badly she’d managed Equestria in her absence. 

“You mustn’t go to sleep thinking that sort of thing, my love,” Shining Armour said soothingly.
Cadence shifted in bed. She glanced at the windows; silvery light filtered down through the high windows and onto the ornate surroundings. Cadence felt a pang at the thought of how perfectly the palace suited both Celestia and Luna, bathed in gold in Celestia’s sun and platinum in Luna’s moon.
“You’re coming to bed, aren’t you?” she asked quietly.
Shining paused long enough for Cadence to know what he was about to say was a lie. “Yes, I was just going to post the guard schedule first,” he said, giving her a tender look. “Just a minute.”
Cadence watched him trot to the door and pick up a roll of paper. An open door, a quick conversation, and he was back in the room, dropping his uniform into a nearby chair. 
“Did you order the Hayseed Provincials to the southern border?”
“Yes, Cadence,” Shining replied, a sideways smile playing on his mouth.
“Has the War Office been notified of the movements?”
“I relayed the order through them. I would, since I run the War office.”
“Oh, right. Well did you—“
“Cadence, stop,” Shining said, putting a hoof to her mouth. “Look, I know that you’re worried. More than usual. But you have to rest. You’ll make yourself ill with worry.”
Tired as she was, she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to talk to Shining, remove all of her worries and concerns by explaining them to him. He was her husband, he’d understand, he’d help her. She was the princess, and it was her burden to bear. But surely he’d choose to listen to her, just to let her get it off her chest? 
Of course he would, she scolded herself. He loves me. He’s loved me for years. He’d do anything for me.
Such were the delirious, half-formed thoughts that quickly guided her troubled mind to sleep. Shining saw this with genuine relief and warmth in his heart, and settled down to sleep for a few hours with her. The preparations could do without him for a little while. Cadence mattered more to the nation, and to him, right now. 





An emergency meeting with the Roaman Ambassador would, under normal circumstances, have occurred at the first sign of provocation from the Badlands. Cadence couldn’t decide whether or not it was a good thing, or a bad thing, that Domitian was arriving back from a scheduled visit to the army headquarters in the Badlands with an official report from the general in charge there.
“Good morning, Ambassador,” Cadence said cheerfully. “Please sit. Have some breakfast.”
The Ambassador gave a weak smile as the guards closed the doors behind him. He looked a little ill.
“Thank you, Princess,” he said, making an effort to sound as upbeat as Cadence. “Ah, you spoil me with your food here,” he laughed. “Most Roaman food is a great deal blander by comparison.”
“You flatter us,” Shining said, seated opposite Cadence. “I distinctly remember trying something called escargot?”
“Ahh, yes,” the Ambassador said, as though remembering something pleasant. “Quite. Oh, now you’ve put in my head, and I want some.” He laughed.
Cadence forced a laugh too, but had to swallow her next bit of Elderflower quiche a little harder at the memory of asking the Roaman chef exactly what that meal contained.
“Ah!” the Ambassador said suddenly, as though a thought were just striking him. “I have some... well, news to share.”
Cadence and Shining glanced at each other. Cadence felt her stomach contract at the thought of what the Ambassador was going to inform them about the troop movements on the border. Whatever it was, she needed to convince the Ambassador to make it stop. Whatever the reason for the Roamans to be mobilising, Cadence had to persuade the Ambassador that it wasn’t worth it.
“Your daughter has been found.”
Cadence’s stomach stopped writhing. In fact, it seemed to vanish, dropping out of her, leaving an empty space behind it. It was perhaps fortunate that it left her in a temporarily befuddled state, for whether or not the Ambassador saw it, Cadence’s composure had disappeared along with her stomach.
Shining recovered first. “Our ambassador is safe then?” he asked beadily.
Domitian hesitated. “She is alive and well, yes.”
Cadence noticed the distinct lack of detail, and so tried a different tact. “What did she do?” she asked in a slightly exasperated voice. She had to hold back the relief, and so attempted to drink her coffee.
The Ambassador gave what seemed a somewhat self-conscious smile. “Well, we’re not really sure—That is to say, we don’t quite know what happened. The report came in that she was, um...” He bit his lip and gave the room a quick scan, as though hoping the right word would be hanging on one of the walls. “Incarcerated.”
Cadence blinked. “She’s... in prison?”
“No longer, I think,” the Ambassador said quickly, putting on a toothy smile. “By the sounds of it, the entire thing was a complete misunderstanding. I’ve had assurances from the Princeps, and have been asked to offer his most sincere apologies for the situation.”
“But how did this happen?” Shining asked. Cadence could hear his restrain cracking, the demanding tone held back by the thinnest air of civility. “What had she done?”
“As I say, we’re not really sure,” the Ambassador said, licking his lips. “It seems a few days after she went missing, she turned up in one of the regional gaols. The metropolitan guard who were holding her claim to not have recognised her.” He gave Shining and Cadence two swift looks, his jaw tight. “I assure you, the Princeps is well aware of the situation, and I offer my guarantee that this whole unfortunate mistake will be roundly corrected. If it would please you, I can convey orders to have the negligent officers soundly reprimanded on your behalf.”
Cadence listened to the Ambassador with avid attention. As the certainty that her daughter was alive and safe crashed over her, she started to take note of the Ambassador’s tone. Eager to placate, self-effacing, and tactful. It was his job after all, in his capacity as liaison to the Republic, to make sure that nothing happened to foster unhealthy relations between their countries. Was he trying to cover up the movements on the border, or does he not know about them? Or were they not happening?
It seemed that if Cadence wanted to know, she’d either have to ask, or otherwise make the Ambassador bring the subject up himself. She paused for a moment to think of something to bring the subject around. Fortunately, Shining was a little quicker off the mark.
“Actually, Ambassador, I wondered if you could help me with a little question that I had about the request for joint military exercises. I sent the General a message about it around a month ago.”
The Ambassador paused, and then seemed to recollect. “Oh, yes. My brother wishes for me to convey his apologies regarding that, but he’ll be quite unable to arrange any form of cooperative measures for the following few months. I’m not at liberty to disclose much,” he said, perhaps sensing his host’s wish to probe further. “I can inform you however that a regularly scheduled military inspection is to occur soon, and several of the more erudite representatives of society will be making their presence felt. The General will be very busy for the foreseeable future.”
“Perhaps a joint operation would display the legion’s prowess to better effect,” Shining Armour suggested. “We wouldn’t want to push the subject if it’s truly problematic.”
The Ambassador rubbed at his chin, looking faintly interested. “Well I shall certainly make a point of mentioning it. I for one would be quite interested in seeing a joint military exercise. To be honest, we rather thought that Equestria was otherwise occupied as well, given the amount of activity we’ve been seeing on the border. Quite a busy lot down there.” He laughed mildly and sipped his drink.
“It would have been nice to host the exercises together,” Cadence commented, catching onto Shining’s strategy. “But the military’s schedule can’t be interrupted on the whims of those on the political stage.
“My dear princess,” the Ambassador exclaimed, delicately repressing a snort. “I have a general rule against offending my hosts, but that has to be one of the most disingenuous statements I’ve ever heard. At least,” he clarified, “as it applies to my own sad country. The military is deeply rooted in the whims of those on the political stage.” He smiled. “I hope you don’t mind if I use that. Such an eloquent phrase.”
Cadence glanced at Shining. His expression was tight as well. The Ambassador was expertly dodging the subject at hand.





“Do you think that means that there’s something definitely going on?” Cadence asked.
Shining paced slowly around their private chamber, frowning thoughtfully at the carpet as though there was something in the pattern he didn’t quite like.
“That’s the problem,” he said with a sigh. “He was careful to say nothing at all. We can’t take anything for certain from his simply being guarded. He’s a diplomat after all.”
“You don’t think we could simply ask him directly?” Cadence asked, knowing it was a stupid suggestion. She missed the days when intricate layers of secrecy weren’t needed simply to ask somepony a simple question. The Yaks never bothered with subterfuge; in fact the merest trace of subtlety, misdirection, or even double entendres generally sent them into a rage. 
Then again, most things send the Yaks into a rage... Cadence thought.
“Speaking of the Yaks,” she said suddenly, thoroughly confusing Shining Armour. “Oh, sorry, I just had a silly thought,” she explained quickly.
“If you mean the Yak delegation fiasco, don’t worry, I took care of it.”
“Oh,” Cadence said, slightly taken aback. 
It was perhaps the only thing that had been worse than the Council meeting that day. The Yakyakistan delegation in its customary fashion of loud impatience had forced its way – through several walls – into a confidential meeting between Cadence, Shining, and several military officials about the information regarding Roam’s supposed movements. The results had been immediate and alarming: In adherence to ancient Yak customs, Equestria’s hundreds of moons of guaranteed friendship obligated – apparently – the yaks to participate in any—
“—fights with dirty friend thumpers!” had been the yak representative’s exact words. Words that were followed by a great deal of ignored protestations.
“How exactly did you deal with it?” Cadence inquired, wondering if she really wanted to know the answer.”
“Simple,” Shining said, smiling tightly. “I offered their prince a role as our Yakyakistani attaché.”
“Is that important?” Cadence asked carefully, not as familiar with military terms as perhaps she should have been.
“Only if we actually do go to war.” He rubbed a hoof to his temple. “Which Prince Campbell insists constantly that we do. Or else he destroys the war table.”
“That doesn’t sound solved,” Cadence had to admit. 
Shining ceased pacing and kicked a stool. “It’s the best I could do!” he snapped. “Anything else, and the yaks would be marching down through the Crystal Empire! Within a month, we’d have to explain to the Roamans exactly why an army of angry yaks was assaulting their border, and—“ He stopped as he caught Cadence’s eye. Sitting down he muttered an apology.
“You know it’s okay to tell me all about your problems too,” Cadence said smilingly, sitting down next to him. “You’re under pressure as well.”
“Cadence, military operations are nothing to having to put up with that rabble in the Council,” Shining said firmly, giving a one-sided smile. “Compared to you, I’ve got it easy.”
“I don’t know,” Cadence countered, nuzzling his cheek. “I’ve met with yaks on a temporary basis, and they’re typically a nightmare. Especially to upholstery. Having them at every one of your important meetings sounds like a headache.”
Shining Armour made a considering sort of noise. “Prince Campbell’s not as bad as some of them. He’ll only destroy things if he thinks you’re not trying.”
“Oh, well, that is reasonable of him,” Cadence chuckled.
A sharp rap on the door shattered this burgeoning tender moment.
“Enter,” Shining called, and almost before he’d finished speaking the word, the door flew open. In leapt a blue pegasus guard, his golden helmet slightly askew as his wild eyes darted around the room.
“Your highness!” he cried.
“What is the meaning of this!?” Shining boomed. “Stand at attention!”
The pegasus blinked rapidly for a moment, and then snapped to attention. “Sir! Apologies, sir!”
“At ease,” Shining said, frowning. “Now what is the matter with you?”
“My apologies, sir,” the guard said again. “But it’s... well, I don’t really know how to explain—“
“Is something the matter?” Cadence asked in a more gentle tone than her husband. “You seem a little distressed.”
“I-It’s Lance Alot, ma’am,” the guard stammered, as though the name were frightening. “We’ve found him. Just out in the court yard below the guest apartments.”
“You found him?” Shining Armour demanded. “What do you mean? Where has he been? Did he give any explanation?”
“No, sir. He’s unconscious we think—“
“You think?” Shining interrupted.
“Take us to him,” Cadence interjected, seeing that Shining’s patience was not to be tested.
“G-Gladly, ma’am,” the guard said, bowing his head. “But I think I should warn you. It’s not a pleasant sight.”





The guard’s warning was yet another testament to the poverty that besets the English language when it comes to general descriptions. Not a pleasant sight did not do nearly enough justice to the severity of the situation.
The Palace Infirmary was not a large affair, having been designed mainly as an add-on to the guard barracks. Despite this however, it retained the slightly self-conscious grandeur and splendour of the main palace complex, meaning that its interior was sumptuous, but not overtly adorned. What was more, the practicality of the medical profession had impressed itself upon the rooms inside, giving the white walls and few purple and gold furnishings an antiseptic feel. The place smelled faintly of herbs trying to mask the stinging scent of alcohol.
Cadence made a valiant effort to keep her composure as she looked down at what she was seeing, but had to take a moment to make sure that her voice didn’t give away her true feelings of revulsion and horror.
“And you’re sure that you feel alright?”
“I wouldn’t say that I’m alright, ma’am,” Lance Alot said, his eyes still lingering on his legs. “I can’t say that I feel uncomfortable or anything though.”
“Can you feel them at all?” Shining Armour asked, also looking at the legs.
“To be honest, sir,” Lance Alot said, his mouth tensing. “No. No I can’t.”
Cadence tried not to stare, but the sight was just so bizarre. From the tip of his rear hooves, right up to the middle of the thigh, his back legs were inert, glistening in the off-blue lights shining from above. They clinked whenever Lance Alot tried to move them, striking each other like wine glasses. 
“It’s crystal, your highness,” said the attending doctor. “Pure crystal, all the way up to these points here,” she said, indicating the trails of glass running up the left leg. They ran like jagged rivers up and beyond the leg. Although they were perfectly still, the edges looked so sharp, so violent in their shape, that they resembled claw marks.
“What caused this?” Cadence asked. “Is his life in danger?”
“Not that we can tell, no,” the doctor said seriously. “We’re preparing to transfer him to the military hospital where we hope to gleam some idea of exactly... what this is.” She looked up at Cadence. “We actually wondered, your highness, if you had any ideas.”
Cadence hesitated. “If I were fatalistically minded, I’d say it looks a little like the plague. But it’s different. The ponies of the Crystal Empire have the ability to assume a crystal coat that more matches this effect, but this—“ she frowned. “I can’t say that I’ve ever seen something like this before.”
“Ah,” the doctor said, evidently disappointed. Then aware of Lance Alot’s eyes upon her, she cleared her throat and put on a confident half-smile. “Well, we’ll have to conduct some tests of course.”
She rattled on a while to Lance Alot about his options. Once she’d finished, with a promise to bring along some reading material for him, Cadence leant in a little closer to him.
“I know that the guards who found you reported that you couldn’t remember anything of what happened to you,” she began.
Lance Alot’s expression tightened a little. “The last thing I remember was coming from the barracks to relieve Steel Toe from the atrium post.”
“That was weeks ago. You never made it there,” Shining Armour stated. “You were reported A.W.L.”
“That’s not going to be on my record, is it?” Lance Alot asked, paling.
Cadence looked at Shining. His expression was stony, his eyes suddenly showing a tiredness usually kept hidden. Perhaps it was the silence, or something in their faces, but Lance Alot seemed to guess something more was wrong than just his record.
“I’ll put someone in the Crystal Empire to research the condition,” Cadence said as she and Shining exited the barracks and headed for the royal gardens. “Something like this happening now, amongst all of these other problems,” she said, barely aware of where she was walking. “It can’t be a coincidence. If the plague is remerging for some reason—“
“Cadence, we can’t get distracted.“
“I’m not saying we do get distracted,” Cadence cut across him. “But we can’t ignore this. I’ve never seen an effect like that ever. The closest thing to it I can think of is—“
“The plague,” Shining agreed, nodding once. “The effects were clearly virulent. It’s unusual that the effect hasn’t spread though. The plague affected ponies minds, and changed them slowly over time. It didn’t spread like this.”
“I’ wondering whether it might be the result of a spell,” Cadence said thoughtfully. “Dark magic forms crystals that spread by shadows, but those weren’t dark crystals. It was more like a unicorn petrifaction spell. What I can’t understand though, is who could have done it, and why?”
“I have the palace guard performing an investigation. They’ll keep things quiet until they get some results. If word got out about a resurgence of the plague, on top of a possible Roaman invasion...”
“I wish Aunt Celestia were here,” Cadence breathed, sitting on a stone bench.
Shining paused, having passed by the bench already, but then doubled back and sat down too.
“Things would probably be simpler,” he agreed, leaning into her a little. 
They both looked ahead of them, basking in the relative solitude of the gardens.
Both of them loved the gardens, Cadence perhaps a little more than Shining Armour. Through the war, through the plague, and every other problem besetting the nation, the garden had been the one thing that, in Cadence’s opinion, had retained its splendour and original purpose. Having been commissioned by Celestia as the plague came to its height, and then its long stalemate, the garden had been made to reflect the healing of the nation. A healing that never came. 
The garden bore to its eastern edge a collection of the brighter trees and flowers in Equestria; noble pale pink birches from the ranges beneath Cloudesdale, the silvery winter shrubs from Foal Mountain, and kaleidoscope flowers cultivated in the Crystal Empire. 
To its west stood the brooding black maples from the frigid lands of Vanhoover, starry twinkle flowers from the Everfree Forest, and purple lilies that grow on the edges of the Hayseed Swamps.
The general purpose was a simple and clear one: Reconciliation. And Cadence had almost no doubt that had Celestia not been taken, it might have been done. Luna might have been shown to be the heroine that she truly was, a compassionate leader making the decision that no pony else was willing to, and the nation might have healed. The eternal twilight of the Nightlands and the living sun of Equestria not be the eternal sign of division that they currently were.
The only painful part of this garden was its centre. The way things had played out seemed an insult to those who had given their very lives to halt a plague that was destroying thousands of lives.
Tall and as grey as marble, stood Discord’s statue. Cadence had been privileged in bygone days to have seen him in statue form twice before, in a time when he richly deserved to be nothing but a two ton hunk of stone. Both of those times, his posture had hardly been what one could have called noble or dignified. It was strange than, to Cadence at least, that now, when he most deserved to roam free, his prison had taken on a form as elegant as the real Discord was not.
Standing straight up, his right arm raised, his lion’s paw frozen in the act of snapping his fingers. Both feet firmly planted, his head was turned slightly down and to the side, an unusually benevolent smile stretched his features. Although looking at the face as a whole, it was still possible to see the roguish mischief in the expression, as though the light of trouble still danced behind his stone eyes. Whenever Cadence looked at him, it made her think that he knew something that she didn’t, but that he would never tell her what.
This was the real Discord. Or what was left of him after he sacrificed his physical form to bring order to chaos. The statue that stood beside him, directly in his frozen gaze, was a representation only, of the other responsible for the miraculous halt of the seemingly unstoppable disease. 
Cadence had not known her as well as she’d liked to in life, and deeply regretted it every time she saw her statue. True to the flesh and blood pony, the statue’s long mane hung low over her face, and her kind expression gazed up at her fellow statue with a mixture of pride and gratitude.
“It’s still hard to think that they’re gone,” Shining said.
Realising that he must have noticed where she was staring, Cadence nodded.
“You go on,” she said as he mumbled that he needed to get to the war ministry. “I’m just going to spend a little longer here. I still have half an hour before I have to meet the Chancellor.”
Briefly kissing before departing, Shining trotted industriously off under an arch leading back to the palace’s eastern vestibule, leaving Cadence still seated upon the bench. After a few minutes, Cadence stood, and walked over towards the dual statues. 
“I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way we wanted it to,” she told them, for perhaps the hundredth time. “At least you’re not around to see how horribly I’ve mismanaged everything.”
Touching the tarnished plaque at the base of the pedestal the statues rested upon, she too departed the garden.






In Memory of Those Who Gave Everything in a Time of Fear
May Their Sacrifice be an Inspiration to All, and onto the Shame of our Nation, Never be Forgotten

Friend Discord, the Spirit of Chaos 
A Reminder that None are Beyond Friendship

Fluttershy
An Example of Kindness Beyond Compare



- To be Continued
	
> Blackmail is Okay When You Don't Like Them
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sonata Dusk


“Um... Sunset?”
“Yes?” Sunset sighed.
“Is this legal?”
Sonata watched Sunset closely as she seemed to deliberate the point. At one point she opened her mouth as though about to say something, but then yawned and went back to simply watching the situation unfold in front of them. Sonata got the impression that she was not particularly surprised by what was happening. 
“Loyal Stride?” Sonata asked, turning to her other side.
Loyal Stride said nothing at all, but he too looked as though what was happening did not in the least bit surprise him.
Feeling the silence bearing down on her, Sonata retreated into silence herself. She after all did not much feel like she deserved too much attention right now.
“Script, just give it up,” Sunset called irritably to him. “I know these guys. If anypony in the world has an infallible anti-theft spell, it’s them. Most thieves know their way around anti-theft.”
Script blasted the door one more time out of sheer frustration, and then took a deep breath. Straightening up, he cantered towards them as though nothing untoward had occurred, and put on a strained smile.
“Time well spent I think,” he said briskly, glancing back at the house. The rippling effect of the house-wide shield was still sending ripples of rainbow colours and morning dusk sheen across the house’s surface, but after a few seconds it straightened out and turned transparent again. 
“It was an utter waste of time, and as Sonata pointed out, very illegal,” Sunset snarled.
“Look, I know they have a machine that can take us to the border faster and safer than any other means,” Script snapped. “We need it. They have it. It’s not like we were going to keep it.”
“You propose taking it back afterwards?” Loyal Stride asked sardonically. “When we have no guarantee that we ourselves will be returning?”
Sonata gulped, feeling the trembling in her nerves again.
“Okay, maybe we wouldn’t return it,” Script admitted in a voice that suggested he thought they were being all very unreasonable. “But I rather think that what we’re doing is important. We need to go, and quickly, especially if the legion is on the move.”
“The Fifteenth won’t move for at least three weeks. Longer if they keep the proper discipline,” Loyal Stride said. “It takes time to alter from an occupation force to an invading army, and a great deal of planning too.” A look of concern came suddenly over his face, as though something unpleasant had just occurred to him. “Unless Trotus moves without informing the homeland.”
“Which does sound more like the dear General we all fear and respect,” Script said, blasting a section of the third storey.
“Stop it,” Loyal Stride snapped, breaking from his pensive attitude. “Let’s just find these associates of yours and ask them for help.”
Loyal Stride at first didn’t seem to think that he’d said anything odd. That was until he caught sight of all three of his companion’s faces. Script, Sunset, and Sonata, all had the exact same tightness to their expressions, as though they had all developed a spontaneous case of lockjaw. 
“What?” he asked, a crease forming between his brows.
“You know, maybe Script’s right,” Sonata whispered conspiratorially to Sunset. “Perhaps you could, err...” she nodded her head towards the dwelling. “You know, help him out a bit?”
“Given the alternative, I’m beginning to think that’ll be the less painful option.”
“Okay, stop, stop. Just stop,” Loyal Stride said, standing in front of the house. “What do you three know that I don’t?”
“Them,” Script said without preamble.
“Them just about sums it up,” Sonata agreed.
“They can be quite...” Sunset bit her lip. Then she looked around a few times. Finally she opened her mouth, hesitated, and said “Difficult.”
Loyal Stride gave them all cool looks. “That explained nothing.”
“Well we wouldn’t want to put you off them too soon,” Script muttered.
“Come on,” Sunset said. “If they’re house is locked up, they still live here. So they’ll be around here somewhere. Likely in the nearest town trying to peddle some nonsense on unsuspecting ponies.”
“They’re con-artists?” Loyal Stride asked warily.
“That term doesn’t do them justice,” Script said darkly.
“They’re entrepreneurs for the most part,” Sunset amended quickly. “But they’re not above taking you for all you’re worth.”
“Do you think they’ll deny us the help we need?”
“I doubt it,” Script snorted. “They’ll be eager to help us. Only too happy to serve. For the right price.”
“The moment we ask them, they won’t leave us alone,” Sonata sighed. 
Sonata hadn’t had much to do with Flim and Flam in the human world. Her most lengthy exposure to them was during the fundraising concert for Aria’s operation, where the twins, and their cousins, had set up shop selling merchandise in return for certain favours. Other than that, her general interaction with the two of them had been limited to the two times she had entered their shop. Both times they had attempted to – albeit unsuccessfully – sell her a host useless objects that she did not need and certainly didn’t want. Sonata found it more expedient to avoid them.
The prospect of purposefully seeking them out reminded Sonata forcefully of this one time she’d asked an elderly lady on a bus a personal question. The following conversation had been extremely one-sided, awkward, and only ended when the bus driver called the old lady to her stop. If the whole thing hadn’t been awkward enough, it was made worse by the knowledge that she had brought it all upon herself.
“If we can’t pay though,” Sunset pointed out, “they won’t lift a hoof to help us.”
“Well then, what options do we have?” Loyal Stride demanded briskly. “We need to decide. Now.”
Script let out an irritable sigh that sounded close to a snort. “Fine! But on your head be it, Strider. I hope you’ve got a leg you don’t mind selling.”





Although it was practically impossible, Sonata had maintained a subconscious attention to the Equestrian landscape in case they inspired some distant memory from her past. She held out a small hope that a mountain, a range of hills, a forest, or even the placement of a town or city might trigger some long dormant memory. 
As she’d expected, she’d so far been disappointed. 
This road, for instance, old and rutted, more reminded Sonata of the trip she’d taken with Sunset and her friends to Whitetail, following Pinkie Pie’s lead on Adagio. Even the trees all around them, decked out in their late-summer colours and darkened by the velvety purple sky, looked like any other trees. Sonata didn’t let this bother her much; after all, she had other things to dampen her spirits and make her unhappy.
The road ran on for a little while, eventually widening out into a larger thoroughfare that was better maintained, freer of overhanging branches, and illuminated by the extravagant lighting of a town ahead.
It took Sonata a moment to realise, for her mind was otherwise occupied, that the lights were not those of street lamps and house windows, but those of a loud, and obnoxiously large display. Bright primary colours illuminated by spot lights spelled out enormous words in bold font, surrounding a colossal picture of a spritzer bottle. A spritzer bottle bearing the faces of two individuals Sonata instantly recognised, even though she’d never seen them as ponies before.
“Between you and me,” Sunset muttered to Sonata out of the corner of her mouth, “I was kinda hoping they were actually descendents or something.”
Sonata simply gaped. “I don’t get it. How are they still alive after all this time?”
They, Script, and Loyal Stride, came to the edge of a reasonably sized crowd at the edge of the town, where a large square had evidently been established to welcome people to the town. Quite why the entrance should be facing a broken-down road, Sonata couldn’t imagine, but looking to one side, she saw a tall, wooden sign hoof-crafted to look like a dangling flag with a pegasus staff-top above it. 

Welcome to Dragon’s Den!

A Town of Magic, History, and Crafts!


(Dragon-Free since 2:34 Celestial)

“Hey Sunset?”
“What?” 
“What’s that date there?”
Sunset looked up at the sign. “Oh, it refers to the age and the year.” Seeing that Sonata didn’t understand, Sunset went on. “The two refers to which age it is. The second age was the Celestial Age, the thousand year period of Celestia’s solitary reign. Originally it was named the Age of Unification after the uniting of the three tribes, but they changed it after Princess Luna’s banishment. The first age was the Cold Age. Unless they changed the name of the one we’re in, it should be the Reconciled Age.”
“Reconciled?” Sonata said, frowning.
“It means ‘to make amends’,” Sunset explained. “Celestia told me when I was her student that a great many threats to Equestria would arise in the wake of Nightmare Moon’s return. It would herald a period of turmoil and danger for Equestria, and she believed that attempting to make amends with surrounding nations and returning enemies—“ 
“What?” Sonata asked, a little disconcerted by her sudden pause.
Sunset smiled, although Sonata thought that it was a sad sort of smile. “Discord,” she said. “Discord came back, and helped us. Or, tried to help Equestria. Well, at least I know that my teacher was right. Her way obviously worked. I didn’t agree with her at the time,” she added before Sonata could ask. “I told her... well, I thought she should have done things differently. I thought I knew the better way.”
Sonata didn’t know the particulars of her disagreement with her former teacher, but it was clear the subject was not one she wanted to discuss. She remembered very well what the other kids at Canterlot High had been whispering, the rumours and gossip spread so liberally around about Sunset’s former personality, and the means by which she had attempted to seize power. Having no room to proselytise on the subject herself, Sonata had in general not touched upon the subject too often before, but now... maybe now, they should...
She was moralising to herself in this way, when there came an appreciative tone of approval from the crowd that quite distracted her. Looking up, she found that a podium had risen in between the large sign and the crowd, where two ponies with the largest, falsest grins she’d ever seen, were singing to the crowd.
Actually singing. 
Sonata had to admit to herself that in the furore of everything that had happened since coming here, music had become something almost foreign to her. Whatever the brothers had been singing about however was lost, as both of them ignited their horns, and a shower of fireworks blasted into the sky.
The crowd “Ooh!”’d and “Ahh!”’d, and a fair amount of stamping ensued, the pony equivalent of clapping. The brothers both bowed in turn and doffed their hats.
“That’s right, mares and gentlecolts!” said Flim, his clean-shaven face gleaming like a well polished stone. 
And curiously enough, this wasn’t a wholly figurative description. Staring at them in the glare of the floodlights, Sonata could plainly see something that she’d either never seen, or never noticed before. Both Flim and Flam had the glittering, jewel-like quality to their eyes that she’d noticed in the non-changeling population of Gauzeville, and the odd sharpness to what should have been herbivorous teeth. But unless it was some trick of the light, Sonata could have sworn that their bodies were different too. They were shiny, literally reflecting the yellowish light of the podium onto surfaces all around them, as though they were made of dense glass. Every so often when one of them turned, Sonata caught a beam of light int he eye as it reflected off their bodies like a mirror.
“Don’t try this at home, folks!” Flam was saying, pulling out what looked like a lantern. “Yes, please maintain a safe distance!” he continued, his tone becoming low and warning. “Live Summer Flies! Now, please watch closely!”
This, in Sonata’s opinion, was where things got weird. Flim, using a pair of scissors, sheared off a snip of his own tail, and levitated the clippings onto an old-fashioned projector. A large, white roll fell down over the sign, providing a back for the projector’s image. Once in focus, Flam levitated the lantern forward. Sonata couldn’t be sure why, but both he, Flim, and the crowd, were treating the perfectly innocuous looking lamp as though it was a bomb of the nuclear variety. They edged backwards, muttering nervously, whilst Flim and Flam backed to the corners of their raised stage, giving each other meaningful looks. 
“What’s going on?” Sonata whispered to Sunset. Sunset merely shrugged, looking just as nonplussed.
On stage, Flam gave his horn a wave, and the lantern shook a little. A purplish white glow emitted from the lantern as the little insects all started lighting up inside. Sonata laboured under a further few moments of bewilderment, until Sunset gave a little gasp, staring at the projector screen. 
The hairs on the screen were curling in on themselves, twisting and writhing, and then suddenly erupted into flame. 
A cloth descended quickly over the lantern, blocking out the light, and Flam leapt forward suavely to blow away the smouldering hairs.
“There you have it, folks!” Flim said, in the manner of a magician unveiling their star act. “A fate none of us wish to experience, I’m sure!”
“I know I wouldn’t!” Flam agreed, appearing next to his brother. “Why, I saw that exact thing happen to a dear friend of mine. Stepped out of his house one day in full sunlight. Bang, boom, POOF! Gone!”
“That story is bunk,” Script grunted. “They don’t have any friends.”
“That’s why I always carry a bottle of Flim and Flam’s Splendid Solar Screening and Sprucing Spray!” Flam finished dramatically.
“What is Flim and Flam’s Splendid Solar Screening and Sprucing Spray, you ask?” Flim demanded of the audience, although no pony had asked any such thing. 
“Oh, it’s simply marvellous!” Flam said, as though saying something that was perfectly obvious.
“A miracle in a bottle!” Flim added, and with a flash of his horn, said miracle-in-a-bottle appeared in mid-air. “Perfect for all of your day-treading needs!”
“Protects in all weather, from mild morning glow—“
“—to blinding summer heats!”
“And that’s not all!” Flim cried in mock astonishment.
“It also stylises and conditions your mane!” Flam informed, as though equally surprised.
“It’s completely water resistant!”
“And guaranteed to last from dawn till dusk!”
“And since you all work so hard—“
“—to make ends meet—“
“Our formula is only two-thirds that of our closest competitor!”
Sonata heard an audible groan from nearby.
“Get on with it,” Script grumbled. “These two love to hear themselves talk.”
“But wait,” Sonata said, frowning. “How are they still alive?” She felt a lick of frustration when all Script did was give her an impatient, puzzled look. “We knew these guys in the other world. They can’t be seventy-something years old.”
“Well, they’re Nightlanders, aren’t they,” Script said, in the manner of someone explaining that the blue tap is the cold one, and the red the hot one.
“So?” Sunset weighed in. “That doesn’t explain anything.”
Script looked at them as though wondering if they were punking him. “I did tell you about the plague, didn’t I?”
“I’m starting to think you missed a crucial detail,” Sunset said.
“Mm,” Script said, a little uncomfortably. “The details are long and complicated, but—“ He lowered his voice. “Nightlanders are the victims of the plague from just prior to the invasion. The disease changed the bodies of the afflicted, presumably irrevocably. I’ve not had the opportunity to look into any autopsy reports or perform any experimentation myself,“ he went on blithely, apparently unaware of the growing green tinge to Sunset and Sonata’s face. “But the essential point is that any pony afflicted and still alive since the Sacrifice of Kindness event when the Spirit of Chaos gave up his corporeal form, is functionally pseudo-immortal.”
“Pseudo-immortal?” Sunset noted.
“Well, unlike Manda,” Script continued, looking pointedly at Sonata, “Nightlanders can be killed. But they stop aging, and get this kind of...” he twirled his hoof a little in front of him, trying to find the right word. “They look shiny,” he finished. “Oh, and the sun sets them on fire.”
“The sun does what?” Sonata exclaimed.
Script pointed up at the stage.
Having come to the end of their sales pitch, Flim and Flam were now holding aloft the miracle-item they were peddling for the day. It was nothing more than a spritzer-bottle, the same sort of thing one might expect perfume to be sold in. 
“And now watch carefully, folks!” Flim was saying, holding the bottle magically. “As my brother proves, before your very eyes, that our product does all that we say it will!”
With this, he misted his brother roundly, giving his body an even coating, and then stepped deftly back, as Flam approached the covered lantern. Employing only the most minute of pauses, he gave the crowd a cheeky wink, and lifted the cover. 
The crowd cringed away again, as though repelled by the soft, white light. But Flam grinned broadly, turning this way and that to show the crowd. The crowd in turn gave appreciative murmurs and a few cheers.
“Thank you, thank you!” Flim cried from a safe distance.
“And it can be yours, ladies and gentlecolts!” Flam continued, striding forward to the edge of the stage. And then it happened. 
Sonata’s eyes felt as though they were going to pop out of her head when she noticed the thin plume of smoke rising from Flam’s red tail. And then with a little roar, a bright green flame erupted, setting the tail aflame. The crowd gasped and several ponies screamed. 
“Nothing to be afraid of, folks!” Flam said, evidently unaware of his smouldering tail.
“Ah!” Flim shouted, half-way between a cry of shock and feeble bravado. “Be sure to get that perfect even coat!” he said, his voice trembling nervously as he stomped out the flames.
The crowd seemed to be in two minds about the performance, but Sunset and Sonata simply stared.
“Are you kidding me?” Sunset said disbelievingly. “Sunlight makes Nightlanders combust?”
“What did you think the eternal dusk was all about?” Script asked. “You thought perhaps that the night princess was just trying to make a statement? That it was just some aesthetic choice?”
“Well, no,” Sunset said, annoyed. “But ponies setting on fire? That’s just—“ She seemed to struggle for words.
“It was quite the hot topic, once,” Script said, trying not to smirk.
“Oh, please don’t,” Sunset groaned.
“Yeah, that conversation was on fire,” Script went on relentlessly. “Much like some of the early victims.”
“I will knock out all of your teeth.”
“So Flim and Flam are selling sun lotion?” Sonata asked, hoping to distract the two of them before they could actually come to blows. 
“SPF one million,” Sunset agreed, frowning at the stage as Flam gave his singed tail a pained look.
“One of their many scams, I’m guessing,” Script said speculatively. “Although I don’t see how, this time. The stuff seems to work just like all the other available prophylactics against sun scorch. You know they tried to sell me an authentic pierce of Canterlot Castle, once?”
“Not authentic?” Sonata guessed.
“If they’re going to be selling this stuff, I suppose we should wait until they’re done before asking them for something else,” Sunset said.
“True,” Script agreed. “Trying to tear them away from a sale is like trying to get Strider away from old western novels.”
Sonata and Sunset stared at him.
“Old west?” Sunset asked incredulously. “Roam has an old west?”
“No,” Script admitted. “But you Equestrians do. It became quite the fad fifty years ago.”
“There’s still plenty of ponies who enjoy old west culture,” Loyal Stride said sternly. 
“Yeah. Old ponies,” Script snickered.
Whilst Loyal Stride’s lips tightened, Sunset spoke up again. “Well let’s all just have a look around, then. No sense us waiting around for them. Meet back here when it looks like the crowd’s thinning, so don’t go far.”
As Script wandered off in the direction of a chemist’s, and Loyal Stride towards a line of casual shops, Sunset and Sonata zeroed in on a local cafe. In keeping with the theme of the town, the facade was decorated to resemble a stylised medieval castle, with a metal dragon emerging over the back to place a claw threateningly on the tallest two-dimensional tower. 
Sunset made a bee-line straight for the entrance, but Sonata held back as something caught her eye. Somepony seated at one of the outdoor tables had been doing a wonderful impression of a pony eating a doughnut and reading a small paperback book. But when they set the book down just a bit louder than they needed to, they caught Sonata’s eye and inclined their head towards the street.
“Hey, um, would you mind getting my coffee for me? I need to use the bathroom.”
“Huh?” Sunset said, not having been paying attention. “Oh. Sure, yeah. I’ll be at that table when you get back.”
Sonata gave her a brief smile, and then when she was sure that Sunset was adequately focused elsewhere, nipped quickly off after the other pony.
A little way down the street, further away from Flim and Flam’s performance, the road curved into a row of houses. Sonata followed the pony cautiously to the crevice between the end shop and the first house, separated by two close rows of wooden fencing. 
“You’re further away from your goal than you began,” the pony said as Sonata tentatively stepped into the alleyway. A strong green light flared, and there appeared a changeling, its brilliant blue eyes staring in the shadows.
“You’re the same one from before,” Sonata surmised. “The one who warned me about Gauzeville.”
“Yes. You headed north rather than south. I know that the Over-Queen does not wish this.”
“We needed to come here for transportation,” Sonata said. “Script says the Flim Flam Brothers can take us there quickest.”
The changeling narrowed its eyes, and began to pace. “The Flim Flam Brothers,” she repeated. “You choose strange allies. The thin Roaman and the soldier were a bad choice to begin with, but those two hucksters? Next you’ll tell me that you’re thinking of marching on Canterlot to ask for the help of the Love Princess.”
“I can’t see us doing that any time soon,” Sonata said, repressing a smile. “I have some doubts though,” she admitted. “Even if we get there, how are we supposed to rescue Princess Celestia from a Roaman legion? What are we supposed to do against an army?”
“The Over-Queen will provide,” the changeling said mysteriously. 
“Provide what exactly?” Sonata asked hopefully.
“I don’t know,” the changeling admitted. “But I sense that she has plans in motion around you. I do not believe that she would send you there unprepared. Speaking of which,” she said as though a thought had just occurred to her. “How did you convince your companions to go with you? I thought for certain that the Roamans would object.”
“I didn’t convince them,” Sonata said, looking at a small hole in a nearby plank of the fencing. “We decided together it was for the best that we go.”
The changeling paused for a moment. “Indeed,” she said flatly. She looked sideways in the general direction of the Flim Flam Brother’s display, and made a disgusted noise. 
“A bothersome pair,” she muttered.
“Do you know them?” Sonata asked.
The changeling’s lips curled. “No. But I know of them. They were banished from Last Light many decades ago for illicit entrepreneurial methods, as they put it. As I understand it, they’re business has not been much the same ever since. They once held a great deal of sway amongst the solar spray merchants.”
“Solar sprays,” Sonata said to herself. “That stuff they’re selling. They make that stuff?”
The changeling snorted. “You obviously don’t know them very well” she said disgustedly.
Sonata curled a lip, but said nothing to this.
“Every business venture of theirs is a scam of some sort. That spray they’re selling isn’t their own. They’re own brand hasn’t been produced in some twenty years since they lost the revenue to maintain their plants. That stuff they’re peddling is another popular brand that they’re rebottling and underselling to make a fast bit.”
“How do you know that?” Sonata asked, shocked. 
“Perhaps I didn’t make my profession very clear to you,” the changeling said, sneering. “We keep an eye on them just in case they do anything damaging to the public.”
“Isn’t scamming people damaging?” Sonata asked. “And – wait, Princess Luna employs changelings as secret police?”
The changeling made a mewing sound. “Technically, and I stress that technically, they aren’t doing anything illegal. Right now. There’s a legal loophole where so long as—“ she stopped. “Never mind, the point is that it’s not technically illegal. But it is unethical. And what the Over-Queen does is not your concern, day-walker,” she added warningly. “We watch problematic elements at the behest of Queen Nightborn, as service to the Over-Queen.”
Sonata considered it rather severe condemnation for a creature such as a changeling, which by its very nature must deceive and drain the love out of ponies just to survive, to call somepony else unethical. 
“So, do you have any other ideas?”
“No,” the changeling said. “I was sent here to give you an informant’s name. Someone in the Roaman military who might assist you.”
Sonata perked up. “Really? Who?” 
“A Roaman senator who is inspecting the mining operations. Goes by the name of Servilus. If you can contact him, he’ll help you get into the camp.”
“Well how do I contact him if he’s in the camp?”
“There’s a place not far from the Badlands border called Dodge City. Several of the border towns have trade agreements and other business arrangements with the legion and mining company. Servilus makes regular visits to Dodge City during his stay in order to ensure the supply of food to the camp.”
“And I can just meet him there?”
“I don’t see why not. The Roamans primarily communicate via radio, so even if he’s not on the ground, you should still be able to contact him. He should be expecting you.”
“I guess that is helpful,” Sonata admitted. 
“Your real problem will be getting those brothers to help you,” the changeling said, shaking her head. “They’ll wring every bit out of you for the least bit of assistance.”
“Well fortunately, we don’t really have any money,” Sonata said, smiling.
The changeling snorted. “Well then, good luck to you.”
With another flash of green, the changeling shifted back into its pony guise, and disappeared into the street.





“Where did you go?” 
Sonata sat down at the table, which was in the charming form of a wagon wheel, her head buzzing with what the changeling had told her, and so consequently didn’t immediately hear what Sunset was saying to her.
“Sonata?”
“Hm?” Sonata looked up.
“I asked where you went,” Sunset said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you said you needed the bathroom.”
“Yeah,” Sonata said. Then she blinked herself back to her surroundings. “Oh, I did, but then I, um—“ She hesitated. She didn’t think it a good idea to tell the truth right now. The last time the changeling had spoken to her had not gone over well when she admitted it to her friends. “I ran into this mare and we talked a little.”
“You ran into a mare?” Sunset asked, the edge of her mouth quivering. “Should I be jealous?”
Sonata spluttered into her coffee. “It wasn’t like that!” she coughed. Noticing Sunset snickering at her, she rolled her eyes. “She told me some things about Flim and Flam. I got the feeling she doesn’t like them much.”
“Well neither do I, if it comes to that,” Sunset admitted. “But it’s not like we’re trying to be friends with them or something. We just get a vehicle off them and leave. Simple as that.”
“I suppose so,” Sonata said.  “Do they have any cake in there?”
“I ordered us sandwiches,” Sunset replied. “Get this. Hay and daisy sandwiches!” She gave a little squee. “Oh, it’s been so long, I’ve almost forgotten what they taste like. All I ate on that one visit was cake. Cake, cake, and more cake at Sugarcube Corner.”
“I don’t think I ever actually had a sandwich in Equestria,” Sonata said, rubbing her chin. “I don’t think they’d been invented yet.”
The waiter, who’d appeared next to their table whilst they were talking, gave Sonata a narrow look. “Your sandwiches,” he said in a refined voice. “Might I get madams anything else?”
“Another one of these, garcon,” said Script, appearing suddenly on the other side of the table. Without preamble, he picked up the closest sandwich with his magic, which happened to be Sonata’s, and stuffed it whole into his mouth. “She doesn’t have one.”
“Hey!” Sonata cried.
“Oh, shut up, I’m paying for them,” Script snapped irritably. 
“What crawled up your butt?” Sunset asked, frowning at Script. “And... and why? Just why?” she asked, her eyes darting to something to Script’s left.
Sonata’s eyes flicked sideways to see what it was Sunset was seeing, and almost choked on her coffee again. Like a tall shadow, Loyal Stride stood a little apart from Script, towering over the group like some ominous premonition of doom. Offsetting his intimidation factor was, perched jauntily on the side of his head, a tall, wide-brimmed cowboy hat, complete with brown cord tied at the base of it, and a little star icon hanging from it. It looked to Sonata as though Loyal Stride had reached into a John Wayne movie and stolen one of the props. 
“You look nice,” Sonata commented honestly. 
“Mm,” Loyal Stride hummed, determinately not looking at anyone, although Sonata thought she saw his expression soften a little when he thought everypony else had looked away.
“He was pining for it,” Script said. “But he’ll never ask for anything. As to what’s scurried into my rectum,” he went on, several surrounding customers, and the waiter, all cringing, “it’s those damnable brothers! Not content to remain on that ridiculous stage of theirs, they took their show into the chemist’s and decided they’d pull their comparing prices shtick. Then they had the audacity to pull me into the routine.”
“That does sound like a pain,” Sunset said without a trace of sympathy.
“Not only that, when I pulled one of them aside to ask about transportation, they brushed me off!”
He ground his teeth for a second and then seized Sunset’s sandwich too. Whether Sunset had been expecting it or not, Sonata didn’t know, but before Script could stuff the sandwich into his mouth, a golden glow enveloped it and plucked it from his grip. Breaking it in two, she levitated half to Sonata.
“Perhaps we just need to ask them in a different way to how you did it,” Sunset said icily. “You can be a little thoughtless.”
“How can you say that?” Script asked indignantly. “I just bought Strider a hat!”
“Let’s just go and talk to them again, and see if one of us at least can’t convince them,” Sunset said. “We can try appealing to their better nature.”
“I hope by better nature, you mean their tacit greed and callous need to wring pennies out of the elderly.”
“Actually, yes,” Sunset said. “We take advantage of their weakness for making a fast bit. We just have to make them an offer they can’t refuse.”
“That sounds sinister,” Script acknowledged approvingly. “And what kind of offer did you have in mind?”
“A reward,” Sunset said simply. “A big one.”
Script flapped his lips. “Was kinda hoping you had something a bit more robust there.”
“Look, we’re going to rescue Princess Celestia,” Sunset explained, giving their surroundings a quick one-over to make sure no pony was listening. “If we manage to rescue her, then either she, Princess Luna, Cadence, or even Twilight might feel themselves obliged to reimburse those involved. We won’t want a reward of course—“
“Speak for yourself,” Script muttered.
“—but Flim and Flam would be only too happy to take an enormous pile of gold in exchange for doing the right thing.”
“True, but you’ll still never get them to go for it. There’s no guarantee here.”
“All they have to do is drive us down to Dodge City,” Sunset said, frowning impatiently. “It may be a bit far, but we’re not asking them to jump in a fire for us.”
“Rescue Princess Celestia?” Loyal Stride said slowly.
Sonata looked at him. He’d said it as though he’d only just heard the phrase being said. After a few moments of looking puzzled, he blinked, and then returned his attention to the ongoing conversation.
“Fine,” Script said, throwing up both hooves. “You ask. Just don’t be shocked when they tell you to go—“
“Isn’t that them?” Sonata pointed out.
Sonata didn’t quite know what bizarre origami-style magic the brothers had performed on their enormous stage and displays, but they’d somehow managed to cram the entire ensemble into a steampunk-looking transport no bigger than the average pick-up truck. This they rode carriage-style sitting on the box, the vehicle chugging along with many mechanical whirs and puffs of steam.
With a boldness Sonata admired, Sunset strode out into the road and hailed them. With identical looks of mild surprise on their faces, Flim and Flam ignited their horns in pear-green glows, bringing their transportation to a gradual halt.
“And what can we do for you?” Flim asked.
“Ms, um...” Flam added, giving Sunset a look of polite inquiry.
“Wow, they really haven’t changed,” Sonata muttered to herself, remembering their human counterparts. “They even talk the same.”
“We were wondering if you’d be in the market for a commission,” Sunset went on, once she’d given her name. “My friends and I need—“
“Ah!” Flim interrupted, catching sight of Script’s contemptuous expression. “As we’ve already explained to this gentlecolt,” he continued.
“We don’t deal in transportation,” Flam ended. Without preamble, they ignited their horns again, preparing to leave.
“Hang on!” Sunset exclaimed. “Wait, we haven’t even discussed—“
“We’ve discussed the business to our complete satisfaction,” Flim interrupted, turning his head suddenly so that the vehicle swerved to move around Sunset.
“Hey!” Sonata shouted. “Don’t you ignore her like that!”
“I’m sorry,” Flam said, not looking sorry at all as Sonata too stepped into their path. “But our business is concluded for the day. Please step aside.”
“You’d better stop and talk to us, right now,” Sonata said angrily, feeling increasingly more and more peeved as Flim gave her an impatient glare, and Flam yawned conspicuously. “Or else I’ll tell everyone around here about that suntan lotion you’re selling.”
“Solar spray?” Script suggested, giving Sonata a cautious, amused sort of look.
“Yeah, that stuff.”
“What’s to tell?” Flim asked, levitating a bottle of it from the back of the vehicle. “That it’s amazing? Does exactly what it says on the package?”
“That it’s two-thirds the cost of the next leading brand?” Flam added, winking conspiratorially at passers-by.
“No,” Sonata said coldly. “I’ll tell people where you get it from.”
A rather pregnant pause followed this pronouncement. Eventually, Flam cleared his throat, recovering from his moment of shock. 
“We brew it ourselves, of course!” he said loudly enough for everypony around to hear. “To be sure, fortunes have fallen a little, but Flim and Flam’s Satisfaction-Guaranteed Splendid Solar Screening and Sprucing Spray works just as well as it ever—“
“You don’t make that stuff,” Sonata said, matching their volume. “All you do is take some other brand, and—“
“Now, now!” Flim boomed, rolling one eye over the pedestrians all around. He leapt down from the box. “Those are some strong and completely unsupportable accusations!” He leaned in close. “What’s the deal, kid? I don’t come to your town and try to ruin your business.”
“We are a legitimate business,” Flam added. 
“Princess Luna doesn’t seem to agree,” Sonata said acidly. 
Flim and Flam glanced briefly at one another. 
“If you had any evidence for these wild accusations,” Flim said, banishing his scowl and adopting a condescending sneer. “Perhaps the good ponies here might have something to complain abou—“
“So what’s this?” Script asked.
Having taken advantage of the brother’s focus on Sonata, Script had strolled casually around the side of the vehicle, and lifted a bit of tarp. He indicated a glass container, on which there was a patch of dust and debris clinging tight to it.
“You know in the right light, it almost looks like there’s been a label ripped off here,” he said. “A very specifically shaped label.”
Flim and Flam both glanced at each other again. Flam swallowed. 
“Yes, well, it may have been reused,” Flam began.
“Hard times require that we do our part for the environment,” Flim continued in a more confident tone. “We recycle our equipment often.”
“So I could just take a look at your inventory report, then?” Script asked politely, his eyes alight with sadistic glee. “See where your stock is from?”
“Of course not!” Flam snapped. “That’s our private business! You have no right to—“
“It’s Equestrian law that we know where products come from,” Sunset interjected. “You wouldn’t hide that information from us, would you?”
“Of course they wouldn’t,” Script said silkily. “I’m sure they’re just concerned that ponies might just try to cut out the middle-stallion. But that couldn’t possibly happen,” he went on relentlessly, almost nose-to-nose with Flim. “Because these guys are a legitimate business, who obviously have legal ties with their suppliers and have documentation proving it. Don’t you?” he finished, looking Flim directly in the eye.
Flim’s lips were tight. A trickle of sweat ran down his oddly smooth face, and the crystalline look of his eyes glittered as he blinked moisture out of them. He cleared his throat with some difficulty as he eyed the pedestrians all around them, who were all looking inquiringly at the scene. Sonata noticed one bright blue pegasus who was holding a bottle of Flim and Flam’s product hold up the solar spray, as though looking for a sign of where it was from. Apparently not finding one, she looked suspiciously at Flim and Flam, her mouth slightly open. Sonata felt a slight creeping coldness to see the sharp teeth the Nightlander possessed. 
Flim and Flam, already looking uncomfortable, began to look positively nervous at how the gathering crowd of passers-by seemed to be regarding them. 
“Fine, we’ll talk about it,” Flim said quickly in between his teeth. 
“But not here,” Flam concurred, speaking from behind a hoof.
“Isn’t it wonderful when everypony is reasonable?” Script commented pleasantly, as he and the others followed the brother’s vehicle out of town. 
“We threatened them with an angry mob,” Sunset pointed out, and then kissed Sonata on the cheek. “That was quick thinking.”
Sonata blushed, but not because of the kiss. “I wasn’t trying to blackmail them.”
“No,” Sunset agreed. “I know that you weren’t. And to be honest, if it were any other ponies, I’d be against it. With these two, though, I think I can stem the tide of my guilt for the moment.” She laughed lightly.
Sonata laughed with her, but felt a cascade of ice tumble into her stomach. 
“A stroke of genius I would not have expected from you,” Script interrupted, reaching up and giving Sonata what was no-doubt meant to be a good-natured and friendly strike on the noggin. “I’m going to be honest; I thought that you were an idiot. But you have renewed my reasoned trust in the inherent intelligence of all pony-kind.” He sniffed loudly. “It almost makes me want to cry. You should use your cunning and guile more often. Maybe then ponies will actually think that you’re smart.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sonata said uncomfortably. 
As they wended their way back down the broken-down path towards Flim and Flam’s home, Sonata couldn’t help but feel regret. She couldn’t help but think that blackmailing the Flim Flam Brothers was an ominous sign for the path they’d chosen to take. The path she had chosen to take. 


- To be Continued
	
> The Betrayal
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sunset Shimmer


To Sunset’s utter astonishment, the Flim Flam Brothers turned out to be a great deal more persuadable than she’d imagined. Once at their home, they’d immediately reinvigorated their mental defences, uniting in a concerted effort to either oppose Sunset and her friends, or at least to milk them for a little extra trouble.
The hard-to-get act didn’t last long, however, and whether it was the blackmailing, the bribery, or the fact that Loyal Stride could have easily bent both brothers into red and white pretzels that made them be reasonable, Sunset didn’t know. But she wasn’t going to question it either.
“It’s your word against ours,” Flim had said when pressed on the sunblock. “Who are they to believe?”
“You don’t have much of a leg to stand on if it comes to that,” Script countered. “I can easily prove that that stuff you have is actually Nightbright’s Odour and Sunblock with a bit of lavender added.”
Once their bluster had run out on that score, Flam had brought the conversation around to blunt business.
“What kind of fee can we be expecting for this?” he’d asked swiftly. “Travelling near to Roaman territory isn’t exactly easy for Nightlanders.”
“They’re not a terribly neighbourly bunch, the Magna Badtis Border Guard,” Flim concurred, blithely ignoring Loyal Stride’s frosty looks. 
“We don’t have much money,” Script said quietly, as though hoping Flim and Flam wouldn’t hear him.
“And you’ve lost us,” Flam said, raising both hooves.
“We can barter, though,” Sonata said. “Sunset knows Princess Twilight.”
“Does she?” Flim asked in a tone of utter disinterest. “And what exactly does that have to do with the price of hay in Vanhoover?”
“Is Princess Twilight going to settle the fee?” Flam inquired, smirking.
“No, but I bet Twilight could undo your ban from Last Light,” Sonata suggested.
Flim and Flam had paused here; Sunset could see that the idea was of interest to them.
“Supposing of course that you’re telling us the truth,” Flim said, recovering. “It’s not as though we have any proof that you in fact know Princess Twilight.”
“Proof?” Sonata inquired. 
“A letter addressed to you?” Flam put in. “A possession of hers? Perhaps the combination number to her fabled library?”
“Twilight has a combination lock on her library?” Sonata said, scowling. “Why?”
“Books can be valuable if you know the right buyer,” Flim said, looking as though he were almost salivating at the idea.
Sunset had to repress a smile as she showed them the magical journal. Naturally after Flim had run a few test spells over it, and Flam had studied Twilight’s signature with a small eye-glass, their haughty disbelief disappeared entirely to be replaced by a nervous reluctance.
“Well, you see,” Flim began, clearing his throat as he struggled to think of something.
“It’s not that we don’t want to do it,” Flam carried on. “With all the details arranged, we certainly have no problem doing it, it’s just that, um...”
“Our wagons are quite unprepared,” Flim said quickly, covering the silence. “It’d take some time to get them up to spec.”
“I can help you with that,” Loyal Stride said, stepping forward and casting a wide shadow over the brothers. “I have some experience in vehicle repair.”
Sunset had fully expected resistance, but she suspected by the looks on their faces that Loyal Stride’s imposing size and large cowboy hat cowed them into submission. Honestly, she almost felt sorry for the two brothers as they toiled in Loyal Stride’s shadow, especially when it was clear that Loyal Stride himself was not even aware that he was exuding this malevolent aura. 
“Did Loyal Stride ever mention his importance in the Roaman army?” Sunset asked Sonata.
“I think Script called him a centurion,” she replied. “It sounds important. Doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” Sunset shrugged. “I guess. It sounds important Human history never was a big interest to me.”
“It was devoid of annual threats to global civilisation, though,” Sonata put in.
“Maybe a boring history isn’t so bad,” Sunset mumbled after a short pause.
As it transpired, the Flim Flam Brothers possessed not just one vehicle, but six in total, all of which had been built and respectably stored away once its successor had been built. Sunset suspected, although couldn’t be sure, that the brothers had some kind of hoarding disorder, considering that their home was similarly filled with stacks upon stacks of old merchandise they seemed to have tried to sell many years back, and apparently couldn’t bring themselves to throw away. Script on the other hand had a different view.
“Throw it out?” he snorted. “Not unless they pawn it off on somepony else.”
The vehicle the brothers said that they should use was one of the larger machines, a monster-truck sized vehicle that looked like a cross between a tank, and an enormous stereo system. It was sleeker than one might imagine, vaguely triangular in shape, with the speakers projecting diagonally from either side, and a rounded nose at the front. The caterpillar treads leaned forward, tipping the front end forward so that the back seats were higher than the forward.
“Err...” Sunset said, regarding the thing with a vague disgust.
“We were going through a phase,” Flim admitted, having the grace to look a little shamefaced. 
“Large speakers were all the rage at the time,” Flam said, grinning unconvincingly. 
“I’m pretty sure this shape never was, though,” Script said, giving the brothers a deadpan stare.
“Okay, we get it,” Flim snapped. “Mistakes were made.”
“But it’s the fastest, and the safest to use for long travel,” Flam said.
“Safe how?” Sonata asked.
“You wouldn’t think it to look at it, but this old filly could take a sideways blow from a minotaur.” Flim said, patting the side of the promethean horror.
“Although at the same time it’s shockingly light for its size,” Flam added with equal pride in his voice. “A marvel of engineering, all of our own design.”
“It’s still hideous,” Script said flatly. 





“You seem in a better mood,” Sunset commented.
“Do I?” Sonata asked, jerking out of a daydream.
“You’ve been moody ever since we stayed in that house outside Gauzeville,” Sunset said, placing a hoof on Sonata’s. “It’s good to see you your vague, inattentive self.”
Sonata frowned for a moment or two. “Wait,” she said eventually. “Was that a compliment or...”
“She’s saying you’re ditzy,” Script said thickly, repressing a belch.
“What’s up with you?” Sunset asked, leaning away from him.
“Motion sickness,” Loyal Stride explained succinctly.
“Hey, you two,” Script called to the driver’s seats. “Go a little faster, will you? Maybe then I’ll puke.”
“Why do you want to puke?” Sonata asked. 
“So I can add some colour to this—“
“We get it,” Flim barked over his shoulder.
“The machine is ugly,” Flam continued.
“Get over it,” they said together.
“I guess I just figured it’s not worth being upset,” Sonata said. “What’s done is done, but...” Sonata bit her lip. “Can I admit something, Sunset?”
“Sure,” Sunset said, uncertainly.
Sonata looked around them at the surrounding landscape. “I hate it here. Ever since we got here it’s been nothing but bad luck. We didn’t even find and help Twilight like we meant to.” She sniffled. “I wish we were back home.”
Sunset said nothing to this. Instead, she pulled Sonata into a hug, and hoped that that was enough for the time being. It was all she could think to do.





The ride was surprisingly short considering the distance travelled. As Sunset understood it, Dragon’s Den lay to the west of Canterlot, along what Script had informed her was close to the Equestrian-Nightlands border. The train tracks that snaked their way south east marked the layman’s border between the two disparate nations, and ran eventually into southern Equestria. Flim and Flam’s party vehicle zoomed easily beside the tracks, gliding along like a mobile chunk of stilton blue cheese. By the early evening, they’d reached the roving deserts that marked the border with the Badlands, and the Frontier towns of Appleoosa, Dodge City, and Macintosh Gorge.
Sunset was more than a little surprised to see the sparse skyscrapers reaching towards the clear blue sky, and the rolling dusty suburbs stretching far beyond anything she remembered. Her eye lingered on grey, concrete buildings bleached by an unforgiving sun, and worn down by the eternal trickle of sand through the city as though trapped in an enormous hour glass.
“Something wrong?” Sonata asked, regarding Sunset carefully. 
“No,” Sunset sighed. “It’s just... things really have changed, haven’t they?”
Sonata looked out as well, following Sunset’s eye as they passed by a large orchard which – for one reason or another – had a narrow thoroughfare running through its centre. 
“I guess,” she said. “I don’t know though. When I was here last, there wasn’t anything. Even the buffalo weren’t here when Aria and Adagio and I went to the Badlands. Now there’s tall buildings and houses like back home.”
Sunset looked sideways at Sonata.
“I miss it too,” she said, leaning over Sonata’s back and encircling her forelegs around her middle. “Our house. The view. Rainbow’s dad’s car roaring down the mountainside at four in the morning.”
“Blaring his bluegrass music,” Sonata said, smiling fondly.
“I always hated that music,” Sunset added.
“Me too,” Sonata sighed.
In the back of the vehicle, Loyal Stride mumbled something.
“Hm?” Sunset asked, looking at him politely.
“Ignore him,” Script said lazily, his eyes closed. “Just try not to insult his musical taste too much.”
Sunset glanced at Loyal Stride’s implacable face and decided to let the subject drop.





Dodge City proved to be something of a bigger surprise than the rest of the frontier. Having expected a rolling boulevard of wooden buildings and a bare train track running through the area, Sunset was astonished to find, not just a skyscraper, but a broad, modern-style building of glass and steel that greatly resembled a business headquarters Sunset remembered back in the human world. As they swerved into town, the train tracks double, tripled, quadrupled, splitting off in myriad directions all from a central terminal housed in a large glass dome. Similarly the surrounding buildings all bore the stern, pragmatic appearances of office blocks, and two enormously tall chimneys jutted into the air, giving off a pinkish cloud that carried a smell of cherries on the wind. Just beyond these however, spreading out to the bases of a set of purplish mountains was a vast rolling landscape covered in neat lines of trees. It looked to Sunset as though an  enormous green blanket had been laid over the scene, a green blanket bearing a pattern of red and yellow.
“Welcome, mares and gents,” Flim began with characteristic bravado.
“To Dodge City!” Flam finished, as the two of them leapt out and gave identical bows.
“Home of the wildly successful—“ Flim continued.
“—and bottomlessly enviable—“ Flam added in an undertone.
“Cherry Hill Ecological Replenishment and Renewal Industries.”
“C.H.E.R.R.I.?” Sunset said, before Flim or Flam could. “Really?”
“Clever, isn’t it?” Flim said admiringly.
“If only we’d thought of it,” Flam agreed. “We could have sold it to them.”
“What do they do?” Sonata asked.
“In the main,” Script said, interjecting smoothly, “they export cherries. Originally they started out as a cherry ranch, but following the war, the frontier towns were largely bypassed in favour of the core Equestrian cities, and the frontier towns played a large part in the reconstruction of the natural landscape. C.H.E.R.R.I. indeed became a leading force in renewing the natural beauty surrounding Canterlot, and made enormous amounts of money selling their produce to the mining businesses in Magna Badtis.”
“Roamans like cherries a lot?” Sonata said musingly.
“We mostly use them to make wine, actually,” Loyal Stride intoned gravely. 
“So are we likely to see Roamans here?” Sunset asked, looking around as the hairs on her neck stood up.
“Oh, certainly,” Script said blithely. “But I wouldn’t concern yourself. They think we’re all dead, so they’ll hardly be looking for us. We could walk right into a contingent of legionaries and I doubt they’d so much as—“
Script stopped talking as Loyal Stride knocked him in the flank. About to respond angrily, Script was brought up short as his eye was caught by something ahead of them. Sunset bit her lip, and Sonata failed to stifle a gasp.
The sound of metallic clanking and galloping hooves brought through the thin crowd a small detachment of Roaman soldiers. Like Loyal Stride, they all wore identical sets of segmented armour, steel helmets, and the tell-tale wires on their back legs, part of the mechanism that allowed them to fight on two legs. The lead pony, a thick-set mare with dark eyes and a silvery coat, bore the one noticeable difference that set both her and Loyal Stride apart from the common soldiers; a tall crest resting vertically on her helmet.
“First Centurion!” the mare said in evident surprise. This and the slight widening of her eyes gave Sunset to understand that she was quite shocked to see him. “You’re alive! When Senator Servillus’ ventnavis reported the encounter with the creature, we assumed the worst. The general will be much relieved to see you safe and sound.”
Loyal Stride said nothing to any of this. At first he’d looked faintly discomposed, as though unsure of what to say, but as the officer had gone on, his expression had become more and more bewildered. Apparently taking his silence as acquiescence of her assumptions, the mare’s eye rolled over Script, completely ignoring Sunset, Sonata, and the Flim Flam Brothers, the latter of whom seemed – if their determined not-looking-back was any indication – were only too glad to be unobserved. Sunset vaguely wondered just what they could have done to get even the Roamans annoyed with them.
“And you’ve captured the deserter!” the mare said, her lip curling. She gave Loyal Stride what was evidently supposed to be a comradely sort of thump on the shoulder. “Only you would stick to the job behind enemy lines,” she snorted. “I hope you have gossip when we’re back in the mess hall.”
Sunset’s eyes flickered over Script, wondering how he was handling suddenly being assumed a prisoner. Rather to her astonishment, he’d been rather quicker on the draw. His horn and legs were bound in heavy-looking iron shackles that clinked loudly whenever he shifted. Whether these were real or just an illusion, Sunset didn’t know, but she clapped a hoof over Sonata’s mouth as she gave Script a curious look, and looked as though she were about to question him.
“The job,” Loyal Stride repeated, stupidly, his eyes roving over the soldier’s faces. All of them were set and emotionless, but all of their eyes were fixed on him with evident fascination. Sunset could see admiration and respect there.
“Come,” the mare said, putting a foreleg around Loyal Stride’s shoulders. “We shall escort you back to the legion. You can think up how your report will look on the way there,” she chuckled.
“Uhh...” Sonata ventured, as the two soldiers accompanying the mare officer closed in on Script.
“I shall return to the legion directly,” Loyal Stride said, grim as usual. “But that shouldn’t stop your business.”
The mare smiled. “What? Oh, we can leave that for a day. The general has far more interesting things on his mind at the moment. The business might well fall through when the uhm—“ She leaned in close. “When the invasion starts, anyway.”
Sunset heard this, but luckily it seemed that few others did. She bit her tongue to stop herself making any noises in response, and glanced at her companions. Neither Sonata nor the brothers seemed to have heard, but Script’s raised eyebrows and the slight tightening of Loyal Stride’s jaw told her that they were just as surprised as she was.
“The invasion?” Loyal Stride repeated again.
“Oh, that’s right, you won’t have heard,” the mare said, waving a hoof vaguely. “Orders from home. A detachment of the Second Fleet has been dispatched with additional supplies to the legion so we can get a head start, and I hear that the First Fleet is gearing up for it too.”
“The Princeps is coming himself?” Loyal Stride demanded. “So it was...” His voice tailed off, apparently losing himself in his train of thought.
“Come on, then,” the mare laughed, shaking him a little.
“No,” Loyal Stride said.
The officer blinked, her smile disappearing. The soldiers both looked at him.
“You should finish your assignment. I can find my own way back.”
The officer frowned slightly. “I’m sure you can,” she said uncertainly. “But the prisoner—“
“I’ve hauled him from the Ruins of Friendship,” Loyal Stride interrupted, his mouth curling into a rough approximation of a smile. “I think I can manage Magna Badtis.”
The officer paused, as though trying to decide what to think about this. Taking advantage of her uncertainty, Loyal Stride went on.
“I know the general better than most. He won’t appreciate being made to wait an extra day for anything.”
The mare bit her lip. “You’re probably right. Well, if you’re sure...”
“I am,” Loyal Stride said, putting on the smile again.
The officer nodded. She and the soldiers saluted him, and trotted away towards C.H.E.R.R.I. headquarters. Loyal Stride marched forward as well, looking significantly at the others to indicate they should follow. When the officer and her escort were out of sight, they broke into a light run, Script’s chains vanishing like mist on the air.
“So what’s with the distinct lack of turning us in?” Sunset asked abruptly, as soon as Loyal Stride stopped in front of a red-brick saloon. 
“Because he’s uncertain,” Script said before Loyal Stride could open his mouth. “Servillus, eh? Well, seems bad smells do tend to linger.”
“Who’s Servillus?” Sonata asked.
“Senator,” Script explained in a tone of disdainful scorn. “I’d call him a worm, but I’d be insulting annelids everywhere. He, Loyal Stride and I have a bit of, uh... history.”
“We’re not talking about that,” Loyal Stride said firmly.
“I know, I know,” Script said, condescendingly. “By the way, did you like the chains? Thought them up myself. Seemed your style.”
“I need to know more before I return to the legion,” Loyal Stride said tensely. “Something is seriously wrong with this situation. Everything is being done too covertly.”
“That, and it seems Servillus tried to have you killed,” Script pointed out. “If it was his ventnavis that shot us at Giant’s Gorge, he killed your soldiers and was trying to kill you too.” He paused, looking at Loyal Stride’s face. Sunset had to shut her eyes hard and look again when she thought that she saw concern in Script’s green eyes. 
Script lit his horn, and a small bottle poofed out of the air. “I hear poison is the traditional method for politicians,” he whispered, shaking the bottle in its magical aura.
“You carry poison around—“ Sunset began incredulously. “Wait, what am I saying? Of course you do.”
“Of course I do,” Script said cheekily.
“Of course he does,” Flim and Flam said darkly.





The saloon was a local haunt, a relic of the town’s frontier origins. In classical style, the bar was mostly made of wood, with all of the various nicks and scrapes that a seventy-year period could show under the dutiful application of polish and sandpaper. An old-fashioned jukebox churned out quaint piano music totally sympathetic to the surroundings, and the bartender was a short, round gentlecolt with an enormous moustache and overalls. He looked up from under his two-foot tall hat, and passed along drinks with no more acknowledgement than a low rumble and a slight tip of the hat.
Not fancying a drink, nor eager to be involved in their business, Flim and Flam excused themselves at the door to take care of some private business, promising to meet back at their vehicle.
“Well this complicates things, doesn’t it?” Script said, taking a swig of his ginger ale. “Getting into the camp would have been difficult anyway, but in the midst of invasion preparations?” He gave a snort and downed half the bottle in one.
“Script is right,” Loyal Stride agreed. “Even if Princess Celestia is there, there’s almost no chance of getting in and speaking to her.”
“Or rescuing her,” Sunset sighed.
Script made a sound of amused derision at this, which Sunset took to be agreement. Sonata however was looking worried.
“Hey, don’t worry. We’ll think of something.”
“Maybe...” Sonata said, as though not hearing her. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Do you think that it might be too dangerous?”
“Oh, you are just adorable,” Script cooed, rubbing her cheek. “I think the word that you’re looking for here is suicidal. We’re not getting within fifty feet of any princess in that camp without ten swords up each of our butts. And I’m not talking about that stupid initiation test the soldiers were doing a few years back either.”
Loyal Stride sighed.
“Well, we have to,” Sunset countered, choosing to disregard the latter part of the comment. “If we can break Princess Celestia out of Roaman custody, it could go a long way to helping Equestria reuinite. Things could go back to the way they—“
“Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” Loyal Stride interceded, leaning forward on the table. “We’re not here to rescue the princess. We’re here to ask her how to undo Sonata’s curse.”
Sunset scowled. “I’m going to save her if I can. She was my teacher, and my princess. Your lot have no right to keep her from her home.”
“If I might interject here,” Script said sanctimoniously. “According to the standard rules of warfare, she’s a prisoner of war. So as a matter of actual fact, Roam in fact does have a right to maintain custody of her.”
“Uh-uhm...” Sonata began weakly, looking very much as though she’d like to say something, but didn’t have the faintest idea what.
“Maybe that’s how it is where you’re from,” Sunset snapped. “But Equestria doesn’t operate like that.”
“Hey, lets at least be honest here,” Script said, raising both hooves. “In Roam, we keep you prisoner, put you in a villa, and give you a comfortable life so long as you tow the line. What was it Princess Celestia used to do again? Something about magically banishing ponies to the moon?”
“Guys, lets not argue about—“
“That was not the norm, and you know it!” Sunset said angrily, planting both hooves on the table. Several ponies in the noise of the saloon looked around.
“Look, we’re not rescuing no princess,” Script went on as the attention seeped away. “It ain’t happenin’. We decided we were only going to see what information she had.”
Sunset opened her mouth automatically to argue, but then fell short. She frowned, and her eyes began to wander as her thoughts ground to a halt. 
“No we didn’t,” she muttered. After a short pause, she looked back up. “When?”
“When what?”
“When did we decide that?” Sunset demanded.
Script’s feigned aloofness cracked a little. He frowned as well. 
“Back in... that house,” he said uncertainly. After another short pause, he leaned in close to Loyal Stride. “We decided it when were in the house outside Gauzeville, didn’t we?”
Loyal Stride usually inexpressive face contorted slightly. He looked faintly disconcerted, as though his evident inability to remember either was concerning him.
“We decided no such thing,” Sunset said. “But we did decide to come here. To see Princess Celestia at least. Didn’t we?”
Even as she said it, her certainty was draining away. The more she thought about it, the more she realised that she hadn’t the faintest idea when they’d decided anything about their journey. Nothing. But how could that be? Surely they’d figured out something, at some point.
No. No, there has to be a point where we discussed what we were going to do. I know there was.
She thought back as far as it was plausible to do so, settling on after Sonata had saved them from being obliterated by the ventnavis. They’d awoken the next morning, and they’d talked. Sunset had a clear memory of them all talking.  She just... couldn’t remember... what.
She skipped ahead, thinking about when they’d set up their lodgings in Gauzeville. They’d definitely discussed things then. And she was positive some kind of discussion had taken place after Sonata had told them about the changeling visiting her. The problem was that she couldn’t quite remember what had been said.
It was only a day ago, she thought desperately. How can it be this hard to remember?
It shouldn’t have been. Sunset’s memory was never this bad; what was going on?
Opening her eyes and looking up, she saw that her companions seemed to be having similar problems. Script had his hoof pressed so hard to his temple it looked like he was trying to resist an ice cream headache, whilst Loyal Stride’s usually sharp, penetrating gaze had become uncharacteristically cloudy. 
When Sunset looked at Sonata however, she almost did a double-take. Her marefriend had gone stark white, a light dew gathering at her brow as she stared in apparent fear at the table top.
“I can’t remember,” Script growled. “We talked about it, but... what did we say?”
“Sonata, it’s okay if you can’t remember either,” Sunset said, starting to get worried about Sonata’s pallor. “Something’s wrong with us. I was positive that we’d talked this through, and decided to come here, but thinking on it...”
“We don’t remember when or how we did it,” Loyal Stride mumbled, frowning into space. 
“I don’t exactly have an eidetic memory,” Script began, his voice low and slightly frustrated. “But I know for a fact that we’ve discussed the point several times at different intervals. We can’t all have forgotten every one of them. One of us has to remember.”
They all looked at each other. Except Sonata, who’s eyes were wandering across Sunset’s face, as though tracing her profile.
“Do you think something’s been done to us?” Loyal Stride said darkly. “A spell?”
“Possibly,” Script replied, rubbing his beard. “I don’t know the full extent of changeling magic, but illusions and deception are their forte. It’s not impossible to suppose they’ve done something, but I just don’t see why. And also,” he snarled, giving the table a look of malevolent intent, “the inside of my head is not somewhere anypony should be going.”
“Changing memories,” Loyal Stride said, following the thought. “Not a pleasant idea. If they’ve done that much, what else could they have changed?”
“No one fucks with my mind!” Script snarled suddenly, slamming his hoof onto the table. “It’s the last damn place I have! If I find out somepony—“
“We don’t know for certain that anypony has done anything to us,” Sunset interjected as Script’s voice rose. “This wild speculation isn’t going to get us anywhere. We need to decide what we’re going to do now. Doesn’t anypony remember anything?” she asked, looking at Script and Loyal Stride’s faces. “Anything at all? What about you Sonata?”
Sunset turned to Sonata again, and stopped short. 
Sunset loved Sonata. She knew her, had lived with her, and had come to notice and understand a number of her typical expressions and peculiarities. One thing that she’d never had occasion to take notice of in her before, however, was guilt. At least, not repressed guilt. And it wasn’t until she recognised the look in Sonata’s face for what it was at that moment that Sunset realised what the reason for Sonata’s quietness had been.
As Sonata noticed Sunset looking at her, the whiteness of her face paled even further. There was no mistaking it...
“You didn’t,” Sunset breathed, her eyes widening.
The table was silent.
“Sonata,” Sunset whispered. She swallowed. “You wouldn’t... you didn’t... did you?”
Sonata didn’t say anything. Biting her lip, she kept her suddenly shining eyes fixed firmly on the table.
“Didn’t what?” Loyal Stride asked, looking between them. “What didn’t she—“
“You little bitch!” Script howled.
Before either Sunset or Loyal Stride quite understood what was happening, Script had vaulted the table. With a cry of rage he tackled Sonata from her seat.
“I’ll kill you!” he shrieked.
“The hell are you—“ Loyal Stride grunted, leaping forward and shouldering Script away.
“That little cud-chewing, filly-fooling, scum-sucking monster changed our damn memories!” Script shouted, directing burning eyes at Sonata and practically frothing at the mouth. “Get out of the way!” he growled, his horn blazing.
“Oi!” the bartender snapped, knocking his hat aside and igniting his own horn. “Ye got problems, ye take ‘em outside, y’here me?”
“Condition acceptable!” Script cackled, giving the bartender a toothy grin.





The street was still a little bustling in the early evening rush, but when the saloon doors flew open, no pony was directly in the way as Sonata came crashing onto the paving stones. Groaning a little and insensible to the staring crowd, she squinted towards the door as it banged open for a second time.
“I-I’m sorry,” she said shakily.
“Apology accepted,” Script replied coldly, his horn sputtering magical sparks as he bore down upon her.
Before he could come to a decision as to what spell he was to inflict upon her, Loyal Stride pulled him roughly into a hold, using his armour’s mechanics to hold the two of them upright.
“Let go of me!” Script barked. “I swear to the spirits, Strider, if you don’t back off, I’ll blast you both!”
“Script, just stop a moment,” Sunset said, stepping uncertainly between them and Sonata. 
“And now the marefriend’s here,” Script groaned savagely. “Now sense and reason shall reign supreme. What excuses are you going to make for her? Go on. And make it a good one too, because I—“
“Just shut up for a moment!” Sunset snapped, her patience gone. 
Script glared at her for a moment, his mouth and snout contorting sourly. He exhaled forcefully and gave a grudging nod. Sunset turned to Sonata, still on the ground and seemingly unable to look at them. Ignoring the staring crowd, Sunset took a step towards her.
“Did you do it?” she breathed.
Sonata’s lip trembled.
“Y-Yes,” she stammered. And then raising her head suddenly, she went on in a more urgent tone. “But please, I had to do it! I mean, I thought I did, I just—“
“I know I can’t actually kill her,” Script growled. “But I’m gonna start trying if this explanation doesn’t start getting better real fast.”
“You weren’t... I mean, no pony was listening to me!” Sonata cried. “I kept telling you it was getting worse, I told you I was afraid of what was going to happen,” she said, looking beseechingly at Sunset. “None of you took me seriously.”
“That’s not true,” Sunset gasped, her breath catching in her throat. “I knew the danger your pendant poses. I trusted you to be able to keep it under control until we could get to Twilight.” Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered. “Twilight... we were going to Twilight. To Last Light.”
“We don’t know that Twilight knows a way of getting it off,” Sonata sobbed. “The changeling told me that Princess Celestia knows how to do it. She told me there was an informant in the Roaman military who’d help us—“
“You’ve seen that changeling again?” Loyal Stride interrupted.
“That’s where you got the information about an informant!?” Script erupted.
By this point the crowd all around was beginning to mutter. Some part of Sunset knew that doing this out in the open was not a good idea, but a deep, penetrating sense of hurt had lodged itself into her heart, and all she could think about was Sonata’s betrayal.
If she hadn’t been quite so distracted, she might have noticed the crowd’s attention shifting, and the dark clouds gathering over their heads.
“So you thought that that made it okay for you to use your powers on us?” Sunset asked, in a voice low and shaking. The more she thought about it, the more her memory seemed to return, and the more it all began to connect. A sudden wave of nausea swept through her as a thought struck. “You literally changed our minds. That night after Gauzeville, in the abandoned house. We spent the night together. You... you planned that whole...” 
Sonata shook her head violently, looking horrified as Sunset’s voice choked up.
“No! No, I swear, I didn’t plan any of it! It just—it just sort of happened, and—“
“That’s why I was on the landing!” Script cried indignantly. “I heard you singing, and you... you are so fucking dead!”
Loyal Stride maintained his hold on Script, but he too looked as though he were recollecting something unpleasant.
“Please, I’m sorry,” Sonata sniffled. “Coming here, I know now it was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Sunset blurted. 
“I will drop you into two separate dimensions!” Script choked as Loyal Stride held him up higher.
“Sonata, you’ve put us all in danger. You invaded our minds. My mind!” She looked at Sonata through blurred vision. “H-How could you do that?”
“I-I’m sorry,” Sonata moaned. “I was scared. I didn’t know what to—“
“That’s not an excuse!” Sunset screamed, slamming a hoof onto the pavement. “Y-You...you’re my marefriend. We’re supposed to trust each other.” Dropping her gaze to the floor, she let the tears fall from her eyes like the rain beginning to patter down from above. 
“It’s not like that!” Sonata cried, pushing herself forward a little. “Please, I do trust you. I love you! I was just being—“
“But how can I trust you?” Sunset demanded, pressing her eyes tight shut. “How can you expect me to believe you n-now?”
Sonata’s wide eyes wobbled in their sockets, and although her mouth was open, no sound came out. For a long while, she didn’t seem to have anything to say, as the rain began to fall in earnest, obscuring the trails of tears on her cheeks in a wash of downed fur.
“W-What are you s-saying?” she asked, terrified. “Please d-don’t say it. Please, Sunset, I love you!”
Sunset didn’t know whether she’d have been able to say anything to this or not. The rain was beginning to pour more heavily, drowning out their voices. Through this, cutting like a foghorn at sea through the din of the rain, came a deep, resonating sound. It penetrated deep into the ears, like the bellow of some monstrous, infuriated whale, drowning out all else and drawing all eyes to it. Above the city, like a pair of colossal black centipedes, emerged two ventnavi, hanging suspended from the clouds and surging forward. Their host clouds harmoniously blending with the storm all around, lightning crackled within, throwing harsh white glares along the lengths of the war machines.
Many ponies in the crowd began to scream. Within moments, everything was chaos; ponies ran in all directions, skidding in the rain and crashing into each other in their haste to get away.
“Oh, wonderful!” Script’s voice bellowed, cutting through the cacophony. “Now this!”


- To be Continued
	
> Servillus Monologues. What a n00b.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sunset Shimmer


The immediate effect of the sudden panic was to separate them all. Loyal Stride and Script, still locked together, were shunted bodily back into the saloon. Sunset found herself shortly after being dragged along with the crowd, as Sonata disappeared behind a forest of legs and bodies.
Soaking wet from the rain and being pushed from all sides, Sunset felt as though she’d been dropped in the middle of a torrential ocean. Fighting against the stream, she caught a glimpse of the C.H.E.R.R.I. headquarters building close by, and headed for it. Trying for her life not to be knocked down and trampled, she pushed and held firm as ponies stampeded by her, forcing her way towards the glass doors, until finally she pressed out of the torrent and into the entrance hall.
Limping a little into a waiting area just beyond the vestibule, Sunset looked quickly around whilst trying to ignore her bumps and bruises, and found that the place had every sign of being hurriedly deserted. The receptionist’s desk and the floor around it was scattered with papers, whilst the sliding glass door – she now noticed – had been knocked off its track so that it hung diagonally by a few wires.
If there’d been time, Sunset might have felt it necessary to close off that part of her mind trying to pull her down into the bitter abyss of her burgeoning misery. The revelation of Sonata’s betrayal had hit her like a metal bat against thin glass. Something had been unhinged inside of her.
Fortunately perhaps, a tell-tale light and a twinkling magical popping sound preceded the arrival of Script and Loyal Stride. In a blue flash of light, they appeared, soaking wet but apparently unharmed.
“It’s not with you, then?” Script commented brusquely, giving Sunset a brief glance. “Good, or I’d get distracted beating it into the ground.”
Sunset didn’t reply, but simply dripped onto the laminated floor.
“Come on,” Loyal Stride said, in a surprisingly gentle voice, to Sunset. He nudged her a little, as though trying to rouse her. “We have to find the radio transmitter in here.”
“Why?” Sunset asked, glad to have questions to ask.
“Obvious, isn’t it?” Script scoffed. “We need to find out who this insider is. If the changeling did tell Scaly Decepta-pants about some informant we’d be able to contact from the town, we need to find out who it is so we know just how deep this rabbit hole goes.”
“Rabbit hole?” Sunset asked, trailing after them.
“I told you,” Script grunted, pushing through a door into a long corridor and beginning to read the doors. “I pretty much figured out whose behind all of this ages ago. I just needed the proof. But if they’re the one controlling the changelings too, then this goes further than even I guessed at.”
“Controlling the changelings?” Sunset parroted again.
“Look, I get that you’re distraught and everything,” Script said irritably. “But that’s going to get annoying, real fast. But yes, controlling. Or influencing. Paying off. Allied with. Whatever. If that’s the case, then whoever the informant is will be in league with their queen. Loyal Stride knows the camp and the ponies there like the back of his hoof. He’ll be able to tell us whose likely to be in on it.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask, actually,” Sunset said, glancing at the door’s name plates as well. “What exactly is this ‘it’ you think is happening?”
“I’ve told you all you need to know,” Script replied firmly. “I’m not telling you any more than what I’ve already done so. Not until it becomes a priority to do so.”
“And Roam invading doesn’t make it a priority?” Sunset asked incredulously. “I think after everything that’s happened in the last few minutes, I deserve to know something.”
“I’m sorry, but no,” Script laughed. “Being sad and having your precious fee-fees hurt doesn’t entitle you to knowledge, I’m afraid.”
He grunted in surprise and pain as Sunset tackled him into the wall.
“I’ve had enough of being lied to!” she snarled. “I’ve had enough with being in the dark, with having to second-guess everything, with your damn attitude!” She stared him straight in the eye, their snouts and horns practically touching. “Tell me what’s happening right this second, or else I—“
“Or else, you what?” Script growled. He shoulder Sunset backwards, his face obscenely close to hers. “How dare you even presume to speak to me like this. If you had even the faintest idea of what I’ve been put through. What I’ve put myself through, just to get at the truth of the matter. And you think that just because you’re here, and because your lying, treasonous, pea-brained, changeling-loving slut-muffin hurt your wittle feewings, that that entitles you to the knowledge that I’ve scrounged, scraped, and bled for?”
The two of them glared at each other, teeth bared and snorting like enraged bulls.
“Don’t talk like you don’t have a hoof in all of this!” Sunset yelled. “As if you’re utterly innocent in what’s happened to Sonata.”
“I saved her life!” Script bellowed. “Then she goes messing around with things she can’t possibly understand, and that’s somehow my fault!? I should kill you where you stand!”
Sunset could almost see her vision turning red. Unable to articulate a response, her horn flared. Almost immediately it sputtered and went out, an indignant stab of pain lancing across her brain as the succendum field from the ventnavi flying overhead cancelled it out. Further hostility was rendered moot by Loyal Stride’s intervention. Stamping a metal-clad hoof between them, he forced his bulk between the two, and knocked Script back as the latter tried to retaliate.
“Stop it, the pair of you,” he barked. “You got problems, keep them to yourselves and deal with them on your own time. Right now, we’ve got work to do. Script, how far is this conspiracy, or whatever it is, along?”
Script made a dismissive nose through his nose, giving Sunset one last death-glare. “Nice to see you’re beginning to actually listen. This is only the beginning. He can’t do anything for right now. All the pieces need to be in the right place before he can act. And I know for a fact that at least one individual isn’t where she ought to be for that to happen. But he has begun to move. And quite ingeniously too, by the looks of things.”
“So is there anything about it that you can—“
Loyal Stride sighed as Script started down the hall again.
“—tell us about it,” he finished under his breath.
Sunset pushed passed Loyal Stride to stand directly in Script’s path. 
“Script, I’ve had enough of being led about!” she raged, her turquoise eyes fixing squarely into his emerald ones. “You claim this to be a threat to all Equestria, even your own country. Tell me what it is, right now, or I swear—“
Script smacked a hoof to her mouth.
“Shut up for a second. Did you read through the instructions I gave you?”
She shoved his hoof aside. “What has that got to do with—“
“Did. You read. The instructions. I gave you?” Script asked, dragging out the vowels.
“Wha—? Oh, yes, I did, but what has that—“
“Then listen to me carefully,” Script said, taking her head in his hooves and glaring at her steadily. “I will tell you what is happening. Later. I swear that I will explain it, and to you too, Strider. At least so much that you’ll explain what is happening. But not now. Not here. Agreed?”
All three of them looked up. The glass roof above was smeared with rain, and the blackness beyond was almost complete. But with every flash of lightning, the silhouettes of the ventnavi flying overhead came into sharp relief.
“A-Alright,” Sunset muttered, mollified. “So, where’s this radio? We can’t hang around if the army is invading.”
“It’s not, but we still need to hurry. It should be...” Script said quietly, pressing on down into a wide alcove, where another door was set back. Chairs lined the sides of the little space, with portraits hanging on the walls, one of a pale yellow mare with a dark red mane. As they approached the door, Sunset noticed the word “Founder” printed in neat italics on the border. Turning back to the door, she read the brass name plaque.


Rocky Cherry Pie – Board Chairpony


“Why aren’t the ventnavi attacking?” Sunset asked, looking up again through the skylight above.
“Why would they?” Script said dismissively. “The frontier towns evidently aren’t their target. Standard Roaman battle practise is to strike hard and deep, knock out the central leadership so that the enemy can’t mount an effective defence. If that’s not possible, hit some other important aspect of the country and cripple their ability to wage the inevitable war.”
“So they’re heading for Canterlot!?” Sunset exclaimed. 
“That’s my guess,” he replied, pulling open cupboards and looking inside of desk drawers. “Don’t worry though. Canterlot is hardly defenceless. It’ll take about... oh, I don’t know. A few weeks to breach the walls?” he said, looking at Strider.
“This is insanity,” Loyal Stride said, apparently not listening. “Trotus can’t have ordered this. It makes no sense to strike so early.”
“Or at all,” Sunset said scathingly.
“Where’s the radio transmitter?” Script grumbled. “It has to be in here. Can you two try helping me search rather than standing around like gormless vegetables?”
“Wouldn’t it be connected to a spire?” Sunset suggested, making the effort. “Surely it’d be somewhere noticeable.”
Script looked up. “There’s the spire,” he said thoughtfully, seeing a tall, thin pole with many little metal extensions branching off of it. Looking down, he followed the point in the wall where it should be to a large, wooden panel.
“I think there’s a hinge here,” Loyal Stride pointed out, trying to push the side of the panel. 
“Don’t worry, I have a key,” Script said.
The panel fizzed with blue light, before abruptly bursting from the wall and flying across the room.
“What?” Script asked at the look on Loyal Stride’s face. “Now, lets see. The frequency should already be in here... yes!”
Sunset peered around him to find, what she knew by human standards, was an outdated radio. It reminded her forcefully of a military computer that she’d seen in an old propaganda film about the Cold War. As Script turned it on, the tuning panel shone with a dull yellow light, and a low, fuzzy hum permeated the room.
Script cleared his throat a little, and then put his mouth to a speaker mounted on a thin stalk.
“Calling on official channels, Legio Fulminata, please respond. I repeat. Legio Fulminata, please respond.”
After a few moments of static and occasional interference, Script tried again. Still nothing.
“Let me try,” Loyal Stride said, budging Script aside. “This is First Centurion Loyal Stride. Verification code Alpha Epsilon dash One Two Two One, Esse Quam Videri. Legio Fulminata, please respond.”
A few moments passed once again, but then a sharp, cringing squeak cut the relative silence like a knife. Then Sunset heard what was unmistakably a voice through the garble of static.
“Let me just get the...” Script muttered. “Ah! Got it.”
“—ond. First Centurion, if you are there, please respond.”
“I’m here,” Loyal Stride said immediately. “To whom am I speaking?”
“This is Captain Standard Bearer, of the ventnavis Ex Amino. Sir, if you don’t mind my saying so, it’s rather a surprise to be hearing from you. The legion has been given to understood that you were deceased.”
“News of my death has been greatly exaggerated,” Loyal Stride replied, a little wryly.
“Ugh,” Script groaned. “You enjoyed that.”
“First Centurion!” said a new voice. Sunset pulled back a little at the initial sound. The unctuous falseness of it made her skin crawl. “How nice to hear from you.”
“Servillus,” Loyal Stride said without thinking.
“I’ll take this in my quarters, captain” said the voice.
“Somepony you know?” Sunset asked.
“Senator Servillus,” Script said distastefully. “I think we mentioned him already. Think low-down, opportunistic toady.”
“Oh, yes, I think you mentioned,” Sunset muttered. “Didn’t you say you had some bad history with him?”
“Oh, he only tried to pin the crimes of a horrific magical experiment going on in the imperial palace onto me, and then try to get Loyal Stride implicated too when he tried to defend me. Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he said at the look on Loyal Stride’s face. “I promised to tell her what is going on, and it all starts there.”
“My dear boy,” the voice started up again. “If you’d had any brains, you’d have kept yourself hidden away and married some nice Equestrian mare.”
“Is this your doing?” Loyal Stride demanded. “This invasion? The legion is not equipped to fight a war with Equestria. Just what in the world are you—“
“You need not concern yourself with the logistics of the coming war, my boy,” Servillus continued, still in that annoyingly buoyant, easy tone of voice. Listening close through the static, Sunset judged it to be an older voice, possibly late middle-age. She remembered from history class that the Roman senators of the human world were renowned as the quintessential old boys club, a parcel of dry, dusty elderly men directing the laws of a growing super power from their seat of luxury in the Eternal City. From the sound of it at least, this guy easily fit the bill.
“Be assured that Roam will be victorious. Victorious in all, and for all time. We shall become a vast and indomitable empire the likes of which the world has never seen. All ponies under the same rule. You should have accepted my hospitality when you had the chance. You’d have been part of the new age.”
“New age?” Script asked, smirking. “That sounds nifty.”
“I see you’ve made some friends during your jaunt amongst the Equestrians,” Servillus said. “Picture it; an age without magic, my dear Loyal Stride. An age where Roam’s power is unrivalled. Is this not the vision of every loyal Roaman?”
“And how exactly will you bring about such an achievement?” Script asked. 
“You could still join us, Loyal Stride,” Servillus murmured, ignoring Script’s part of the discussion. “You’re a loyal pony, an excellent soldier. You’re an example of what Roam should be. Of what it could be, when he arises to reshape the Republic.”
“He?” Loyal Stride asked.
“Is that a yes?” Servillus asked. “Be smart about this, my boy. The Princeps will soon no longer be in charge. You don’t want to be on the losing side, I can tell you that right now.”
“You’re plotting to overthrow the Princeps?” Script asked, interestedly. “And who, by chance, would be taking his place?”
“Loyal Stride, I need your answer,” Servillus said, sounding jaded. “Your loyalty should be to the state. Not to that pretender. The future of the Republic is with us, and him.”
“Tell me the objective of this attack,” Loyal Stride said, his tone of voice flat. Sunset looked at him quickly, wondering if he was being persuaded. She couldn’t tell by the tone of his voice, but the look in his eye...
“To begin the war,” Servillus replied. “I shalln’t tell you the specifics until I know your allegiance. But significant damage to the legion, whatever the cause, will propel the Princeps into action. He will have no choice. And with an unprovoked attack on the Equestrian heartland, the Crystal Empress shall have no choice but to retaliate as well. War shall begin, and Roam shall emerge victorious, with him as our glorious and eternal leader!”
“And that’s all I needed to know,” Script muttered, smirking.
“Your answer, boy,” Servillus said sharply.
“With Equestria added to the Republic’s territories, Roam would become the largest pony nation in the world,” Loyal Stride said thoughtfully. 
“And there would be none left to challenge its power,” Servillus agreed, sounding pleased. “And under his rule, this state itself would be eternal. His shall ensure that no other could even muster the power to challenge our rule.”
“Including ourselves,” Loyal Stride said. 
Sunset, who’d been watching him somewhat nervously, suddenly noticed the hardness in Loyal Stride’s tone. Whatever emotions he was feeling, Sunset got the feeling they weren’t positive.
The radio remained quiet.
“And does the general know about this?” Loyal Stride asked. “Did he order this attack as your compatriot?”
A short, wet chuckle followed this.
“Dear Trotus’ will is relatively weak, if you know where to poke it. A word or two in his ear was enough to convince him that this as the best choice—“
“You damn filthy LIAR! “ Loyal Stride roared into the receiver.
A short pause followed this outburst. Sunset almost took a step back at the sight of the fire blazing in Loyal Stride’s eyes.
“Shall I take that as a no?” Servillus said coldly.
“You can take your offer and shove it into the darkest crevice of your mouldering backside!” Loyal Stride hissed. “You kill those under my command, you try to have me murdered, you plot treason against the Princeps and the Republic, and what’s more, you plan to toss away the blood and lives of loyal Roamans to do it!” He gave a loud snort and slammed a hoof through the desk, cracking it irregularly down the centre. “If I get within five feet of you, I’ll wring the life out of your fat neck! I swear on the blood of my ancestors that I’ll watch the life leave your eyes as you gasp, and beg for—”
“A shame,” Servillus said, cutting across Loyal Stride’s tirade. “Good bye, Loyal Stride. Should somepony take the time to bury you, let your headstone say how your name led you foolishly astray.”
The radio whirred, and the light behind the tuning panel went out.
For a moment, the only sounds were that of the downpour on the glass above, and Loyal Stride’s deep, forceful breathing.
“That was friggin’ awesome,” Script said in a voice of hushed awe. Then he threw his forelegs around Loyal Stride’s neck. “Spirits alive, I would kiss you! But then my sister would get mad, and you know that I can’t keep quiet about anything like that.”
“True,” Loyal Stride said, pushing him off without undue force. “Makes sense that filth is involved. But this probably means that the conspiracy goes high up in the government.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Script said out the corner of his mouth. “Come on. As much as I hate to say it, we have to go and get Sunset’s bed-mate. Now that Servillus is onto us, they’ll be after her.”
“Sonata?” Sunset asked, feeling a sudden heaviness return to his stomach. “Why would they—“
“I told you that I’d explain. And I will. But Servillus is probably—“ He stopped and looked suddenly up. “Yep, yeah, he is.”
Sunset looked up as well, and saw that one of the ventnavi was hovering over the town. From either side of its long, black carapace, came a swarm of tiny black figures, like bees from a disturbed hive. From outside, Sunset and the other two could hear the renewed screams of the frightened townsfolk.
“We have to get out of here,” Loyal Stride said hastily. “The pegasi are only the first wave. Once the centuries land, there’ll be no guarantee that we’ll be able to escape alive.”
“Cheerful,” Sunset said, her heart racing.
“But true,” Script said. “Lets grab your dearly beloved and get out of here.”
Exiting the room at a gallop, they didn’t get far before they were stopped by the sound of clanking.
“Sir!” cried a voice from behind them. Looking back, they found the mare officer from before, followed closely by her two escorts, pelting up the hallway. “Sir, an evacuation order has been given. You have to leave, now!”
Loyal Stride hesitated. “Yes,” he said, in a convincingly commanding tone. “Servillus explained on the radio.”
The officer nodded. “Come on, we can head to the evac point together. Corporal, bring the prisoner.”
Before Script or anypony else could protest, one of the two soldiers cracked Script across the back of the head, sending him crashing to the floor. Sunset bit her lip as the two picked up Script’s limp body, and dashed away with Loyal Stride and the officer.
“I’d get some place safe, if I were you,” the mare called over her shoulder to Sunset. 
Sunset watched them leave, stunned and now utterly unsure of what to do. This scenario had not occurred to her at all; what was she supposed to do? Script and Loyal Stride gone, the Flim Flam Brothers somewhere in the city, Roamans paratrooping from above, and Sonata lost amongst the chaos.
Sonata...
Without anything to immediately distract her, the ache in her gut began to reassert itself, and she was forced to attend to what Sonata had done. For a brief moment all of the doubt, the hurt, the indignation, and the anger thrummed through her. How could Sonata have done it? What had possessed her to think that any of this had been a good idea? Sunset could well understand something done of desperation, but this? This had been beyond grasping at straws. This folly had been grasping at ghosts, delusional hopes held out to her by the least trustworthy of sources. 
And to hold on to this foolish dream, Sonata had felt it necessary to betray her trust, to reach into Sunset’s mind and twist it to her whims. The truly painful part wasn’t the reason for it having been done, or even what had been done, or at least that wasn’t the whole of it.
It was that Sunset had borne an idea of Sonata as an essentially good person, with a naiveté about her that, amongst her virtues, rendered her incapable of such a thing as betrayal or intentional deceit. Nothing so large a lie as this one. It just seemed to contradict everything Sunset was sure of in her marefriend. 
This, she comprehended in mere moments, before an irregularity in her surroundings distracted her enough to look up again. It took her a few seconds, but then she realised what it was. The rain.
The rain was falling, she could see it high above, but it wasn’t hitting the roof of the building, when it plainly should have been. And then came the sound most fit to reduce Sunset’s insides to a cauldron of bilious sludge. Every nerve ending was set on end so that it felt as if she’d been hit by an electric charge. Her legs moved almost of their own volition, sending her scrabbling at first up the hallway, crashing through the doors to the back of the foyer and pounding haphazardly towards the sliding doors. 
The air stung her eyes as she burst outside, blinking hard and trying to stare around her. 
“Sonata!” she cried, not seeing her anywhere. Then she froze, as she noticed for the first time, the true strangeness of her surroundings. Ponies all around were simply standing, unmoving, darkened as though to solid shadows in the darkness cast by the blotted sky. Tall, angular ponies in armour over plain blue tunics, western-looking towns-ponies all standing around, and Sunset suddenly noticed, staring upwards.
She looked up too.





Sonata drew in a long, calming breath, inflating her lungs with the rich, green energy flowing around her like a whirlpool. She opened her mouth, and breathed out change.
“If this world isn’t what Sunset wants,” she reasoned. “Then I’ll change it. I’ll change it all, until she is happy.”
Her wings spread wide, casting dewy glints across the sky, and her eyes glowed with an otherworldly power. She raised her hooves slowly, as a child taking its first steps, but with a grace and ease born of instinct. Her chest inflated yet again, the pendant resting against it pulsing with a sinister light as the green mist all around rose up, spiralling into its facetted surface. 
“I’ll make you happy, Sunset,” she sang into the cold air. “I’ll make you happy. I’ll make you love me again. You’ll rise, rise into the sky.” A long, resonating note of sadness, of regret, and heartfelt love broke out over the dismal surroundings, echoing or so it seemed, with the power of the siren’s call.
“This world isn’t the one you knew, it’s not the one you love. I’ll make it what it was.” Her mouth curved upwards, and her eyes sparkled red. “Even if it first has to die.”


- To be Continued
	
> I Can Give You Everything
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sunset Shimmer


Sunset’s whole body was numb. She had known in her relatively short existence the soul-staining agony of reliving a nightmare; how many sleepless nights followed the wretched night when she had donned the skin of her true self, even she had lost count. As real or terrifying as those experiences had ever been, however many times she’d awoken drenched in sweat, or been broken from sleep by the sound of her own screaming, she could honestly say that none of it had been as awful as this. This, she couldn’t wake up from. This, she couldn’t close herself away from, simply curl up and let the tears fall until she felt the weight of it lessen but never leave. 
This wasn’t some phantom horror. This was real.

High above, at the centre of the space where the rain was denied passage, Sonata hovered like the harbinger of the apocalypse, her hooves raised high and her voice calling loud over the scene. As before, Sunset could hear the music, but knew at the same time that it wasn’t being directed at her. Everypony else around, however, was sitting meekly on the sodden ground, all staring like zombies up at their master. The music was so beautiful, and so nostalgic, it made Sunset’s insides squirm unpleasantly. It was no longer the more upbeat, playful notes Sonata had made during her brief demonstration beside the river; it had returned to the powerful reverberations that, despite the loss of two of the three singers, had not lost its penetration.
Sunset unstuck her jaw. Summoning all of her courage, she screamed for the heavens, and those whom occupied it, to hear her.
“SONATA!”
The singing stopped.
High above, the transparent wings flapped once, and Sunset saw Sonata turn. The sight summoned a surge of fear into her heart; a familiar sensation of terror washed over her, seeming in Sunset’s mind that the massive serpent were glaring down upon her again, rather than her marefriend. As though the two were distinct entities.
Sonata’s face broke into an expression of unmistakable delight, despite the malevolent glow of red in her eyes.
“You came back!” she cried.
Rather faster than Sunset would have expected, Sonata swooped down, gliding like a bat down to the thoroughfare Sunset was standing in. Sunset took an involuntary step back, but recovered quickly, and tried to control the trembling threatening to take over her body.
“Don’t worry,” Sonata said, half laughing.
Sunset immediately made a concerted effort to stop her legs from moving, wondering if Sonata had noticed her backing away.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Sonata asked, looking around.
Sunset hesitated. “W-What is?” she asked, forcing herself to speak as the silence drew on.
Sonata laughed. Sunset wanted to cry at the sound of it. It was the same laugh, the exact same laugh that Sonata always used when full of cheer and nonsense. To hear it now, in her present state... It bit into Sunset’s picture of her like fire over dry paper.
“I can change this,” Sonata said eagerly, her voice trembling with glee. “I can change everything. You don’t have to bare this new Equestria anymore,” she went on with distaste. “I can make it like it was! I’ve thought it all out. I’ll make the Roamans leave. They’ll go home, and bring back Princess Celestia. I’ll put Equestria back together, and everything can go back to the way you knew it!”
She grinned at Sunset, certainty and excitement etched into her face.
Sunset stared back, filled with a burning sense of dread.
“Sonata...” she breathed.
“It’s no problem, really,” Sonata went on, looking around at the mesmerised ponies. She hovered over to a Roaman and lifted their head by the chin. “They love me. I can ask them to do anything.” Taking the pony’s head in both hooves, she turned it from side to side, looking idly into the contours and features of the face. 
“They’ll do anything I ask them to,” she went on. “Go anywhere, say anything. They’d even kill for me if I asked them to.” 
Sunset saw her hooves press against the sides of the soldier’s helmet.
“Sonata!” she said again, more urgently.
“Hm?” Sonata asked, looking around.
“Please, Sonata. Just stop this. This isn’t right.”
Sonata raised her eyebrows. Then she smiled, and swept back to Sunset. 
“Silly Shimmy,” she giggled, sending a fresh pang through Sunset’s guts. “Don’t you see? I can make everything right again. Just the way you want it! Don’t you want Equestria how it used to be?”
“W-Well,” Sunset stammered. “Yes, I-I suppose—“
“I promise you, I can do it! I know I can. There’s enough negative energy in Equestria to make everypony hear me. I’ll make them see that your way is right.”
“My way?” Sunset asked. 
“Of course,” Sonata chuckled. “I want you to be happy. I’ll do it. I’ll make you happy again.”
“Sonata, this doesn’t make me happy.”
Sonata paused, her smile fading. Then it came back just as fast.
“You don’t believe me,” she said, chuckling. “I’ll show you—“
“Sonata, you’re letting the pendant take control,” Sunset said quickly. “It’s affecting your mind. You’d never do this if you—“
Sunset stopped. The revelation of Sonata’s actions came abruptly back to her, and suddenly she wasn’t so sure. Was the pendant affecting her mind? Or was it simply making her become intoxicated with power? Carrying her away with desires that she’d always had, but had not before the power to affect.
“I... I know I was wrong,” Sonata said, bowing her head slightly. “But don’t you see? I’m trying to make it right! I promise you, I can! Don’t you want to see Princess Celestia again? Equestria like it was when you knew it? I’ll make it all happen. No matter what it takes, I’ll do it. I’d do anything for you.” She floating closer, reaching out a tentative hoof. “I love you.”
Sunset stared at the outstretched hoof for a moment or two. She bit her lip, her eyes tearing up.
“Anything?” she rasped.
“Of course!” Sonata cried, her smile returning in full force. “I mean it. I love—“
“Would you kill somepony?”
Sonata stopped. Her smile slowly faded into a strange look, quite alien to Sonata’s face. It took Sunset a moment to realise it was shrewdness.
“If you asked me to? Yes.” She frowned. “Why are you crying?”
“Sonata, please,” Sunset begged, her voice trembling. “Please, just stop. I don’t want this, I just want you to stop. Let’s leave and—“
“I don’t understand,” Sonata said, shaking her head. “Why don’t you want me to change it? You hate how things are. You told me, you want things back how they were.”
“Yes, I do!” Sunset said earnestly, her voice rising in pitch. “But not like this. Not when it means you give yourself over like this! Sonata, we’re trying to get it off you! Don’t you remember what it was like back when you first—”
“I know that!” Sonata roared.
A silence fell between them. Sonata blinked, and then looked away. She cleared her throat as Sunset tried once again to control he renewed trembling in her legs.
“I know we’re trying to get it off me,” Sonata said, forcing her voice back to calm. “But come on! Whilst I have it, why shouldn’t I use it? Look, I’m sorry for what I did to you, I really am. But I can change things now!”
“Sonata, don’t you see what this thing is doing to you?” Sunset asked desperately. “You just told me that you’d kill if I asked you to!”
“And I would,” Sonata said flatly.
An icy blade cut its way into Sunset’s heart, sending a sudden pounding into her ears.
“You don’t mean that,” she said tremulously.
“I said I’d do anything,” Sonata went on, darkly. “You mean more to me than anything. I wouldn’t be alive if you hadn’t been there for me. You think I wouldn’t kill for someone as important to me as you?”
She turned back to the Roaman sitting placidly nearby. Sunset’s heart leapt into her throat as Sonata floated back over to him.
“Wait, what are you—“
“I’ll prove it to you,” Sonata said, still in the same cold tone. She reached out both hooves intently towards the soldier.
“Sonata, stop!” Sunset cried. “Don’t do anything to him!”
Sonata didn’t even pause. She took hold of the pony’s helmet.
“Stop!” Sunset screamed. Without actively thinking it, she called upon her magic. She felt the phantom presence of the pain she’d felt earlier, and immediately her well-honed mind instinctively switched to the only magic that she knew would work.
It was perhaps lucky that she wasn’t trying to perform a terribly complex spell. The instructions Script had given her suddenly burned with clarity in her mind, and she fell through the steps as though she’d practised just the day before. A blast of bright, turquoise energy erupted from her horn, glowing brighter, and hotter than it should. And, to her astonishment, there they were; the little incomprehensible runes that surrounded Script’s magic when he called upon this same power.
Sonata turned back, confused, as the bright light began to dazzle her. Then she disappeared in a blast of ferocious force.
Sunset collapsed to her knees, gasping. Whether she’d not performed the magic well, or if such powerful magic naturally drained the user this much, she didn’t know, but she felt as though somepony had been driving over her lungs with the Flim Flam Brother’s ridiculous vehicle.
The building in front of her erupted in a blast of kinetic force, an ominous red glow burgeoning from the wreckage, and a dark figure rising out of it.
“You... you attacked me...” Sonata gasped, pushing aside a wooden beam. 
“You were going to hurt that guy,” Sunset panted. “Please, Sonata, just stop this and—“
“How could you do that?” Sonata demanded, rising into the air, her eyes brightening with savage intensity. “I’m trying to make you happy!”
“Sonata, this isn’t you!” Sunset shouted, although it cost her. “You can’t see what you’re doing. Stop using the pendant now, before it’s—“
“There they are!” 
From a nearby second-storey window came a flash of blue, and suddenly Script appeared in a flash of light next to Sunset.
“LEAVE!” Sonata bellowed. “Both of you, leave, or I’ll make you love me too.”
This last utterance might have sounded nonsensical in any other context, but the manner in which Sonata spat it out gave it a strangely sinister sensation.
“We’re not leaving,” Loyal Stride said firmly, clanking up the street to stand beside Script and Sunset.
“How did you two find us?” Sunset asked.
“Well, fortunately, Dead-Filly here,” he explained, waving a hoof in Sonata’s direction, “hypnotised our company at about the time I came around. Then it was just a matter of following the supernatural floating pony with the creepy gauze wings.” Script waved a hoof. “How could we not find you?”
“I said leave!” Sonata shrieked, glaring at Sunset. “I won’t accept this. Why can’t you just accept that I want to make everything better for you?”
“Oh?” Script asked sharply. “And at what cost?”
Before Sonata could do more than bare her teeth, a sudden explosion behind them drew all of their attentions. The ventnavis still hovering over them had apparently decided to open fire on the town, massive fireballs disgorging from its sides. It seemed that Sonata’s singing hadn’t reached high enough, or penetrated deep enough into the war machine to affect its crew.
“They’re reacting to the loss of contact with ground troops,” Loyal Stride said tensely. “We have to move. They’ll bombard the entire area, raze the town to the ground.”
Sonata turned to give the ventnavis a look of vicious malevolence. With a scream of rage, she drew a massive gulp of air, inflating her lungs as far as they would go. 
Even if Sunset had managed to understand exactly what was happening, it would have made no difference. Every one of her senses seemed to be on fire. Her ears throbbed, she screwed her eyes tight shut. The feeling in her legs gave way as the sound overtook her entire being.
Her ears rang as though she’d been thrown back from an explosion. In trying to open her eyes, she immediately shut them tight again as a wave of nausea shot through her gut. As the ringing gave way, she slowly managed to make sense of her surroundings.
“Oh, crap!” 
She wished that Script wouldn’t yell like that.
Standing up, she heard thunder rolling above, and looked gingerly up.
The ventnavis listed to one side. For a moment or two, Sunset couldn’t see why, but then she noticed the clouds lightening, literally turning whiter, and whiter. Tiny black forms were flying out of the great machine, as though fleeing. But why?
“She’s disabled the cloud-machine!” Loyal Stride barked.
Sunset felt two, powerful limbs encircle her torso, and suddenly her hooves left the ground. It took a second or two to realise she was being fireman-lifted, moving roughly away from Sonata. 
Sonata seemed to be paying them no attention, but was looking up with a malicious grin and the ventnavis’ predicament. Sunset looked back up as well.
The ventnavis groaned like an old ironclad sinking, its huge, metal girders holding it to the clouds seemed to be crumbling. Then Sunset realised what the problem was. The clouds were dissipating; the very force keeping the massive vehicle airborne was vanishing!
Within seconds the front of the ventnavis dipped as the encircling girders fell straight through the thinning cloud. The rest followed not soon after, sending the great machine crashing in what seemed to Sunset like slow motion, to the ground below.
Sunset instinctively closed her eyes, expecting an explosion, but none came. A terrible grinding, like a thousand cars all being compacted at once, rang across the land, followed incongruently by the sound of torrents of water roaring. Sunset opened her eyes just in time to see just what was happening. The crippled form of the ventnavis had struck the desert plane beyond the farthest buildings, but a massive wave of foaming water was surging downwards into the basin of the town.
“Script!” Loyal Stride bawled. “Lets go! We can’t do anything now!”
“We’re not leaving without Old Red-Eye, here,” Script said grimly, staring up at Sonata, his green eyes glittering.
Loyal Stride skidded to a halt. As he and Script stood there, the waters rushed in; a shallow skin washing out into the crevices of the street, staining the earth dark red.
“What do you expect us to do?” Loyal Stride demanded angrily, one eye on Sonata.
“You,” Sonata said, turning back around. The cruel smile around her mouth receded into a grimace of loathing. Her glowing eyes fixed onto Script. “You turned her against me. This is all your fault.”
“You have no idea how happy that would make me right now, were it actually true,” Script replied, his lip curling. “Sad to say, however, you’ve brought everything you’re getting, and everything I’m going to do to you, upon yourself.”
Sonata growled. A low, rumbling sound deep in her throat that sounded unnaturally predatory for a pony. Almost reptilian.
“You’re a little thing to me now,” Sonata said, low and serious. “I don’t want you to love me. I’ll make you go away, and then we’ll be happy again.” 
She drew in a swift breath.
“Sonata, don’t!” Sunset screamed, realising what she was about to do. Too late! Sonata opened her mouth, and thrust her head forward. A barrage of sound that seemed to quaver the air itself blasted downwards exactly where Script had been standing, gauging a channel in the compacted soil and sending splatters of mud across the nearby storefronts. 
Sonata let out a curse when she noticed the lack of dead Roaman, and then cried out in outrage as she was blasted sideways by a baby-blue bolt of magical energy. Gliding around with the momentum of the blast, she let out another harsh note, shattering the windows of a hater’s shop. Script disappeared again, reappearing to Sonata’s left, but she was wise to him now. She swooped upwards, and everypony watching shut their eyes involuntarily as the evening sunlight dazzled them with an orange radiance, the clouds above burning away without the ventnavis to replenish them.
“Damnit!” Script exclaimed, running to one side with his eyes tight shut in an effort to avoid whatever Sonata was planning, but to no avail.
Sunset blinked the brightness from her eyes, and looked up just in time to see Script get knocked sideways through the wall of the saloon by a massive fish tail. 
Sonata landed heavily in the middle of the street. Still slightly dazzled by the sunlight, Sunset could only make out a large shadow surrounded by the gold and orange of evening, rapidly shrinking.
“Sonata!” Sunset cried. Slipping off of Loyal Stride’s back, she galloped back. “Please, I’m begging you to stop!”
“Why!?” Sonata spat, pausing as she advanced on the saloon. “He’s lied to you! They’re all lying! This horrible world is making you hate me!”
“No pony has lied to me,” Sunset retorted. “No pony but you. The one pony I thought would never lie to me.”
Sonata’s demonic scowl softened. The sharp fangs Sunset had barely noticed protruding down from her lips receded, and her glowing red eyes widened. She took a single step away from the hole in the saloon, and then seemed to hesitate.
“It... it wasn’t like that,” she said quietly.
“You lied,” Sunset said again. “You lied to us. Script is right; you’ve brought everything on yourself.”
“Sunset, please, I didn’t mean to do it!” Sonata pleaded. “I-It just sort of happened. I was scared of what I’d do if—“
“You’re doing it now!” Sunset cried, staring directly into Sonata’s eyes. “Why can’t you see what you’re doing?”
Sonata’s wide eyes began to dim, the red fading. Tears welled up and spilled over her cheeks as she looked around at the devastation she’d caused. Looking back at Sunset, she trotted hastily forward. “I love you!” she said in a desperate whisper, looking beseechingly into Sunset’s face.
Sunset stared back, unable to reply. She saw real fear grow in Sonata’s suddenly trembling lip and unblinking eyes.
“You love me too, right?” Sonata asked hopelessly. “Please, Sunset. P-Please just say it!”
A long pause followed, during which they both stared unblinkingly at each other. Eventually, with what seemed like a great effort, Sunset managed to open her mouth. The hinge of her jaw felt worn and aching.
“I...”
It was all she could manage. After a few more seconds, she closed her mouth, and dropped her gaze to the ground.
“No...” Sonata squeaked, backing away. “Please, Celestia no.” She took a shaky step back towards Sunset. “Please say it. You’re the only thing I have left! There’s nothing in this entire world, only you. Please say that you love me too!”
Sunset couldn’t look at her. Blinking back tears, she held in a sniff. 
“I... I can’t...” she muttered thickly.
For a moment or two, it seemed to Sunset at least as though time had frozen over. An unnatural silence fell all around them, as though the rest of the world were just fantasy, and the only things that were real were herself, and Sonata. 
As fast as the illusion had come, it broke. Sonata’s legs gave way beneath her, tears pouring down her face. Sunset might well have liked to do the same, but she didn’t think that she could summon the energy even to collapse into misery.
“You don’t mean that,” Sonata sobbed, shaking her head jerkily. “I don’t believe you. Y-You’re kind, and s-smart, and beautiful. You s-s-saved me from being alone. Without you I... I...”
Sunset said nothing, but simply stood there, not really conscious of whatever she was doing. She didn’t know whether what she was doing, what she was saying, whether these decisions were the right ones or not. All she knew was that it was all she could have done. But that didn’t make it any more bearable. 
Engrossed in shock, she didn’t notice the glow of the pendant until it began to make her eyes sting from the brightness. Looking up, she noticed with a thrill of horror the cloud of green mist swirling into the pendant. A thick, glittering green mist, coming from... herself!
“I won’t let it end,” Sonata said, her voice hardening. “I can’t.”
Sunset took several steps back as the glow spread back to Sonata’s eyes. The siren rose as her wings re-spread, the tears on her face burning away in the intensity of the light.
“If you can’t say it yourself,” Sonata said, trembling, “then I’ll make you say it.”
“Sonata...” Sunset sobbed.
“I won’t lose you,” Sonata said darkly. “I can’t.”
“Sonata, you can’t...”
Sonata said nothing more, but raised her head, and once again drew in a deep breath. 
Sunset’s panicked mind automatically summoned the threadbare knowledge of the alicorn magic. She had to do something, stop Sonata now. She could blast her again, or make a shield. Neither would permanently stop her, and anything more complicated was likely beyond her at present. Her experience using this magic was simply too fledgling. All she could do was stare, rooted to the ground, as Sonata rose over her, preparing to rob her of her mind and impose a happy fantasy upon them all. For a moment, Sunset considered just letting her. It had to feel better than how she felt right now.
Sonata opened her mouth a final time.


CLANG!


Not the sound Sunset had been expecting. 
Sonata vanished, only to reappear a few feet away in the mud. Sunset stared, uncomprehendingly, and then looked left as she heard the shifting of broken wood.
“Stupid... damn... fish-faced...” 
Script emerged by degrees, his forehead bleeding but his horn glowing, and his eyes fixed unforgivingly on Sonata. For a moment or two Sunset couldn’t see what Script could have done, until Sonata pushed herself up out of the gooey soil. Before she could stand, a large, round piece of metal that Sunset recognised as the saloon’s sign crashed down like a giant shoe crushing a bug. It struck the back of Sonata’s head with a loud clanging and crunching sound, crushing her back into the mud.
“It’s lucky... that you can’t... can’t die,” Script groaned, limping out of the hole. “Lucky for me. I can just keep—


CLANG!


“—hitting you—“


CLANG!


“—again... and again—“


CLANG!


“—until you stay... down!”


CLANG!


“Stop it!” Sonata screeched.
The metal sign blasted out of its aura, wedging into the side of a nearby florist’s. Face all bloody and twisted, Sonata bore clumsily down on Script. 
“Knock her out!” Script shouted. “It’s the only— GRAUGH!”
“I’ll kill you!” Sonata snarled, pinning Script against a wooden wall. “I’ll kill you all!”
And she might have started doing so. Except that for the sixth time, there came a loud crunching sound, as a wooden wagon crashed over her back, breaking into spars. Sonata crumpled to the floor, noticeably dazed. She looked up, groaning, her injuries healing visibly on her head and back.
She and Sunset stared at each other, Sonata splattered in mud and blood, Sunset visibly trembling, whether from emotion or the strain of the powerful magic, it was hard to say. Sonata’s eyes moved slowly upwards to the saloon sign, dented and tarnished, in its turquoise magical aura.
Sunset said nothing. With difficulty she swallowed; it was hard with her throat as tight as it was. For a moment, all she could do was stare into Sonata’s unfocused eyes, which had unhelpfully returned to their usual magenta colour, the red glow about them and the stone dimming to a barely visible shadow in the vanishing radiance of the evening sun.
“I’ve messed up...” Sonata said faintly, dropping her gaze. “I’ve messed up everything.”





Sunset later found that she had little recollection of what happened after this point. She remembered staring down for a long while, simply watching Sonata’s prone, unmoving body lying in the mud. Without its owner conscious to act through, the stone about her throat had dimmed down to a plain-looking chunk of red rock, apparently harmless. Likewise her wings had dissipated like smoke on the wind, and the glow in her eyes vanished utterly.
She had a faint memory of ponies all around her moving, but they were as moving backgrounds in a play; flat and inexpressive in Sunset’s shrunken world. If any of them tried to talk to or interact with her, she had ignored them.
The next thing she was tolerably sure of remembering was of flying. Strange as the thought of it was, however, she had been inclined at the time to think it only a dream; a refuge for her exhausted and tormented mind to dwell in before she had to think of the real world again. All around her was the velvety purple of night, with Luna’s moon and stars twinkling like pieces of crystal in the deep satin of the sky. 
She could have done without the wind whistling in her aching ears, though. Or the coldness. Or the voices calling out all around her. Loud, brisk voices like those of soldiers issuing orders. She’d had enough of soldiers for one lifetime...





Sunset pressed her face into the pillow warm against her cheek. She could feel a slight chill around her, but the bed was cosy and the blankets thick. 
She smiled as her mind ground back into action, remembering the nightmare she’d had. Strange what lurks in one’s own mind. She supposed that she had some deep, potentially repressed memories and urges about her homeland. She had to wonder whether it was worth talking to Sonata about, since she’d been a big part of the whole unpleasant imagining.
No, she thought sluggishly. It’d just be weird. I don’t want to upset her. Perhaps I’ll just talk to the others at Sugarcube Corner later.
After a few moments, she scowled into the pillow and groaned deep in her throat.
Who the hell is talking right outside the window? she thought irritably. Then she wondered if maybe she’d overslept. But no, that couldn’t be; it was still dark. So who was talking outside the house in the middle of the night?
Then a thought occurred to her. 
What if it’s someone trying to break in?
She pushed herself up out of bed, and then instantly fell out, landing painfully on the floor. For some reason she couldn’t feel her hands.
“What the—“ she began in a muffled voice, her face flat against the cold, crystal floor.
Crystal floor? she thought. The bedroom didn’t have a crystal floor.
A door opened somewhere nearby, and the sound of clip-clopping hooves made their way quickly in.
“Hah!” said a loud, raspy voice. “Nice to see I’m not the only one who sleeps like that.”
“R-Rainbow Dash?” Sunset mumbled, pushing herself up. “What are you doing in my house?”
“Your house?” Rainbow’s voice asked, half-laughing. “I think someone’s woken up on the wrong side of the floor.”
Sunset pressed her eyes hard together, trying to blink the sleep out of them as she felt someone helping her back into the bed.
“You shouldn’t push yourself. You’ve been through a lot recently.”
Sunset’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyes snapped open, and she got a good look at the room that she was in for the first time. She recognised none of it. But she did recognise two of the ponies in it.
Rainbow Dash, her hair wilder and somehow harsher than she’d ever seen it before, for some reason she was wearing iron-grey and purple armour with a crescent moon crest. One of her ears was a little torn looking, like an alley-cats, and her eyes had a hard, shiny look to them that immediately reminded her of the Flim-Flam Brothers when she’d met them in Dragon’s Den. She grinned at Sunset with that cocky half-smile Sunset remembered her human self frequently employ, but with the addition of unnaturally sharp teeth.
Next to her, however, was the pony making Sunset stare open-mouthed.
“Hello Sunset,” Twilight said, her face melting into a slightly watery smile.
“Twilight...” Sunset said weakly. “You’re here. Err, I’m here... um...”
She looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings; she suddenly realised that she had no idea where she was. 
“It’s okay, Sunset,” Twilight said, kindly, pushing her gently back down onto the bed. “You’re safe now. I know you’ve been through a lot lately, so just rest. And may I be the first to say, welcome to Last Light.”


- To be Continued
	
> Queen Moonborne Already Hates You
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sunset Shimmer


An hour later, and Sunset and Twilight still hadn’t told each other half of what they had to say. Far too excited to remain in bed, Sunset was invited to take a tour of the castle.
Once she’d inquired after her companions, Sunset was astonished to hear that she’d been asleep for two entire days. 
“Some of our border recon teams let us know that the Roamans were on the move, so I grabbed the first wings that came to hand and took off to try and evacuate ponies before the Roamans could move,” Rainbow Dash explained as they took a turn along a hallway of tall windows.
“But Dodge City is in Equestria proper, isn’t it?” Sunset asked.
Rainbow’s lip curled. “Just cuz they don’t want our help, doesn’t mean we don’t give it,” she grunted. “Short story, we found you guys. And the creepy, floating, red-eyed one. Whom I saw you beat up with a store sign. Which I have to admit sort of confused me, since Twilight told me that she was your marefriend, or something.”
“Yeah, well,” Sunset muttered. “Relationship troubles.”
“And considering we found your two Roaman buddies and – for some reason – the Flim Flams dragging both of you towards some kind of big blue triangle-machine, we kinda figured they were trying to help you. So we brought them too.”
Rainbow Dash gave the carpet a dark look, as though she was remembering something unpleasant. “I was tempted to drop the mouthy one, though.”
“You might have done everypony a favour,” Sunset smiled.
As Twilight and Rainbow Dash showed her about the castle, Twilight was only too happy to give a much clearer explanation of events since she’d received the message in the journal so many years ago, even if it did involve a large, portable cork board, and half a dozen charts and graphs detailing things like populations mechanics and geo-political influence in the region. 
It transpired that the reason for why Twilight had sent the message was because of the outbreak of the mysterious plague. It had started in the south along the border with the Badlands during the war between Roam and the changelings, when the latter were pouring across the border to escape the inevitable genocide. No pony knew what the disease actually was, nor where it had come from. At the time, Princess Luna had offered asylum to the displaced changelings, offering them space in sparsely populated areas such as dense forests and mountain areas. As Sunset knew, this decision became political suicide in the coming years.
Given the proximity of these events, most Equestrians believed that the changelings were responsible for the plague, and public outcry against them, and against Princess Luna, ran high, until several years later with the outbreak of the war with Roam. The Roamans hit straight at the heart of Equestria, striking the capital city of Canterlot and capturing Princess Celestia. For reasons not entirely understood even to this day, the Roamans retreated shortly afterwards, and signed an armistice, pulling back the bulk of their military to their homeland.
With public opinion greatly against Princess Luna, Luna established Princess Cadence as regent of Equestria until such a time as Princess Celestia should return, or Princess Luna retake the throne. With Luna’s public support of the exiled changelings, and the plague now able to spread unchecked from the western half of Equestria without Princess Celestia’s control of the sun to stop it, the political situation in Canterlot rapidly deteriorated, necessitating the creation of the ruling Council, where power was divided between the Canterlot nobility, various city representatives, and Princess Cadence. 
During both the plague’s rapid spread, and the Roaman invasion, Twilight had been hard at work trying to find a cure.
“But how did you get infected?” Sunset inquired. Her eyes lingered a little longer on Twilight’s crystalline eyes, unusually shiny coat, and distinctively sharp teeth. The years had done little to her appearance otherwise, but her hair was pulled up into a business-like knot at the back of her head, and for some reason she was wearing glasses.
“During the early stages,” Twilight began, “we didn’t know what it was. We still don’t know if it comes to that. None of Princess Celestia’s scouts returned, and those that fled from it said that rabid ponies were attacking from the south west. When my friends and I went to investigate, well...” 
She gave Rainbow Dash a wan look.
“Fact is, we all got bitten and infected,” Rainbow finished. “By the time we figured out what was actually happening, it was too late. Except for Fluttershy at least.”
“Fluttershy?” Sunset repeated. “She wasn’t infected?”
“No,” Rainbow said through her teeth.
“It’s not a subject we like to bring up,” Twilight said uncomfortably. “She saved us. Well, she and Discord saved us.”
Twilight gave Sunset a wry look. “I suppose I can’t say something like that and not explain.”
“Too right,” Sunset said seriously.
Twilight shot another small look at Rainbow before beginning. “Discord was with us when we went to investigate. He and Fluttershy were separated from the main group, and when it became clear that the rest of us had been lost, he transported Fluttershy to safety. I frankly have no memory of what happened between then and their sacrifice. The plague rendered all those infected down to mindless creatures, acting purely on instinct.”
“Sacrifice?” Sunset asked, frowning. She had a sense of foreboding in her chest that she didn’t like.
“When the war was over, Princess Luna’s control of the sun was challenged by the Equestrian nobility,” Twilight explained. “Most Equestrians lost faith in Luna to perform Princess Celestia’s duties, and during the struggle, the plague was able to spread beyond the bounds Princess Celestia had set. To try to stop them, Fluttershy and Discord—“ 
“You can see for yourself outside,” Rainbow said in a hardened tone.
Twilight and Sunset looked at each other as Rainbow strode ahead, but Twilight said nothing more, and so Sunset allowed the subject to drop for the present.
The corridor they had been walking down ended at a large entrance hall. A grand set of stairs led down to the ground floor, where a roomy expanse gave way to deep blue and purple carpets, large hanging tapestries of the moon and twilit suns. To either side of the huge double doors in front of the stairs, were two statues of Celestia and Luna, rearing up to greet new arrivals. Celestia’s statue, white marble with a golden base, had a kindly face but seemed relatively plainly adorned. Luna’s statue was made of black marble with a silver base. Her features were a little more profound, with a serious and slightly tortured expression on her face, her black crown and jewellery made of what seemed to be obsidian and diamonds. 
The difference between the statues at a glance was not terribly noticeable, but if one looked closer, it was clear whom the artist had given more attention to.
Moreover, there was a third statue, this one sequestered in a niche set into the left wall. The only reason that it stood out was because it was at the centre of a number of large metal reliefs that put Sunset in mind of the stain-glass windows of Canterlot castle. All of them were made of a shiny silver metal, inlaid with gemstones to provide the colour. Between these reliefs stood this third statue, which was made of some kind of near-transparent, shiny purple material, like coloured glass. Sunset didn’t know what this purple stuff was, but noticed upon seeing it that the floor and several uncovered parts of the walls seemed to be made of it as well.
Sunset could tell that a different artist had made this statue. It stood on all-fours, and was not quite as sophisticated; its features were angular and rough-hewn, giving it a harsh, jagged appearance. Unfortunately, this made the features somewhat difficult to make out. It was certainly a pony of some kind, and had the structural anatomy of a princess. But who it could be, and why it was here, Sunset didn’t know.
“Are you coming?” Rainbow called from the door.
“Huh?” Sunset said stupidly. “Oh! Right.”





Sunset had expected to walk outside to a bright sunlight, feeling that she’d slept for a while. Then she remembered where she was, and the warm light of eternal twilight utterly failed to make her squint or flinch as the first sight of sunlight should. 
Last Light was not quite what Sunset had expected. Being less than seventy years old, she had expected it to be a lonely castle near to a small town, or even left utterly alone given Luna’s status in the opinions of the average Equestrian. But she’d underestimated Luna’s presence amongst those whom she’d sought to help.
Last Light was little less than a sprawling city, rivalling or so it seemed, Canterlot in its size. The castle of Last Light stood atop a high cliff overlooking the town. But that was where the comparison to Canterlot ended. The city itself was a strange mixture of edifices, some of them ostensibly the grand, fantastical buildings that the Canterlot nobility had indulged in for generations, others the fantasy-like houses Sunset thought she recognised as Ponyvillian. On the other end of the spectrum, however, was something of a shock. At first, Sunset didn’t recognise them as buildings, but as she stared down at the town, what they were became quite clear. 
Purple spires protruded out of the cityscape like stalagmites, rendered relatively none-threatening by the various curlicues and loops of the purple material from which they were made that gave the spires a whimsical, natural look. In and out of these spires, from ledges and between carved purple pillars, strode or swooped changelings and ponies, walking side-by-side through the city streets.
“Wow,” Sunset said. It was the only thing that seemed appropriate to say. “But... wait, where is this?”
“The Cliff of Galloping Gorge,” Twilight said.
“Really?” Sunset looked around. “But, isn’t Cloudsdale supposed to be visible from here?”
Sunset instantly knew that she’d again said something wrong. Rainbow’s face went stony again, and Twilight sighed.
“It’s not where it used to be,” Twilight said delicately. “When the Roamans invaded and captured Princess Celestia, their ventnavis fleet dispersed into squadrons to attack major Equestrian targets. Ponyville was one, as well as Baltimare and Cloudsdale. Since Cloudsdale is so important to the stability of the country, it was rebuilt further north close to the Crystal Empire. The Empire was supposed to be attacked too, but their defences were too powerful for the Roamans to penetrate before they signed the treaty.”
“And now it’s starting up again,” Rainbow sighed. “I’m not sure we could beat Roam as a single country. But two? Who generally distrust each other?” She shook her head.
“It’s not as simple as that,” Sunset said tensely. “A Roaman senator, somepony called Servillus, implied that the invasion is part of some great scheme.”
“Yeah. Your mouthy friend’s been saying something about that, too,” Rainbow huffed.
“He wishes to see Princess Luna about it,” Twilight elaborated. “He says that what he has to tell her could change the political—“
“Yap, yap, yap,” Rainbow interrupted. “That guy never stops talking. I think I can still hear him deep in my ear hole. Probably using some kind of freaky Roaman perma-lecture magic.”
“He’s a little eccentric,” Sunset admitted, feeling that to express her true thoughts about Script might not be entirely prudent.
“Err, yeah!” Rainbow snorted.
“Anyway,” Twilight said in a slightly raised voice. “Here we are.”
They’d come to the end of the cliff, and the outermost edge of the castle grounds. Amongst the neatly ordered grass, ornamental bushes, and rigidly maintained trees, what Twilight was referring to was something of a surprise. 
Standing in a square of dark mulch was a tall, crystal tree, wild-looking and apparently unmanaged; a thing perfectly calculated to stand out in every way amongst the blues, purples, and dark greens of the rest of the perfectly ordered garden. To Sunset’s mind, it looked like some lost treasure at the bottom of the sea. Yet she understood right away that this wasn’t crystal carved into the shape of a tree, but a tree literally made out of crystal. Every leaf on its hundreds of branches glistened with the purples, pinks, oranges, and blues of the twilit sky, casting a brilliance of ethereal light around where it stood, like some ghostly disco ball. 
The tree was a remarkable sight, something that Sunset would normally have marvelled at. In some far off part of her mind, she did have to wonder if the tree was indeed simply an eccentric art project, or if perhaps it was a species of tree that was made of crystal. But right now, she was more interested in what this had to do with Fluttershy, and her “sacrifice”. She was about to inquire into the matter, when she noticed that Twilight and Rainbow Dash were no longer at her side, but sitting on the side of the tree facing the cliff’s edge.
“It’s a cool tree,” Sunset admitted, walking up to the two of them. “But what exactly...” her voice tailed off as her eyes followed theirs, and her heart leapt up into her throat.
Sunset was immediately put in mind of one of those pictures where one has to cross their eyes to see the image hidden within. Amongst the glass branches and leaves, the figure was practically camouflaged, if it hadn’t been for the distinctive colouration. Even in crystal-form, Sunset would know the long, curling pink hair, the light yellow body, the peaceful expression. Her wings were spread, and she was frozen in a stance that made it look like she was floating. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open, and stemming from some idiosyncrasy in the tree’s form, caused the captured light of the weak sun to concentrate within the graceful figure. For a second, Sunset honestly thought that she was looking upon some kind of angel or nature guardian.
“Discord was turned to stone as well,” Twilight said quietly. “Princess Luna returned him to Canterlot, where she thought Princess Celestia would have wanted him to be. But Fluttershy stayed here, to remind us...”
Sunset said nothing as Rainbow sniffed, trying to pass it off as a sneeze. Shocked as Sunset was to see Fluttershy, it wasn’t entirely just that she was frozen in crystal that was making her turn cold.
“Sunset?”
“Huh?”
Twilight gave her a sympathetic look. “Sorry,” she said, forcing a smile. “I know it must be a bit of a shock. Seeing her like this, I mean. It’s such a strange thing to have happened, but at the same time I’ve come to think of it as beautiful. I sort of feel I have to think of it that way.”
Sunset looked at Twilight, her heart skipping a little. Didn’t Twilight know? Didn’t Twilight understand what this was? 
But then, she thought Considering how I came across that information, and Princess Celestia being gone, maybe it isn’t so strange.
“So, if everypony else was infected too,” Sunset said, wanting to change the subject. “Are they here too?”
“Applejack is,” Rainbow Dash replied, a little of her smile returning. She nodded down off the cliff to several squares of land on the city’s northern tip. “Sweet Apple Acres was lost along with Ponyville, so Applejack rebuilt it here.”
“But everypony else is elsewhere I’m afraid,” Twilight sighed. “Rarity had to move to her shop in Manehatten.”
“Although she did have trouble at first,” Rainbow grinned. “What with the angry mobs, vandalism, graffiti—“
“Yes, Rainbow Dash,” Twilight interrupted.
“—city ordinances, petitions to Canterlot—“ Rainbow went on.
“She gets the picture, Rainbow,” Twilight said more insistently.
“—one or two break-ins, that one time when somepony put that weird story about her relationship with Spike in the newspapers, and—“
“Rainbow!” Twilight snapped. 
“Oh, yeah,” Rainbow cleared her throat. “Well, she’s settled now. The ponies there love her.”
“It did take a little while for ponies to get over the fear of her being a Nightlander,” Twilight said with a slightly sad smile. “But her reputation precedes the preconceptions. And it led Pinkie to her current goal in life.”
“What’s that?” Sunset asked.
“Well, she got together with Cheese Sandwich a few decades ago,” Twilight began.
“In more ways than one,” Rainbow muttered.
“They went on the road to spread cheer throughout Equestria as a double-act, showing normal ponies that Nightlanders aren’t the dangerous monsters they grow up thinking us to be.”
Sunset frowned. “Implying that you’re not normal?” she said, frowning. “I don’t see how that follows, just because you have an illness.”
Twilight blinked, and then her face broke into the first earnest smile Sunset had yet seen on her.
“I have a few things to discuss with you about that, actually,” she said cheerfully, bumping Sunset’s shoulder. “As a former student of Princess Celestia yourself, and all.”
Sunset smiled back, and then thought of something. “Oh, by the way. Where’s Spike? Isn’t he still with you?”
Sunset knew that dragons at least could live for many hundreds of years, so infected or not, he was likely to still be alive after seventy years. She was slightly bemused when Rainbow let out a snort.
“His Royal Appointedness, the Grand Steward of the Crystal Empire, the Great and Honourable Spike, the Brave and Glorious.” So saying in a voice that would have medieval heralds falling to their knees in tears, Rainbow finished by giving a deep bow and sweep of one hoof.
Sunset blinked.
“Wut?” she said stupidly.
“Get up,” Twilight said reprovingly to Rainbow, as the latter continued to bow, although also smirking herself. “Spike is currently the acting head of state for the Crystal Empire.”
Sunset’s mouth fell open. “Acting head... Spike is the...”
“Short explanation, please, Twilight,” Rainbow said, standing up properly and still chuckling.
“Well, when Princess Luna appointed Princess Cadence as Regent of Equestria,” Twilight explained, “both Shining Armour and Song Bright went with her to Canterlot. Shining Armour to lead the army as he had done under Celestia, and Song Bright to be a diplomat to Roam.”
“I’m sorry, Song who?” Sunset inquired.
“Cadence and Shining’s daughter, my niece,” Twilight explained. “This essentially meant that there was no pony with a legitimate claim to the leadership of the Empire.”
“Except Spike,” Rainbow put in.
“Well, no,” Twilight corrected. “He has no right to the throne. But he is a national hero, and is regarded highly by the crystal ponies, and so agreed to be the acting steward.”
“I’m so glad you kept me up to date on events back before all of this happened, or this might be really confusing about now,” Sunset said, rubbing her temple. 





Sunset didn’t feel much like being given a tour of the city itself; Twilight charitably put it down to Sunset’s squeamishness about the changelings, and Sunset made no argument against it. The true reason, however, was nagging at the back of her mind. It seemed hard for even her to fathom, but what she’d seen had shocked her almost as much as everything else. And she only wished to see one pony at the moment because she needed an answer, right now, to a very important question. 
Twilight and Rainbow left Sunset to her own devices, telling her that she was free to go where she pleased, and inviting her to dinner with them that night with Princess Luna.
“Will you be there?” Sunset asked Rainbow in surprise. Then she blushed, realising how offensive the question was. Rainbow snorted and gave Sunset a condescending smile.
“Rainbow Dash is the captain of the Night Corps.,” Twilight explained, trying not to smirk herself. “Alongside Captain Teeming Glory of the Shadow Squad and Wing-Commander Alpenglow of the Velvet Battalion, they make up the head of the Nightland’s defence forces.”
“So yeah,” Rainbow said, giving Sunset an amused look. “I’ll be at dinner.”
Following that, Sunset really wanted to be alone.
She followed a path through the castle to a point where a long hall branched off into a number of rooms. Most of the main rooms had been shown to her, including the grand library and the state room, but several had not been touched upon. One particular area of the place she had noticed hadn’t been explored was the seventh floor’s northern side. The only thing Sunset knew of this was that it housed the second largest tower, something she’d noticed when standing on the observatory, which was the actual largest. 
Having been given no instruction as to any forbidden areas of the palace, Sunset felt no real sense of trespass as she made her way up the main stairs to the seventh floor. With her head buzzing again and again with the question she needed answering, she knew that she had to at least try to find Princess Luna.
As she had observed earlier, a great deal of the castle, perhaps even most of it, was made out of the same purple material she’d observed earlier, and which made the changeling spires outside. Sunset remembered the green-tinged underground walls and floor of the hidden chamber where she’d been held, and had to wonder why the change in colour. As far as she knew, changeling slime was green, end of story.
The architecture up here was in a way simpler than that below, less ornate and decorative. It was almost severe. Yet Sunset would not have called it plain. It was still grand, with great stone pillars holding up the high purple ceiling and walls, and wall sconces burned with blue flame. No guards stood here, giving the place an empty, lonely feeling that left the viewer feeling small and insignificant.
Or so it felt to Sunset. 
The lack of guards was strange in Sunset’s opinion, since through a simple process of elimination, she had established it in her mind that this must be where Princess Luna’s private living space must be. One would think there would be guards here if anywhere. 
Having never actually met Princess Luna before, Sunset only knew her through reputation, and the large number of decorative images she’d been surrounded by during her fillyhood in Canterlot. Her one visit to Ponyville back when she had decided to finally face her teacher again had not furnished her with a sight of the returned princess. Still, she was reasonably confident that she would recognise her on sight.
She was therefore rather surprised when, upon passing the second door, a tall figure strode out of a grand set of double-doors ahead. A circular area where ornate railings prevented ponies from falling down the seven-storey shaft to the floors below separated them as they both stared at each other across the chasm. In the dim blue light of the sconces, Sunset found it hard to tell who it was, but took particular note of the tallness, the folded wings, and the long horn and mane.
“Princess Luna?” she called, cautiously.
The figure didn’t move at first; it seemed to consider the question. Sunset wondered if perhaps she had offended the princess by so open a remark. Perhaps she should have bowed whilst addressing her?
Whatever the case, the figure apparently decided to approach her. It did so slowly, and, Sunset thought, a little strangely. Whether it was a trick of the light, or simply a peculiarity in the way the figure was moving, the princess’ dark form seemed to shift weirdly, like a shadow in fire light. For a second, she gave off a dim, purple glow, which Sunset took to be her trying to ignite her horn, but she seemed to second guess her decision, for it went out quickly again. 
“I’m sorry if I’m intruding,” Sunset said, taking a tentative step forward.
“Not at all, Sunset Shimmer,” the figure replied.
Sunset blinked. “Oh. My apologies, I don’t recall us meeting before.”
“We haven’t,” the figure replied. “But your reputation precedes you. My daughter has kept me abreast of your movements, and my sister always spoke most highly of you. Even during your exile.”
Sunset hesitated. She was suddenly a great deal less confident of herself. If Sunset had learned anything of Princess Luna from all that she’d ever read of her, it was that she tended to be rather more cautious than her sister, a little less trusting. If that were the case, then Sunset considered that she had reason to be nervous.
“Do not look so worried, Sunset Shimmer,” the figure said, rounding the divide between them. “Your past grievances have been dealt with, and your character vouched for. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Even closer, Sunset found Luna’s details difficult to make out. Her midnight blue body shimmered in the flickering blue light, but not nearly so much as her star-laden mane. It flowed out like a living thing, seeming to reach out with wispy fingers. Her eyes, large and shining, resembled sapphires resting in moonlight.
Her expression was stern, but not unkind. It was a royal face, which if the casual observer didn’t already guess at, was left in no further confusion by the shining black crown behind her horn.
Sunset bowed, her forehead barely an inch from Luna’s sparkling shoe. 
“Why do you come up to this floor?” Luna asked, tilting her head shrewdly to one side. “Alone.”
“To speak to you, your highness,” Sunset replied. “I... I hope you won’t find it rude of me to ask, but it’s important.”
Luna raised her eyebrows. “And what question is this, Sunset Shimmer?”
“It’s about Fluttershy,” Sunset said tensely. “I wonder if you wouldn’t mind telling me—“
“That is a very serious topic, my little pony,” Luna said, somewhat sternly. She took a step around Sunset, circling her, apparently taking in every inch of her. “You will find many here are reluctant to broach the subject.”
“Yes,” Sunset said, distracted by Luna’s observation. “Well, it’s really more to do with... with... Princess?”
Princess Luna pulled back her head. Sunset could have sworn that she’d heard Princess Luna take in a deep breath, as though trying to smell her.
“With what?” Luna prompted, beginning to circle her again. 
“Erm... well, it’s about...” she paused again as Luna pressed a hoof lightly against Sunset’s chest, like somepony feeling for a heartbeat. “Is there something... wrong?” Sunset asked, resisting an urge to pull away.
“Not at all, Sunset Shimmer,” Luna replied casually. “The cursed one in the dungeon. She is your marefriend, right?”
Sunset’s heart began to race. Twilight had told her where Sonata was, and more surprisingly, that it was by Sonata’s own request that she was where she was. After asking after Sonata’s well being, Sunset had endeavoured to put Sonata temporarily from her mind until she could get to grips with things. As she’d feared, the mention of her name struck deep.
“M-My apologies,” Sunset stammered. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not discuss that.”
“It’s a simple question,” Luna said, sounding impatient.
“But I don’t—“ Sunset began. Then she paused.
Now it could have been nothing at all, to be honest, but something about the way Luna was speaking was giving Sunset pause. Again, she’d never spoken to Luna, but Twilight had told her all about her. A lot about her, including her tendency to speak in an outdated  way. Of course, it was perfectly possible that she’d changed in seventy years, but that wasn’t the only thing catching Sunset’s attention. Luna’s shoulders were beginning to hunch, and her expression was oddly rigid. It was almost as though she was angry about something.
“Is there something the matter, your highness?” Sunset asked. 
Luna seemed slightly discomposed by the question. “N-No,” she said, her tone slipping for a split second. “No, I simply wished to know whether you...” she paused under Sunset’s steady gaze. “Do not stare at me like that,” she said, her tone darkening.
“If I might ask, princess,” Sunset asked, her eyes not wavering. “Do you know what Fluttershy’s fate means?”
Princess Luna’s expression hardened. “Of course I know what it means, pony,” she sneered.
Sunset’s eyes narrowed “That’s a curious thing to call me,” she observed. “Perhaps you’d care to explain Fluttershy to me, then.”
Luna snorted, albeit in a very princess-like way. “That knowledge is not for the common ponies to know.”
“No, it’s not,” Sunset agreed. “But you know. And I know.”
The princess’ eyes widened. “You know?” she demanded.
Sunset nodded. 
“I don’t believe you,” Luna said flatly, moving around to the side of Sunset. “You’re lying.”
“If you were really Princess Luna, you’d know that I knew. Who are you?” Sunset asked, not letting her eyes off of Luna’s face.
“Impertinent—I am Princess Lu—“
“Did you know that all ponies possess the innate ability to become alicorns under extremely specific circumstances?” Sunset shot at her.
“What? Of—Of course I know that. What are you implying—“
“You know that?” Sunset demanded. “Then you wouldn’t say that I was lying?”
Luna paused, her lips quivering. She and Sunset stared at each other for a long while, their eyes cold and penetrating.
“Who are you?” Sunset repeated slowly.
Luna didn’t move or speak, but simply stared like a statue. It seemed to Sunset that she grew larger somehow, although she probably didn’t. Whoever this was, they still gave off a somehow regal air.
Luna let out a grudging sniff of approval. “Very clever, Sunset Shimmer.” She took a step or two backwards, retreating out of the greater light of the sconces. 
The first thing that Sunset noticed when Luna changed, was that she shrunk, which was a little anticlimactic given the ominous tension. She dropped about a head, so that she was only barely taller than Sunset herself. The second thing that she noticed were the distinctly insectoid features of the gauzy wings, the slit-pupil eyes, and the black body.
“A changeling,” Sunset muttered, not a bit surprised.
“Not just a changeling,” not-Luna said in a slightly higher voice than Sunset was expecting. “I am the Queen. And you,” she went on, stepping back into the light. “You and that creature are enemies of my people.”
Sunset tensed her muscles, ready to cast a spell as the gangling figure advanced. She was very thin, with a purple mane, wings, and tail. On her head, behind a curved, solid horn like a bent obelisk, rested a black crown, the front-most prong of which, Sunset’s keen eye noticed, bore a crescent moon. The changeling’s royal purple eyes narrowed, and her horn sparked with eldritch energies. Sunset’s own horn sparked with power, contesting the blue and purple light growing as the fizz of magic grew in the air.
“Enough!” boomed a voice from up the corridor.
The purple and turquoise lights of Sunset’s and the changeling’s horns was suddenly blotted out by a spectacular white light, and a new figure appeared in the hallway. 
Tall and imposing, her wings unfurled and her eyes appraising, what Sunset took to be the real Princess Luna appeared on the scene. Not only did her horn glow with the godly aura of her alicorn magic, but another good indication of her identity was how quickly the changeling dropped to her knees.
Princess Luna cast her gaze upon the bowing creature, looking faintly out of temper. “I am disappointed in you,” she said coldly. “I expected better, after what we discussed.”
The changeling queen didn’t immediately reply, but bit her lip, avoiding using her sharp canine.
“You discussed it, mother,” she muttered resentfully. “That monster hurt my citizens.”
“We shall speak of this later, Moonborne,” Luna said in a sharper tone. “Should I find that you have done anything else in this secretive way, we shall have stronger words.”
The changeling’s mouth thinned. She gave Sunset a last look of hearty mistrust, and turned away, marching away in the slightly stroppy way that Sunset associated with sulky teenagers.
Princess Luna remained silent until the distant sound of a large door closing reverberated down the hallway. Then she turned her brilliant midnight blue eyes on Sunset. Sunset had to admit that the changeling had at least done justice to Princess Luna’s domineering presence. 
“My sister’s former student,” Luna said in a slightly wondering tone. “I have to say, I am intrigued.”
“Your highness,” Sunset murmured, bowing again.
“You saw through my daughter’s disguise,” the princess went on. “You should be aware, Sunset Shimmer, that my daughter has not been well disposed towards you since your passage through Gauzeville.”
“If I might ask, princess,” Sunset said. “Maybe Twilight forgot to mention something, but...” She paused, trying to think of a way to phrase her question without sounding rude.
“How did I come by a changeling queen as my daughter?” Princess Luna asked, smiling slightly. “It’s a long and complex story, and one intimately related to how events stand at present. But,” she said, giving Sunset a shrewd look. “I believe that you have another question to ask me. Regarding knowledge you ought not to have.”
Sunset didn’t allow her gaze to falter. The knowledge she had was indeed that which she ought not to have. Like much she’d learned behind Princess Celestia’s back. But that didn’t matter. Not now.
“Do you know why Fluttershy turned to crystal?” Sunset asked.
“Of course,” Luna replied without hesitation.
“Then I have just one other question,” Sunset said, trying to keep her tone respectful. “Why haven’t you told Twilight?”


- To be Continued
	
> 1001 Games to Play in an Equestrian Dungeon ~ Sonata Dusk
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sonata Dusk


A useful and potentially life-saving trick that Sonata had learned period of living on the streets was the ability to lose herself in determined, almost self-separation levels of extrospection. When misery and reality bore down on the user like unreasonable landlords demanding rent so they could buy toxic amounts of beer and become even more obnoxiously unmanageable, and there was no feasible means by which one could possibly deal with them, there was really no other choice but to block out all signs of their existence.
Perhaps it wasn’t the most healthy means of dealing with her problems, but it had carried Sonata through several weeks of the most unbearable parts of her life. 
One of her favourite things to do was to find something, anything that was immediately at hand that was even mildly unusual or attention grabbing, and simply focus on it. If she could avoid her mind forming questions about it, so much the better. Once she started wondering about the thing, then she started thinking, and when she started thinking, reality began pressing back in around her.
Sometimes of course, reality would intrude itself on her notice despite her valiant attempts to make it leave her alone. Someone might walk by, or a loud noise might sound. Sometimes small, persistent noises would be the most difficult to block. Like an unseen drip, or a small scratching... a small scrat—
Sonata glanced apathetically to her left, taking her eyes from the hole in the wall that looked shockingly like Tom Hiddleston pulling a funny face, for the first time in three hours.
“What are you doing?” she asked quietly before her brain could tell her not to.
“Whittling,” Loyal Stride replied.
Sonata’s eye wandered upwards to the cowboy hat still perched on Loyal Stride’s head, and then to the little knife and the piece of purple stuff he was carving. She considered whether the whittling thing was an extension of his enthusiasm about cowboys. Then she shut it down before she became interested.
“Would you mind keeping it down, please?” she said listlessly. 
“Alright,” Loyal Stride grunted.
Scratch. Scritch. Scratch
Loyal Stride looked up. Sonata said nothing, but simply kept her glazed eyes fixed on him.
Scritch. Scratch. Scritch
Sonata groaned. 
“Very well,” Loyal Stride said, setting down the knife. 
“You don’t have to be here,” Sonata mumbled into the dank silence of the dungeon.
“No,” Loyal Stride agreed, leaning back in his chair. 
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m not really a fan of castles,” Loyal Stride said idly.
“Then why are you inside of one?” Sonata asked, starting to feel genuinely annoyed.
“Underneath one,” Loyal Stride corrected. “Why not simply say that you don’t want me here?”
“Will you go away if I do?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Loyal Stride paused. Watching him with an aggrieved eye, Sonata got the feeling that he was contemplating his answer. Which in turn made her wonder if he actually had an answer. Then she scowled and tried to block the thoughts out.
“You have made mistakes,” Loyal Stride reasoned. “Then you decided to cut yourself off from those you fear to hurt. I don’t intend to let you do so.”
“You’d be doing me a real solid if you did,” Sonata said from under her forelegs.
“It won’t help,” Loyal Stride said, picking up the knife again.
“If it doesn’t, I’ll let you know, and you can come back,” Sonata grumbled.
“Mm,” Loyal Stride replied lazily.
“Have you managed to convince her to come out of her hidey-hole yet, Strider?” asked a voice echoing down the hall.
Sonata closed her eyes and pressed her forelegs tighter over her ears, but still the acoustics of the dungeon made sure that every word was crystal clear.
“It’s probably for the best though,” the voice continued. It was followed at a smart pace by the distinct sound of a three-hoofed walk, and then the echoing clang of metal bars being struck. “I want to be at my best when I stomp your head into the ground.”
Sonata looked sideways under her foreleg. As she had expected, Script had his face pressed against the bars, his sharp emerald eyes glaring at her
“Leave her be, Script,” Loyal Stride said, resuming his whittling. “You ought not to be out of bed.”
“The next pony to tell me I need to stay in bed, I’m teleporting five feet from the cliff’s edge,” Script growled. He exhaled forcefully and stepped back, hoisting his right leg a little in its sling. He sighed. “You should really cheer up, you know,” he went on, looking at Sonata. “Usually I’d try to inflict as much agony upon you as I could contrive, and lets face it, with nigh immortality, I could start up a career out of torturing you. But unfortunately,” he said wistfully, “you’re necessary for the preservation of civilisation as we know it.” He gave a heartfelt sigh. “Such a shame. But remember,” he said, turning to leave. “We’re not even. Not even close. But I get the feeling that you’ll be coming to me for a favour soon enough, and when that happens, consider the debt repaid.”
Sonata watched Loyal Stride watch Script leave. Hobbling as he was, it took a little while for the unicorn to leave, but when he finally did so, Loyal Stride’s whittling seemed to become a good deal less focused.
“He can do what he wants,” Sonata said listlessly. When Loyal Stride didn’t say anything, a thought occurred to her. “What favour does he think I’m going to want?”
Loyal Stride whittled for a few more seconds, and then held up the piece of purple stuff. He examined it for a few moments, never looking at Sonata.
“He’s going to tell you and Sunset everything soon,” he said. “Everything about what’s happening. When he does... I don’t say I know what you’ll do, or want to do, but if what he says you’ll want to do is right, then...” he let out a heartfelt sigh. “You’ll want something from him.”
“Do you know what his plan is?”
“I don’t know that he has one. He’s simply told me a few of his intentions and guesses.”
“I altered his mind and threw him through a wall,” Sonata said, as though Loyal Stride hadn’t quite noticed that. “How’s me wanting something from him going to make that better? How’s it going to make anything better?”
Loyal Stride didn’t answer, and without additional stimuli for the conversation, Sonata lapsed back into silence. 





As per Sonata’s wishes, Twilight had obliged her by setting up an anti-magical field in the dungeon. The usual security feature of the sealing magic upon entrance was designed specifically for unicorn magic, and so did not affect Sonata’s powers, but the dampening field over Sonata’s cell did work. At least, to some degree. 
One of the things Sonata was striving to ignore was the weak, angry pulsing she felt from her pendant. It felt to her as though the gem was a tiny prison with a miniature felon inside shaking the bars. She thought that if she tried, she could summon the power to overcome the field, even though Twilight had sworn that it was strong enough to even give Discord some trouble. The only good thing about this was that the pendant’s discontent distracted her from the coldness of the magic-suppression field. Sonata half-wondered whether the Roaman succendum field had the same kind of effect on unicorns, or whether it also thrummed like a plucked guitar string whenever a new magic source entered it.
Somehow she doubted it, but it wasn’t like she could ask anypony...
She had just counted the four hundred and seventy third brick again, when a loud snort drew her attention from counting. 
“Sorry,” Loyal Stride grunted, sitting up in his chair.
“If you’re tired, go to bed,” Sonata mumbled.
When he didn’t say anything more, her traitorous curiosity drew her to the knife and purple material in his hooves.
“What is that?” she asked.
“This?” he replied, holding up the item. “Ceremonial gladius. Earth Pony military emblem. Used for—“ he paused as he noticed Sonata shiver. Looking right, his eyes widened slightly.
This was sufficiently surprising for Sonata to raise her head, and look around herself. She partially scrabbled to her feet, a thrill of shock running through her system, banishing her lethargy for the first time in days.
“I’m almost embarrassed,” said the creature standing on the other side of the bars. The voice itself sent a wave of goosebumps across Sonata’s back and scalp. It wasn’t deep, or particularly penetrating, nor was it in any way otherworldly as Sonata had been expecting. In all honesty, it sounded somewhat broken, like a teenager’s voice, not exactly deep but also not the high pitch of a child. What was so disturbing about it was the amount of venom that such a voice was able to muster. 
It reminded Sonata too much of Aria, during those days after their defeat, when Aria’s frustration with their circumstances and refusal to acknowledge the need for change led her to furious and sometimes brutal outbursts. Sonata swallowed with difficulty.
“You are the creature that attacked my subjects,” the creature said quietly, its large, cat-like purple eyes fixed unwaveringly on Sonata.
Sonata’s temporarily stupefied mind cobbled together a possible explanation to this somewhat enigmatic statement. But Loyal Stride beat her to it.
“Changeling,” he growled, standing abruptly. 
The changeling gave Loyal Stride a sideways look. 
“Roaman,” she retorted with the same sort of disgust as she’d received. Then she turned back to Sonata. “I’m having a hard time imagining you being much threat to anyone, much less my own subjects,” she remarked, looking Sonata up and down. “You’re such a wasted little thing.”
Sonata said nothing, keeping her gaze off to one side.
“What is your business here?” Loyal Stride demanded, his voice low and fierce.
“What I do in my own castle is of no concern to you,” the changeling replied. “I am Queen Moonborne, daughter of Princess Luna. The privilege of your residence here is at my pleasure. A privilege that can be revoked equally at my discretion.”
“Princess Luna’s daughter?” Sonata repeated, her mind snagging on the statement like bubble gum in the gears of a clock. 
“Sonata is under my protection,” Loyal Stride stated firmly, advancing a step. “No matter your business, I’m not letting you—“
Loyal Stride stuttered to a halt as Moonborne turned to him. With a faint flash of purple light, and a barely audible fwooshing sound, she shrank, her long mane pulling back to chin-length, and her black, shining body growing what looked to Sonata like a lab coat and some kind of purple half-cape.
Sonata looked to Loyal Stride to see how he bore with this strange transformation, when she caught sight of his greying complexion. For a moment he looked as though his face had frozen in a rictus of terror, but then colour suffused his face, and his teeth bared into an expression of demonic-looking rage.
“MONSTER!” he bellowed. Seizing the small purple gladius in between his teeth, he lunged. 
The changeling dodged, her shocking pink eyes flashing as her horn pulsed with purple energy. Before Loyal Stride could even recover from the momentum of his failed strike, he was blown backwards and disappeared beyond the confines of Sonata’s cell.
“Loyal Stride!” Sonata cried, pressing her hooves against the cell bars.
“Filthy Roaman,” the changeling spat, morphing back to her original appearance. “You’re fortunate that this field is active, or I might have done some lasting damage.”
“Don’t you dare take her shape!” Loyal Stride wheezed, picking himself off the floor. “You vile fiend!”
Moonborne made a dismissive sound of disgust. “Remind me again which of our two races genocided the other, and then tell me who the monster is.”
“Please stop!” Sonata said hastily, looking desperately between them. “Don’t fight—“
“Defend him, will you?” Moonborne asked, her lip curling, revealing a pointed canine. “I assume you don’t know how my mother came by me. It’s thanks to his countrymen.”
“That was war!” Loyal Stride spat.
“A war of extermination,” Moonborne corrected. “Yes, so much more justifiable. Let me tell you, little pony,” she said, turning back to Sonata. “Do you know the average lifespan of a queen such as myself?” Sonata began to give it some thought, but then imagined that Moonborne was asking rhetorically since she went on. “Hundreds of years. At all times, however, a queen will maintain three or four princesses to take over should anything happen to her. When Roam came to exterminate my people, my mother knew that they would know of this. Under the cover of the mass exodus to Equestria, she had me as an egg delivered to Canterlot to escape.”
“Oh,” Sonata said, as Moonborne paused to glare at Loyal Stride some more. “Well, I’m glad that you made it out safely,” she went on, trying to sound upbeat.
Moonborne didn’t seem to hear her. She was sneering at Loyal Stride.
“Oh yes,” she said with bitter relish. “My mother out manoeuvred you. You slaughtered her, and all of my sisters, but I escaped, and through me, our nest survived.”
Loyal Stride simply glared at her, apparently unfazed. 
“I suppose I should be thankful that you didn’t murder my citizens outright,” Moonborne snarled at Sonata, pressing against the bars. Sonata backed away, shaken by what she’d heard. “Travelling with these slaughtering barbarians, I’m surprised you haven’t killed us all by now.”
Sonata felt the first trickles of guilt and horror beginning to clench like a fist around her stomach, but then she suddenly realised exactly what Moonborne was doing. She was trying to make Sonata feel horrible, trying to psyche her out, and the minute that she realised this, her mind shut down again.
Moonborne gaze turned narrow as Sonata’s eyes glazed over. 
“The soldier is easy to provoke,” she said thoughtfully. “I suppose I have to try harder for something as evil as you.”
“I’m not evil,” Sonata retorted, her mouth forming the words almost without conscious thought. “I-I’m not, I just... I made mistakes. It was an accident, I didn’t mean to—“
“Are you stupid?” Loyal Stride snapped at Moonborne. “Whatever your feelings are towards her, trying to provoke her when you know what she can do is insane.”
“What you’re afraid of is clear enough from your requests,” Moonborne said thoughtfully, running her eyes around the dungeon. “You fear letting your powers loose again. But that’s not everything. That’s not what really terrifies you.”
Sonata stared at her. When she’d first appeared, the queen’s alien-esque appearance had been a minor detail, little more than a mildly interesting feature to draw Sonata out of her stupor. That, however, was no longer the case. Having watched her so easily disarm and enrage Loyal Stride, Sonata felt a chill in her bones at the sight of the lithe, dark figure glaring at her with what seemed to Sonata to be an un-pony-like rage.
Moonborne smiled, sending a fresh wave of cold over Sonata’s skin. 
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she said in a new, pleasant tone. “Do you know what changelings feed upon?”
“Love,” Sonata replied cautiously. “The changelings in Gauzeville said... they said they were starving.”
“The very moment that you and your mate arrived in Equestria, my nest was fully aware of it,” the queen purred. She pressed her face to the bars, shaking them slightly with her hooves. Sonata jumped back against the wall at the suddenness of the motion, her hair standing on end. “Your love shone like a bright white light! The purest, most del-i-ci-ous...” she breathed, eking the word out as though in the throes of ecstasy. “I’d never experienced love like yours,” she hissed, walking sideways as Sonata backed away inside her cell. 
“I don’t understand,” Sonata trembled. “Other ponies love each other.”
Moonborne’s sharp purple eyes glittered. “There is something very wrong in Equestria,” she said in low, ominous tones. “My subjects at first thought it the plague, but that’s not true. It spreads throughout all of Equestria, even those in Canterlot and beyond. Something else lurks in these lands. Staining their feelings, contaminating their love. Yours!” she said throatily. “Yours...” She let out a quaking sigh of pleasure, closing her eyes and licking her lips.
Having backed entirely into the corner of the cell, Sonata shivered slightly as she felt a creepiness roll across her skin. Whatever the queen said about hunger and feeding, her reactions spoke to Sonata of something a little more indecent. She rather expected Moonborne to blast the door off and do... whatever changelings did. But she didn’t.
Once Moonborne had come to the end of her raptures, she opened her eyes slowly, resting them back upon Sonata.
“Not anymore though,” she sighed.
A short pause followed this sentence.
“I’m... I’m sorry?” Sonata whispered, her throat tight.
“That same love isn’t there anymore,” Moonborne said wistfully, looking at Sonata with something close to disappointment. It was almost resentful. “It began to dim a little after your attack on my subjects, and now it’s...” She inhaled sharply. “Different,” she decided.
Sonata’s insides sank so far down that she wasn’t quite sure they were still there.
“Different?” she echoed. And it was an echo; feeble and far away.
“Different’,” Moonborne repeated. “Oh, there’s still something there, like a length of burnt rope still held together by its blackened and broken strands, but it’s being overshadowed by something altogether darker. Less so from you, and more so from her.”
“What are you talking about?” Sonata asked, stepping forward. “Overshadowed by what? What’s less so in me?”
Moonborne sneered. “Haven’t you guessed it? Didn’t you see it in her face when you were bearing down on her in that border town?” Moonborne asked, her voice sagging with relish. “You poor, pathetic creature,” she jeered. “Let me help you to understand.”
So saying, she stepped back from the bars, her look of malicious glee melting away. It was hard to tell at first exactly what expression was forming, but as Sonata stared unable to look away, she saw Moonborne’s features fall, the faint, dark colour in her face vanish to be replaced by an ashen complexion. 
Then she changed. In a fiery burst of purple flame, the black body and gauzy mane disappeared, replaced with a golden body, and a bacon-pattern mane.
Sonata’s heart skipped a beat. Wide turquoise eyes stared back at her, the pupils contracted in what was unmistakably a look of unmitigated terror. 
“Please!” Sunset said, her voice high and choked. “Please don’t!”
Sonata pushed back against the cold stone wall, her breathing becoming shallow, her throat drying, her vision blurring as her eyes began to sting.
“Sonata, I’m begging you to stop!” Sunset shrieked, cowering away from the cell bars. “Please don’t!”
Sunset screamed, throwing her forelegs over her head as some invisible horror bore down upon her. After a few moments, the screaming died away to be replaced with laughter. Haunting, triumphant laughter, as Sunset’s form melted away, and Moonborne’s callous grin burned through the visage of frozen terror.
Sonata couldn’t have looked away if she had tried. She remained pressed against the wall, her streaming eyes fixed on the changeling queen.
“That’s all she can feel for you now,” Moonborne cackled. “Does it hurt?” she asked maliciously. “Tell me. Tell me how it feels to know that you drove away her love and replaced it with the darkness of your own cursed shadow. Describe the pain to me!”
“Get out!” Loyal Stride roared. 
Moonborne spared him half a glance, and then turned back to her prey. “When I’m done, Roaman,” she chuckled. “When I’ve had my—“
But Loyal Stride had had quite enough. Moonborne let out a snarl of outrage as she was knocked bodily across the floor, a pauldron-shaped impact mark on her flank. She leapt to her feet, hissing. On cue, a pair of thestral-guards burst into the dungeon, their pikes at the ready.
“We heard shouting,” the first explained, her hawkish yellow eyes on Loyal Stride.
“Is everything alright, your majesty?” the second asked Moonborne.
Moonborne stood for a moment, her chest heaving. Then she looked away, her nose in the air and a nasty smile playing across her lips.
“Everything is fine,” she assured the guards. “I got what I needed. For now.”
So saying, she turned her back on Loyal Stride, and marched out of the dungeon, the guards uncertainly bringing up the rear.

Loyal Stride’s eye didn’t waver from Moonborne’s back until all three of them were gone. With a small, heavily strangled grunt of rage, he slammed a hoof down onto his whittled gladius, crushing it to a fine powder. Despite his usual brevity and range of facial expressions usually equal to that of somepony recently deceased, Loyal Stride’s face underwent a somewhat extraordinary series of changes, biting back the words he evidently wanted to say, before sinking back into its usual gravity.
Sitting back down, he allowed the quiet to rebuild his composure. Or relative quiet.
After a few moments, he realised that there was a small sound in the dungeon. A pitiable, gasping sort of whimper, like a tiny animal gasping for breath. 
“Sonata?” he called quietly, approaching the bars. “Are you alright?”
It was honestly difficult to tell whether or not Sonata had heard him. She seemed to be trying to make herself as small as possible, her shoulders hunched as far as they would go, and her limbs held tight to her. She wasn’t looking at anything in particular it seemed, but was staring into space, a chasm of unimaginable depths, inside of which was some unknowable entity staring back without eyes to see.
“I-I-It’s... i-it’s my...” she sobbed between tremulous gasps. 
Loyal Stride stared, utterly incapable of saying anything. If he had been at the top of the stairs leading to the foyer, he might have heard the distant echo of Sonata’s screaming, and seen the satisfied glint in Moonborne’s eyes. 





“So, got bored in the dungeon?”
“Shut up.”
Script looked up at Loyal Stride as the latter stomped into his room. Pursing his lips at the obvious signs of bad news, he frowned.
“What happened?” he asked, folding a page and closing his book. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I have no right to ask anything like this,” Loyal Stride said from between his teeth. “I’m a soldier. I am a Roaman. Live. Expand. Die. It’s what we do.”
“Thank you for returning my books to me, by the way,” Script said, running a hoof over the cover of the book he’d been reading. “I wasn’t lying when I said that they were important to my research.”
“I shouldn’t be questioning my country like this,” Loyal Stride went on, pacing back in front of Script’s bed.
“Could you not do that?” Script asked. “I’m getting dizzy here, and I’m not supposed to be up for a few days.”
“You’ve been walking around since you got here.”
“Yes, but I’m not supposed to,” Script countered. “Now what’s brought on this philosophical internal conflict? Surely the simple fact that somepony high up in the government acting nefariously hasn’t—“
“Shut up!” Loyal Stride snapped. “Just... just shut up!”
Script eyed him irritably for a moment or two, and then sighed.
“Loyal soldier and servant of the state though you’ve always been, you’ve never been afraid to speak out against things you thought were wrong,” Script said in one breath. “So what’s brought this on?”
Loyal Stride glared at Script for a few seconds, his sapphire-blue eyes burning with loathing. But not for Script.
“The changeling queen,” he said jerkily. “She came down to the dungeon.”
“Ahh, yes,” Script said, lying back and adjusting his broken leg a little. “Let me guess. Something about us being murderers, Roamans being destructive, selfish, genocidal maniacs.” He shrugged. “You can’t deny that she’s got a point.”
“You shouldn’t speak like that!” Loyal Stride snapped.
“I shouldn’t criticise my own country, you mean?” Script asked. “Please. The day I come across something that shouldn’t be criticised, I want it caught and exiled to the moon upon the instant.” He smiled. “I think these Equestrians are onto something with this banishing to the moon thing.”
“Will you just be serious for one second!?” Loyal Stride roared, knocking over Script’s side table. “For once in your life—“
“What. Did. She. Do?” Script shouted over him. “What did she say? What did she do? I can’t read your friggin’ mind!”
“She...” Loyal Stride paused, looking away. “She taunted Sonata. Reduced her to tears. She was screaming.” He bit his lip. “She went too far. It was torturous.”
“Mm,” Script sighed, nodding. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. What did she do to you.”
“N-Nothing,” Loyal Stride said, slipping on the word.
“Strider,” Script interrupted. “Do I have to start guessing?”
Loyal Stride walked away from the bed, his expression tight.
“She threatened Sonata’s life,” Script suggested. “No, wait, obviously not. She’s functionally immortal, you know that. Um...” He rubbed his beard a little. “She made some long, tedious speech about how awful and depraved Roam is. No,” he said again. “No, she doesn’t know enough about Roam to really hit a nerve with you. She’d have to pry deep into our social structure to do that. Then it had to have been something—“
“I need you to tell me something,” Loyal Stride barked. “And I need a straight answer.”
Script made a considering sort of noise. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “It depends what it—“
“Don’t mess me about, Script!” Loyal Stride bellowed. “Tell it to me straight! For the love of the spirits, I need you to tell me this honestly!”
Script regarded Loyal Stride shrewdly for a moment, and then his own face went very serious. The two stallions instantly knew that the other was thinking the same thing. At any other point, Script might have felt the budding warmth of friendship growing in the cockles of his cynical grey heart. Unfortunately, it was being slowly overpowered by a burgeoning sense of rage.
“What did she say about my sister?” he asked, his voice low.
“I have to know,” Loyal Stride said, approaching the bed again. “Servillus. This conspiracy. Everything you know about this. You don’t have to explain everything right now, I just need to know... just tell me...” He licked his lips, suddenly unsure whether he wanted to know the answer. “Is she in danger?”
Script stared at him, his eyes hard.
“Script, is she in danger?”
“Yes,” Script said, barely moving his lips. “And...” He swallowed. “Thinking on it, the two of us have probably put her in greater danger.”


- To be Continued
	
> Script Forgets Why There Are No Male Alicorns
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sunset Shimmer


Conventional wisdom asserts that making enemies of any kind is not a particularly prudent course of action. Sunset therefore regarded it as particularly stupid of her to have made enemies with a princess, and a queen.
The dining table stretched the length of the hall, laid with a midnight blue cloth, and laden with all of the fancy foods typically expected to be found on a royal dining table. But there were also things on it that Sunset didn’t recognise. Foods that Sunset had been informed in a round-about way had been grown to supplement those that could no longer survive without the sun’s full attention.
An evil-looking, round, blue fruit was glowing – literally glowing – at the centre of the table on a decorative mound of other known fruits. Not too far from this was a ragout of unknown composition that looked like some incorrigible child had binged out on candy for an hour and then thrown up into a casserole dish. On the other end of the table in front of Queen Moonborne stood a tall decanter half full of what looked like pink-purple smoke, although Sunset had never seen smoke that swirled in quite the way this was doing. It plumed from the top of the decanter, performed a few curlicues and twists, and then slipped neatly back down again without spilling over the sides.
Sunset rather felt as though she were inside some kind of haunted house, especially with Queen Moonborne herself looming over the table like the portent of doom in a second-rate play, and Princess Luna sitting rigidly beside her at the table’s head. Sunset’s only comfort was that Twilight was sitting beside her, cheerfully ignoring or not noticing the oppressive atmosphere.
“Nachtberry pie?” Script asked innocently, nudging a round dish of some sinister green desert towards Sunset from her other side.
“I’m full, thanks,” Sunset muttered. 
“Hm,” Script shrugged. “Suit yourself. Back home, it’s rude not to eat everything you’re given.”
“Don’t Roamans have a little room where they can purge themselves and make room for the rest?” Moonborne asked, her purple eyes glinting at Script.
Script scowled in thought. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Is that something Equestrians find ordinary?”
“I must admit, it did sound preposterous when I first came to hear of it as well,” Moonborne replied, a small smile curving her mouth. “But I didn’t want to simply assume. Our cultures are so very different after all.”
“We have some things in common,” Script said lightly. “I believe both of our kinds enjoy hunting. Nothing quite gets the patricians’ blood pumping as finding worthy prey. Or sometimes having the servants perform the sport instead. So much safer than doing it themselves, you know.”
Sunset looked at Moonborne askance. Her expression remained for the most part inscrutable, but her nostrils were flared, and her eyes hard. She felt sure that the queen had understood the implication.
“Such a fine representation of changeling architecture,” Script said wistfully, looking around at the tall, purple walls. “I have to admit that the ruins in the homeland are not nearly as sophisticated as those I’ve seen in Equestria. Also the colour is so much more pleasing than the off-orange I’m accustomed to.”
“I’m pleased to hear that you enjoyed your tour,” Moonborne said, stabbing at a chunk of glowing blue. “You should watch where you step, though. Not every part of the castle is open to visitors.”
Here she directed a sour glance at Sunset. Sunset pretended not to have noticed, and was greatly relieved when Twilight spoke up.
“How is your leg healing, Parchment Script?” she asked pleasantly. 
“Faster than I expected,” Script replied with a renewed brightness in his voice. “Most Equestrian magic is superior to Roaman counterparts.”
“A society that eschews magic in the main is a foreign concept to most Equestrians,” Luna mused from the head of the table, taking a sip of some dark liquid. “Many would wonder how you get along without it.”
“Where one means of doing something ends, often times another reveals itself,” Script said, bowing his head slightly.
“Does that apply to your system of governance as well?” Moonborne asked. “No princesses. No queens. No kings. One wonders how you manage such a large realm as the Republic with an old colt’s club steering things.”
“The senate has its uses,” Script said, his lip curling. “But individual matters of state are generally handled by those who are qualified to do so.”
“Like the military?” Moonborne asked, tilting her head slightly to one side.
Script raised his glass. “Yes. Like the military.”
He drank, and for a moment, silence filled the room. 
Sunset looked to her left at Princess Luna. Her expression, habitually stern, had developed a narrow look of suspicion as she looked between Script and Moonborne. After a few more seconds of dense silence, Luna raised her hoof. Without a word, the four thestral guards in the room exited. Once the large double-doors had closed behind them, Luna’s horn sparked. Out of the corner of Sunset’s eye she could see a faint glow around the room that her direct vision was unable to detect. A silencing spell.
“You understand, Parchment Script,” Luna began in and altogether more businesslike voice. “I am not playing host to you and your companion merely out of the goodness of my heart.”
Script nodded, setting down his empty glass. “You want information from me,” he guessed. “About the invasion I suppose.”
“It is my understanding that you’re a deserter,” Luna went on. “That you left the Roaman camp many months ago.” She narrowed her eyes slightly. “That you’ve travelled Equestria extensively. That at one point you even gained entrance to Last Light.”
Sunset looked at him in surprise. “You came here before?”
“Oh yeah,” Script said offhandedly. “Best moon fruit this side of Equestria. Well worth the trip.”
“Ponies whom I’ve questioned inform me that you’ve been researching something,” Luna said imperturbably. “At a later point, I should like to know what it is that compelled you to betray your homeland in order to come here.”
“Abandoning one’s post and treason are not necessarily the same thing,” Script said, a little less airily than before. 
“What I want now, is to know what Roam’s intentions are,” Luna stated. “My eyes in Canterlot inform me that peace negotiations towards a finalised treaty have been going well these past weeks. Why would Roam make an unprovoked attack on Equestria’s southern border?”
“Oh, there could a number of reasons,” Script said in a tired sort of voice. “Personal glory has always been a regrettable culprit of most battles initiated by Roam. A misunderstanding, a faulty scouting report, new orders from home—“
“I don’t want speculation,” Luna interrupted. “I want answers. Why is Roam attacking?”
Script met her eye. “I don’t know,” he replied soberly. “I can only give you my suspicions.”
“It’s probably as he says, mother,” Moonborne cut in. “Roamans are an arrogant, discordant race. Their general likely got bored and—“ 
She halted as Princess Luna caught her eye, and fell silent.
“Rainbow Dash has personally informed me that the border has seen no further evidence of Roaman activity,” Luna went on. “The downed ventnavis outside of Dodge City has been seized by the royal army, and the Roaman casualties returned to Roaman custody.”
Sunset’s stomach squirmed unpleasantly at the thought of the ventnavis. She’d seen many small figures leave the machine as it fell, but knew deep down that not all would have made it. To hear it said so bluntly though...
“It is my belief that there will be an invasion,” Script said. “But it won’t be as a result of those currently in a position to start one.”
A short silence followed this.
“Don’t speak in riddles,” Moonborne snapped scornfully. “Say what you mean.”
“Eventually, there shall be an invasion. At least, I believe that there will,” Script stated. “What I mean is that those who want there to be an invasion must rely on others to do it for them. And those in charge simply cannot begin an invasion now, nor do I believe many of them want to. The legion does not have the resources or horsepower to conquer Equestria, only to defend Roaman territory.”
“Then we should strike first!” Moonborne cut in. “Hit them now before they gain any kind of reinfor—“
“That would be a slaughter,” Script interrupted. “The legion is a defending army. In the narrow valleys and flat desert plains of the Badlands, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Moonborne stood up, hooves planted on the table, opening her mouth to speak. She barely managed to form her first word when Luna silenced her.
“There will be no attack on the Roamans,” she said in a raised voice, glaring at her daughter. “Script is right. On their terms, in their territory, the Roamans would dominate any battle we fight against them. Their military might even after fifty years is still far superior to our own. And I shall not be the one to begin a new war.”
“Script,” Sunset spoke up quickly. She wasn’t sure if what she was about to do was necessarily the wisest decision, but she felt that it was the right one. “You said before that you’d tell me everything.”
Script’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes widened slightly, and a slight paleness came over his face. Almost instantly he caught himself, and flashed her a look of annoyance.
“I did,” he said he said a little tensely. “I wasn’t expecting to have to explain at dinner though. Nor in front of such exalted company.” He eyed Moonborne for a second or two.
“What is the goal of your researches?” Luna asked flatly. “If it has anything to do with the safety of Equestria—“
“There’s a conspiracy,” Sunset cut in. “By what Script has told me, somepony high up in the Roaman government has been the source of all of the misfortunes of the past seventy years.”
The table fell into a stunned silence, but then erupted into a fit of talking as Luna, Moonborne, and Twilight all began discussing what Sunset had just said. Sunset glanced sideways at Script, who was giving her an impassive stare.
“Is this true?” Luna demanded. Sunset’s heart went a little cold as she heard the beginnings of true anger in the princess’ voice.
“How can it be true?” Moonborne demanded. “Seventy years? No Roaman now alive could possibly be running a conspiracy against Equestria for that long. They would be ancient, and more than likely dead by now.”
“You’d be right,” Script sighed. “But it’s true. The plague, the war, the civil war back home. All of it was connected, as part of a plan to conquer both Roam and Equestria. Bring the world of ponies under one rule.”
“Preposterous,” Moonborne hissed scornfully.
“If this is true, then who is behind it?” Luna asked, her midnight blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on Script.
Script examined a utensil in his hoof for a moment. He opened his mouth, hesitating. The entire table – even Moonborne – was staring at him with some level of interest. Moonborne and Luna, their eyes hard and brows set. Twilight, her mouth slightly open and her eyeballs wobbling slightly in her sockets. Sunset, her jaw tight and feeling an uncomfortable heat running up her body.
“Neighro,” Script said finally. “He began it. Seventy years ago.”
Moonborne let out an impatient sound of derision. “We all know that he started the war,” she snarled bitterly. “And of course the Roamans spread the plague. Softening Equestria up for the invasion.”
“You seem quite comfortable throwing around spurious accusations like that,” Script said casually. “Almost like you want to divert attention.”
“Neighro is dead,” Luna said quietly, as Moonborne seethed quietly next to her. 
“Yes, he is,” Script agreed. “Sixty seven years ago, the senate declared him an enemy of the state, and he committed suicide to escape capture. The later years of his tenure in government were marked by an increasing level of psychosis. Insane orders and unfeasible plans almost led to the annihilation of the Republic, beginning a civil war that lasted over forty years, until Vespegasus and his two sons, Trotus and Domitian, eventually rose to restore order.”
“A forty year civil war?” Sunset said incredulously. “How could it have gone on for so long?”
“Many thought the Republic cursed,” Script said lightly. “All those who rose to fill Neighro’s position subsequently went as mad as he did. Some quicker than others, some seemingly staving it off for years. The initial coup against Neighro began a dangerous trend of individual military commanders and politicians vying for power, and as each replacement fell into madness, a new one rose to take their place. Peace never had time to settle before the country sagged back into war. Until Vespegasus, of course, who somehow managed to resist the curse of his predecessors and reform the military back into the service of the state. This of course made his claim to power all the more legitimate in the eyes of Roam. The pegasus blessed of the spirits, given to us to guide Roam back to glory.” He said this last part as though reciting some dreary slogan he’d heard a million times.
“So this was the reason for the armistice,” Twilight said wonderingly. “The Republic must have been in near constant turmoil. They couldn’t have committed to a war even if they’d wanted to.”
“What was this madness?” Luna asked. “Was the cause ever discovered?”
“Not in official records,” Script said. “As I say, many felt that the position was cursed, and that any who rose to take it would be doomed to the same end. I know some suspected that foreign powers were responsible, that they were using magic or poisons to destabilise the state. Rumours of changelings infiltrating the senate and imperial palace led to a systematic extermination some thirty five years ago, but nothing changed.”
Moonborne’s face went dark red at this, but she seemed to be trying not to interrupt with her mother so close by.
“Whatever the case,” Script went on. “Vespegasus did not go mad. Over the course of just a year, he stabilised the military and re-established the Republic’s borders. For most of his time in office, he has focused more upon the nation’s infrastructure than on foreign excursions.”
“You believe this will change?” Luna asked sharply.
“I believe that he’ll have no choice,” Script said quietly. “The attack over Dodge City represents a defeat to Roam, even if no battle took place. Even now the capital will be buzzing with the news of the loss of a ventnavis and the deaths of its crew. Vespegasus will simply not be able to ignore it. It’d be political suicide.”
Sunset thought back to the office in Dodge City, to the hateful voice on the other end of the radio. He had said essentially the same thing. It seemed that Script at least believed the validity of this prediction.
“I don’t pretend to know how Equestrians would take such news,” Script said more gravely. “But I know exactly how Roam views it. The population will see a sign of weakness. The patricians already have begun vying with each other over a myriad of things: Command in the army, war profiteering, future governorships. All before the war even begins. Vespegasus will have to act, or endure the wrath of every pony in Roam.”
“If all of that is true, then I can understand that he has to do something,” Twilight said, outraged. “But war? How can that be the first response?”
“It’s not as unusual as you seem to think,” Script sighed, sounding tired.
“The first and last resort of Roamans,” Moonborne murmured venomously, giving Script a look half-way between gloating and scornful. 
“Quite so,” Script said wistfully. “My people never were very imaginative when it came to diplomacy. It generally boils down to ‘Which will you have? War, or peace?’ And then when they choose war, the stones start flying.”
A short silence followed these musings. Sunset looked instinctively to Princess Luna, who looked deep in thought. Then she looked to Twilight.
“What do we do?” Twilight asked tentatively. “If war is inevitable...”
“How long do we have?” Luna asked suddenly.
“Ooh...” Script groaned, shutting his eyes and screwing up his features. “Loyal Stride would be better at answering that. If I had to put a number to it, though,” he conceded. “Given what Loyal Stride has told me about the state of things in the Badlands and at home, I’d have to say that it’ll come within the year.” He bit his lip. “I’d say no later than six months.”
“Let them come!” Moonborne barked, standing up abruptly. “My swarm will be ready at the least! Let them try fighting us on even terms for once!”
Script put his hoof to his mouth to stop himself laughing, but all it did was force it through his nostrils. Moonborne snarled at him.
“You think that’s funny?” she demanded, slamming a hoof onto the table. 
“A brave sentiment,” Script chuckled. “But I don’t think you quite understand what it means to fight a modern military. Swarm tactics might work well against helpless towns of civilians, or an unwary city guard. But against the legion?” He looked her square in the eye. “Meat to the grinder.”
Moonborne gave a cry of rage and pushed her chair back, her horn crackling with spectral purple lightning. Before she’d taken two steps, Luna was on her feet as well.
“That’s enough!” she ordered in a resounding voice. Her own horn glittered with ethereal energies, and the sparking torrent from Moonborne’s horn flickered and dimmed. “I shall not tolerate this behaviour in my dining hall!” she growled, low and fierce. 
Under her mother’s eye, Moonborne sat slowly back down, her head lowered.
“I’ve had enough of these outbursts,” she continued to hiss at Moonborne. “You must learn to comport yourself with the dignity of royalty, not argue like some petulant child.”
“But, he—“ Moonborne began in a strangled voice. Meeting Luna’s eye, she bit her lip and lowered her head again. “Yes, mother.”
“I didn’t mean to give offense,” Script said after a short pause. “That time,” he admitted pointedly. “It is a fact though. It would be unwise for you to openly challenge the might of Roam. As you said: war is what we do.”
“Script,” Sunset spoke up. “You mentioned before that you first learned of the conspiracy during an... incident.”
Script’s impassive expression turned stony. “Yes,” he said.
“Was it, um,” Sunset went on when it seemed as though Script wasn’t going to elaborate. “The way Loyal Stride talked about it, I suppose it’s something you two didn’t like to discuss.”
“Oh, on the contrary,” Script said, suddenly sounding tired. “I wanted to discuss it with him extensively. But he—“ 
Script stopped himself, taking a deep breath as though to return to calm. 
“The Abomination, it was called,” Script said, pressing his hooves together as though interlocking fingers. He looked around at the members of the table, as though taking in their appearances properly for the first time. 
“This incident,” Luna began. “What is its significance to this conspiracy?”
“It’s the very crux of it. It allowed me to understand exactly what the enemy is after. And just how immeasurably fucked we are if they should succeed.”
Luna blinked at this, and Twilight went bright red.
“Such language,” the latter muttered, keeping her eyes down on the table.
“Explain,” Luna said curtly.
Script sighed a heartfelt sigh. “Where to begin,” he muttered in a far away voice. “Oh where, oh where.” He leaned back in his seat and frowned for a few moments. “Some time ago, Loyal Stride, General Trotus, my sister, and I, worked in close proximity with one another. In the Imperial Palace, as a matter of fact. Loyal Stride was a lieutenant in the Praetorian Guard. My sister served under Trotus directly as his personal chemist and engineer, and I as the senior archivist to the imperial library. During this time, the Princeps was taking a grand tour of the Republic during the seemingly endless celebrations, and Trotus occupied his duties in the capital. It was about that time that the disappearances began.”
No pony spoke. Everypony in the room was staring transfixed at Script as though listening to a man’s dying words. Script, staring at his own hooves, didn’t appear to notice as he continued.
“One by one the servants began to vanish. In total it was probably around about eight. It’s possible that no pony would have ever noticed if it hadn’t been for Paper Weight.”
Script’s mouth thinned, and his brow deepened. “When he disappeared, the Praetorians had already become suspicious, but it was assumed that the others had disappeared outside of the palace. But Paper Weight was my colleague, and had remained hours after he should have gone home, and so I was present when he disappeared.”
“Did you find him?” Twilight asked in a hushed voice.
Script’s hooves made a slight grinding sound. “In a manner of speaking,” Script said through slightly gritted teeth. “I found him. I used my magic to find the place, and—“ He paused again. “Whoever had done it was not there, but the... remains, the results were there for everypony to see.”
“Remains?” Luna repeated quietly. 
“Remains,” Script repeated more forcefully, as though annoyed. After a few seconds, he looked furtively at Luna. Apparently regretting this outburst, he looked back down and went on in a more controlled voice. “What was left of the missing servants was little more than crystal. In pieces, being studied.” 
Sunset found it hard to look at him as he tried to force the words out. His eyes were evidently seeing something that none of the rest of them could. Given the loss of colour in his face, she for one was glad that she couldn’t see what he seemed able to.
“The missing ponies had been turned to crystal?” Moonborne said wonderingly. “How?”
“They had been turned to crystal, yes,” Script said tensely. “But it was beyond that. They weren’t simply crystal. There was something dark about them. It was evil. What had been done to them was nothing that should ever be done to a living being.”
“I don’t understand,” Luna said. Of all of those at the table, she alone seemed to be more-or-less unperturbed by Script’s chilling tale. “I can see that this is a painful topic for you, but what has it to do with the topic we are discussing?”
“Everything,” Script said sharply. “The discovery caused a scandal. Scapegoats were found.”
“They blamed you?” Sunset blurted.
“Partially,” Script grunted. “I bore the brand of negligence. As a senior member of the palace staff, I should have taken greater notice of what was happening. Loyal Stride was condemned the most in that regard, having been in charge at the time, and Trotus lost status defending him. If he hadn’t, Loyal Stride might well have been exiled.”
“But who was blamed for the crime if the culprit wasn’t caught?” Twilight asked. “Or were they found?”
“No, they weren’t,” Script said, scowling. “Or if they were, the blame was shifted.” He snarled, baring his teeth. “To my sister.”
A heavy silence fell after this revelation. Looking around, Sunset noticed that even Moonborne looked discomposed. Script on the other hand seemed to have become inexplicably calmer. After staring at his hooves for a few moments longer, he drew in a deep breath, and said in a disconcertingly casual voice
“It was the easiest choice. Unicorns are so little regarded that it was almost guaranteed that no pony would argue against it. And so we come to the present day,” he said, smiling. “Or more or less. My sister was to be executed initially, but through a combination of lack of evidence, and through the exchange of a few favours, she joined the rest of us in banishment. Well,” he added, his lip curling in disgust. “What was essentially banishment. Trotus vouched for Loyal Stride, Pen Stroke, and myself, meaning that all four of us were transferred to the Badlands. Far away from the sight of those whom our presence might offend.”
Sunset stared at Script for a short while as Moonborne, Luna, and Twilight, all spoke amongst each other. Something was nagging at her; something in the side of her head was telling her that she should have noticed something in what he’d said. At first she couldn’t place it, but thinking back, she remembered first meeting Script in the Ponyville ruins.
“That bone!” she blurted.
Script looked suddenly around at her, and the conversation around the table halted. 
“The one you had in your hideout. The one Sonata touched,” Sunset said slowly. 
Script regarded her shrewdly for a moment, and then smiled thinly.
“Yes,” he said, sounding faintly impressed. “As I told you back then. That was the focus of my research.” He looked at her head on and, unexpectedly, laughed out loud. “And she broke it!” He laughed again, shaking his head a little.
“You still haven’t explained,” Luna said, frowning at him. “What is it that you were researching? What is the aim of this conspiracy?”
Script snickered himself back to seriousness, or near enough.
In most situations as tense and serious as this one, Sunset would have expected somepony imparting dangerous information to do so in a sober, perhaps even grim manner. But Script – perhaps the most mercurial individual Sunset had yet come across – delivered it with the eagerness of somepony who had their finger on a large red button, and the words “DO NOT PRESS!” written above it. If that wasn’t enough, he proceeded to answer the question with a question.
“Let me ask you all a question,” he said, looking at them all in turn. “Who here knows why there are no male alicorns? You’re not allowed to answer though,” he said, his emerald eyes darting to Princess Luna.
Sunset instinctively followed his line of sight. Her mouth fell open at what she saw.
“M-Mother?” Moonborne stammered, also looking at the princess.
Luna’s face looked like a death mask. The colour in her eyes had shrank so much that they appeared to be almost white. Her face meanwhile had bypassed paleness, and turned a sickly grey, whilst her folded hooves were suddenly tense on the tabletop. She stared at Script for a full four seconds before speaking.
“You cannot possibly be aware...” she hissed. “No pony can know that.”
“Yes,” Script said, evidently enjoying the effect he’d had. “I can see how it would be problematic, given what it might lead to.”
“I don’t understand,” Twilight said, looking between Script and Luna in puzzlement. “What is he talking about? Male alicorns; there’s no such thing.”
“Not anymore, no,” Script said, grinning. “And for good reason.”
“Be silent!” Luna barked, smacking the table sharply with her hoof. 
“I already know,” Script snapped back, suddenly irritable. “And it’s important that everpony here knows this. Because like Princess Twilight, alicorns can be created.”
Luna’s angry expression clenched even further, her teeth bared. “Are you honestly trying to say that this conspiracy is all in order to—“
“Create a male alicorn,” Script said over her. “Yes.”
“No,” Luna said firmly, as though saying so would make it untrue. “That’s impossible. Not only is it impossible, it simply... how could anypony...” 
Anger and disbelief mingled unpleasantly on Luna’s countenance. It took a moment or two for Sunset to realise it, but what she was seeing there was fear. And not the soft, gentle, afraid-of-a-spider-on-your-bedroom-ceiling kind of fear. No, this was the kind of fear that one sees on the collective faces of a sentient species as the shadow of a celestial body twice the size of their own humble planet swings inexorably towards them over the final horizon.
“You did a decent job of eradicating any mention of them from history,” Script said, bowing his head slightly at Luna, the latter too preoccupied with images that Sunset was fervently glad, given the way Luna was fidgeting, that she couldn’t see. “Although since it all took place almost pre-history, that likely made the job easier. But other cultures were aware of them as well. They don’t occupy a large part of history given how long ago it was that they disappeared, but—“
“HOLD THINE TONGUE! Luna shrieked, standing up suddenly. After a few moments of her glaring at Script’s stony face, she took a moment to compose herself, and then went on, her jaw tight as an artillery spring. “You will not breathe a single word more on the subject, or there shall be consequences.”
Script regarded her for a moment with something like disgust. It was as though he were disappointed at the response. 
“You can’t bury your head in the sand over this,” Script said severely. “You lived in those times. You know better than anypony what a male alicorn’s existence would do to our world.”
“I do,” Luna replied, her voice dripping with icy venom. “And no pony else must know. You have no idea of the danger ponies would put themselves in should information of that time were known!”
“I’m sorry,” Twilight spoke up. “But it seems to me that if what Script is saying is true, shouldn’t we at least hear him—“
“I have heard enough!” Luna snapped. “All of you will leave. Now. Except for you.” She snapped at Script.
It took the three of them a short while to remove from the hall. Moonborne continued to look at her mother as though she’d never seen her before, and Twilight evidently had a number of things she was bursting to say. Sunset on the other hand was reluctant to leave Script alone with Princess Luna. The particular glare she was employing on him looked very much to Sunset like the look a stubborn old dragon gives to anything coming within a certain radius of its gem hoard. 
One-by-one, however, they all rose from the table, and shuffled their way to the double doors. Once the guards had closed the hall off behind them, the three stood for a second regarding one another. Moonborne quickly adopted a look of haughty displeasure, and flounced off towards the main staircase. Twilight on the other hand was beginning to look how Sunset felt.
“I’ve never seen Princess Luna react that way,” Twilight said, a little breathlessly. “Have you ever heard of male alicorns?”
Sunset shook her head. “No. Not even all of the forbidden books in Canterlot hold information on a male alicorn.” 
And I’d know she thought, feeling a slight flush come into her cheeks.
“It’s never occurred to me really,” Twilight muttered. “There are no princes who are alicorns. Only princesses. I don’t see what could possibly be so dangerous or terrifying about it.”
“I’ll ask Script about it later,” Sunset said thoughtfully. “If he knows, he’ll be able to tell—“
“I’m afraid that that shall not be possible, Sunset Shimmer,” said a harsh voice.
The doors opened again, and through them stepped Princess Luna. Behind her, his face studiously blank, trotted Script. Without a word, he made his way swiftly down the corridor in the opposite direction to the staircase, ignoring Sunset’s call for him to wait.
“Do not seek after this knowledge,” Luna said warningly. “There is a reason my sister and I worked so hard to maintain its secrecy. Fate does not smile kindly on those who would subvert her intentions.”
She paused after this pronouncement, as though thinking that Sunset might have something to say back. But Sunset said nothing, and kept her gaze to the floor. 
As soon as Luna’s hoof-steps had disappeared in the direction of the stairs, Sunset turned to Twilight.
“What do you suppose she meant? Fate doesn’t smile kindly on those who would subvert her intentions. What does that mean?”
Twilight shook her head. “It sounded rather cryptic to me. Well, I’ll see you in the morning.” She smiled, and trotted off after Princess Luna.
Sunset paused until she was out of sight, and then ran as fast as she could after Script. As much as she respected Luna’s opinion, and as much as she felt bad for disobeying her, if this had something to do with Sonata’s affliction, then she had to know. She simply had to. And she wouldn’t deny, she was a little curious as to what could possibly by so dangerous about male alicorns as to frighten even an alicorn princess.
She imagined that Script would have made it almost to his room by this point, when she turned the corner, and found herself nose-to-nose with him. Evidently he’d been waiting for her around the corner. 
“Didn’t teacher ever tell you not to run in the corridors?” Script asked sardonically, smirking.
Sunset glowered at him from inside the sky-blue aura keeping her from pelting into him.
“What’s got you so cheerful?” she asked, noting the odd change. He let the aura wither, and she dropped to the floor. “You looked annoyed just now.”
“Well I would, wouldn’t I?” Script replied. “She put a selective amnesia spell on me. So, yeah; annoyed would be a good state of mind to be in.”
Sunset’s heart sank. “Are you serious?” she said despairingly. “So you can’t remember what’s so special about male alicorns that has Luna so scared?”
“Not at present, no,” Script said breezily.
Sunset eyed him narrowly, taking in his look of serene calmness and the small smile playing about his mouth. There was something in how he’d phrased that.
“So...” she began slowly. “You can undo it? Oh!” she gasped excitedly. “Of course you can. You can do alicorn magic!”
“Yes,” Script conceded. “And that’s the good news.”
Sunset’s mouth thinned. “Which I assume means that there’s bad news,” she said through her teeth.
“Afraid so,” Script said, giving her a sanctimonious little bow. “The spell that would cure me of this pesky amnesia can’t be performed by me, on me. It has to be done by another who has alicorn magic.”
“Who? Twilight?” Sunset asked, absently looking to the side where she thought Twilight might be. “That’s a bit of a stretch in my opinion; I don’t think she’d feel right opposing Princess Luna’s will like that.”
“Well you know her best, I suppose,” Script said companionably. “But I wasn’t thinking of her.”
Sunset frowned at him. If not Twilight, then who? Princess Luna certainly wasn’t going to do it. And Queen Moonborne – even if they could persuade her to do so – Sunset was sure that her magic didn’t count as alicorn magic.
Then it hit her. She felt a wave of goose-bumps erupt over her skin.
“W-Wait a minute,” she stammered. “You don’t mean me, do y—“
She was cut off as Script leapt forward and enfolded her in a close embrace.
“Oh please, doctor!” Script cried in a voice trembling with the cringiest levels of melancholy and despair. “Say you’ll cure me! I’ll do anything, just say that you can take this terrible burden from my quaking shoulders.” His voice dipped low towards the end, finishing on a pathetic, sniffling sob full of emotion and much wiping of glistening eyes that, upon closer inspection, weren’t teary at all.
“Get off!” Sunset grunted, shoving him off.
Script grinned, chortling to himself. “You know, I  don’t think I ever did say it. But I’m really quite glad that you and I met, Sunset Shimmer.”
Sunset gave him a look that she was trying to make look urbane, and then sighed.
“Come take a walk with me,” Script said, gesturing up the hallway. “We could do with a bit of fresh air, I think.”





Sunset didn’t much like the idea of strolling into the town. It wasn’t because of the changelings, or the odd structures, or even the somewhat predatory appearance of the Nightlanders. Part of it was the fact that she didn’t want Script walking amongst them; she’d noticed the general atmosphere of the castle when ponies and changelings visited becoming ostensibly colder when they saw Script or Loyal Stride. The other, and more personal reason, was that she’d been to the town once during their stay, and realised that the crystal tree, Fluttershy’s final resting spot, was visible from just about anywhere in the town. Beautiful though it was, the sight was painful; it reminded so forcefully of the friends that she’d lost in the other world, and perhaps more painfully, of the love she felt for Sonata. 
There was no getting around it, and no point lying to herself. Every time she thought of Sonata, even when she tried to picture good times, the tight knot deep in her heart squeezed, and memories of Sonata’s temporary immersion into darkness came creeping into her mind. It hurt her more than anything else to admit it to herself, but she knew what the knot represented, and what it signified for their relationship. 
How could she love Sonata when, deep down, she was terrified of her?

“That is a conundrum,” Script admitted in an off-hand voice. “If I come up with anything, I’ll let you know.”
Sunset scowled at him. She felt that by this point he and she were friends enough to be able to talk about these things together, and so felt the sting to her vulnerable feelings quite keenly.
“Haven’t you ever been in love?” she asked impatiently.
“Sure,” Script replied.
“Well, didn’t you have problems like this?”
Script frowned, considering. “We never really had much time for big problems to set in,” he said wistfully. “And he was always so infernally agreeable. It drove me nuts when I wanted him to disagree with me.”
Sunset raised an eyebrow. “He?” she registered.
“Surprised?” Script asked knowingly. “As fascinating as our love-lives are, they aren’t the reason for why I asked you on this walk down this charming country lane.”
Much to Sunset’s relief, they had indeed missed the town, and turned south towards a large stretch of fields. A well-worn dirt thoroughfare ran between two stone walls, on the one side of which was a large expanse of small green shoots in neat rows, and on the other, an orderly forest of trees. The town and castle lay directly behind, which suited Sunset nicely.
“I assume you want to tell me how to take that amnesia spell off you?”
“I want you to practise using alicorn magic,” Script corrected. “And this will give you a goal to work towards. Blasting your marefriend with a haphazard burst of raw magical power is one thing, but control is quite another.” He paused, scrunching his lips a little and narrowing his eyes. “It sounds like there should be a proverb in there somewhere,” he muttered.
“Any particular reason why I should be learning how to use alicorn magic?” Sunset inquired suspiciously.
“Well to get this bleedin’ amnesia off me, for one,” Script huffed. “But there is another reason. But there’s no point going into that yet. It might never need to happen.”
Sunset rolled her eyes, annoyed by this ostensible lack of an actual explanation. “I’m not asking,” she said firmly.
Script looked at her, puzzled. “Okay,” he said uncertainly.
“You do that all the time,” Sunset said severely. “You say things that you know will make ponies ask you questions.”
Script shrugged. “A consequence of so many thoughts and so little time,” he said in a melancholy voice. “Besides, here’s something I will talk to you frankly on. How would you like to do me a favour, and get the two of us into the Crystal Empire?”
Sunset blinked, wondering if she’d heard him right. Before she had a chance to ask however, they came to a T in the lane, and found three ponies standing a little ways down the length of it on their immediate right. The Flim-Flam Brothers, and – Sunset’s heart did a little jump when she saw her – Applejack.
“Why, howdy there!” Applejack said in response to Sunset’s delighted exclamation of surprise. “Es been a long taime, Sunset.”
“You know each other?” Flim said uncertainly, looking between them.
“Accordin’ to Twilight, that’s a bit of a complex question,” Applejack grinned, showing her pointed teeth. “Personally, ah only done seen her once disappearing through a magic mirror. Stretch here though, he’s a different story,” she said, holding out a hoof towards Script.
Script looked blankly at the hoof.
“You’re supposed to shake it,” Sunset murmured.
“Why?” Script asked.
“It’s a way of saying hello,” Sunset explained, whilst Applejack continued to smile pleasantly, and Flim and Flam stood slightly to one side, their expressions tight and their mouths quivering.
Script gave his head a little shake, and put out his hoof to shake, and then let out a gasp as Applejack gave several spirited tugs up and down, nearly sending him off balance.
“Pleasure makin’ yer acquaintance,” Applejack chuckled pleasantly, letting go of his hoof and allowing him to stagger backwards a little. “Don’t think ah ever actually met a genuine Roaman before.”
“You know, sometimes I get lonely,” Script grumbled to Sunset. “But then I remember how much ponies annoy me.”
Sunset ignored him. “So, do you three know each other?” she asked, bracing herself as Applejack shook her hoof too.
“Us?” Applejack asked, indicating the brothers. “Oh, we go way back. We’ve had our ups and downs from taim to taim. But we worked out them differences long ago. Ain’t that right?” she asked the brothers.
Sunset couldn’t be sure of it, but she rather thought she saw something like apprehension in the toothy smiles the brothers were affecting. 
“As we like to say,” Flim said cheerfully.
“The past is the past,” Flam added, giving a self-conscious sort of laugh.
“Besides, the future offers nothing if not prospects,” Flim continued, eying Applejack closely.
“Don’t push it, boys,” Applejack said, suddenly deadpan.
“Right,” Flam muttered, coughing a little.
Applejack took her piercing stare off the brothers and returned them to Sunset and Script, the latter of which took a surreptitious step back.
“Anyway, ah knew y’all was here. Ahm jess sorry ah ain’t been able to get away from the farm t’give yah a proper greetin’. Spring taime tends to creep up on yah.”
Sunset was about to assure her that she quite understood, when suddenly she became aware of a sound from somewhere behind her. She paused, one of her ears flicking upwards. It sounded to her – though she knew that it couldn’t be – like a vacuum cleaner. A long, low, muffled rumbling like the sound of someone vacuuming on an upper floor. Looking around, she could see that everpony else could hear the sound as well. Then she nearly jumped clear of the ground as a loud roar erupted behind her, and then died away back to the low rumble. 
Spinning around, she was just in time to get a face-full of dust that came billowing down the lane.
“W-What... *kaff* What was that?” Script spluttered.
“Ah coulda sworn it was—“ Applejack began slowly.
“Our vehicle!” Flim and Flam squawked together.
“Stop!” Flim cried, belting off towards the crossroad.
“Thief!” Flam bellowed, hot on his brother’s heels.
Script, Sunset, and Applejack all looked at each other.
“I know I should feel bad for them,” Script said lightly. “But somehow I don’t.”




- To be Continued
	
> Sonata becomes a metal head of the literal variety.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sonata Dusk


In bygone days, when Sonata’s spirits had been high, and her heart free to flow, she’d sometimes sunk into the throws of minor unhappiness. Being such a whimsical and exuberant individual, she had been told how even these small steps towards misery had a remarkable effect upon her demeanour, and made it plain to all of her friends that something was evidently wrong. But in those days she had had her friends to help her, she’d had her painting to submerge herself into, Sunset to empty her heart out to, and none of her lesser moods had been able to survive longer than it took for Sunset to pull her into a warm hug. 
But that was then. And now... well, now she was shut in a dungeon beneath a changeling-built castle in a land languishing under a perpetual night, with all of her friends in another world and her marefriend too terrified of her – and rightly so – to speak to or even see her. With every avenue cut off, her spirits had no outlet to drain away the bitterness and pain, and so swelled into a dank and brooding mass deep in her wounded soul, like a canker on a tree trunk.
Only once before had she ever succumbed to this kind of dead-end despair, and it had only been Sunset’s intervention that’d prevented a likely fatal outcome. Somehow Sonata didn’t imagine the same miracle happening a second time.

Languishing in this dismal state of mind, Sonata soon fell away from thinking of things to make her cheerful, allowing harsh and resentful thoughts to seep in to replace them. Script, with his unguarded tongue and obnoxious personality. Moonborne, for her callous and malicious goading merely for the pleasure of making Sonata suffer. And most of all, this mystery, Machiavellian conspiracy schemer, the one who had apparently thrown Equestria into a dystopian future, and ruined a seemingly infinite chain of lives for whatever damn purpose Sonata did not know. What she did know was that whoever it was, it was they who was most responsible for this, for everything that had happened, for why Sunset had abandoned her!

No pony entered the dungeon anymore, save for one pony. Loyal Stride, imperturbable as ever, had maintained his post in front of her cell, ignoring her cold death-glares and maintaining a slow succession of hobbies to pass the time. That was, until one day, when Sonata had woken up from her position a foot away from her bed, and found that the chair he usually occupied was empty. She’d intended to give him a particularly charged look of scorn and malignancy, given an extra little kick by the bags under her eyes from too little sleep, when she noticed that she was completely alone. 
For a moment, she felt a surge of hopefulness. Then it petered out, and began to sink into a feeling of disappointment. Almost abandonment. Then she clamped it down and shoved it deep down in her gut with the rest of her unnecessary feelings. She scowled, but when she stood up to stretch out her sleep cramp, she heard the sure sound of hooves on stonework, and Loyal Stride slid into view.
“We’re going,” he said.
Sonata rubbed her eyes. “That’s nice,” she mumbled.
“You and I,” Loyal Stride specified. “Are going.”
“No,” Sonata said simply.
“This isn’t up for debate,” Loyal Stride said tersely.
“You’re right,” Sonata replied with a mirthless laugh.
“You’re coming with me to the Badlands.”
Against her will, this pronouncement actually raised Sonata’s interest. She lifted her head and looked around at him.
“What?” she said rather stupidly.
“We’re going to the Badlands. We need to go now, since you need to pay Script a visit.”
Sonata’s bad mood reasserted itself as he mentioned the name. She sat down and turned away from him, pretending to be interested in a slight fold in her unused bed.
“And why would I go to the Badlands?” she asked, unable to suppress her incurable sense of curiosity. 
“To try and fix things,” Loyal Stride said vaguely.
Sonata’s limited patience fizzled out. “Not interested.”
For a second, there was silence, except for a slight scratching sound. Probably a mouse somewhere trying to dig into the walls. But then she heard a metal groan, suspiciously like a cell door with too little oil in its hinges being opened.
“Come on,” Loyal Stride said, right next to her. “Go see Script.”
“Get away,” Sonata moaned, shying away from his outstretched hoof. “I told you, I’m not going.”
“Yes, you are. I’ll explain on the way.”
“I don’t care about your stupid explanation!”
“Just get up and –“
“NO!”
She hadn’t meant to do it. Even as it happened, she sensed the oppressive weight of the dungeon’s magic struggling to cancel out her own. As it was, the concussive force of her scream was mostly counteracted, only strong enough to blow Loyal Stride’s short mane out of true. He stumbled back a little, one hoof to his ear as he struggled to regain balance against the whine in his ear.
For a second, Sonata sensed a burgeoning lump of regret rising in her throat. She swallowed and looked away as Loyal Stride gave his head an experimental shake. Sonata half wondered whether the noise would attract guards, but oddly enough, none came. 
“I understand,” Loyal Stride began slowly, “that you’re upset.”
“No, you don’t understand, then,” Sonata grunted. “I’m not upset. I’m being serious.”
Loyal Stride gave her a curious look. Looking at the little blue earth pony in front of him, he found it a little strange for her to be anything approaching serious. 
“What are you being serious about?” he asked. “Why do you want to stay in here rather than do something?”
“Because every time I do, things just go wrong!” she erupted, smacking the floor with her hoof. “It’s just getting worse.”
“And so staying here whilst it does is going to help?” Loyal Stride asked coldly.
“What else is there to do?” Sonata grumbled, putting her head on her forelegs. “Script already said there’s no way to get rid of this thing.” She tapped the red stone resting at the end of its black chord in front of her in a morose sort of way. “I leave here, it gets worse. I don’t remember exactly what I was like when I had it before, but I know it wasn’t good.”
“What about Sunset?” Loyal Stride asked quietly.
“She’s safer away from me,” Sonata replied, pressing her eyes tight shut.
“So you wouldn’t leave to help her?”
“How would me leaving help her?”
“I can’t say for definite that it will,” Loyal Stride admitted.
“Then no,” Sonata mumbled.
Loyal Stride was silent for a long moment. Then he said something that made Sonata’s ears tingle, and the hair in her mane stand on end.
“I can’t guarantee that you’ll be able to help Sunset,” he reiterated. “But if Script and I are right, then you will be able to be rid of your curse. And,” he added, a subtle shift in his voice. “Also bring justice to the one who placed it back onto you.”
Sonata’s oppressive lethargy and ill disposition shifted, allowing actual interest to rise like a hidden thing from amongst desert sands. Conscious of her tendency for impulsive action, she bit back the reply that sprang to her lips, and tried to think hard on what had just been said.
Bring justice to the one who placed it back onto you.
Sonata felt her gut churn a little, and oddly enough, her mouth begin to salivate, as though she’d just scented a meal she’d loved as a child. She blinked slowly, and looked around.
“Script knows who it is,” Loyal Stride said. “Or, suspects. He’s convinced me of it.”
“Who is it?” Sonata asked, trying to keep her voice noncommittal. 
Loyal Stride’s immutable expression made it hard to know what he was thinking, but he must have sensed duplicity, or else already decided not to say.
“Not here,” he said. “If you’re interested in being rid of that stone, and stopping the one who put it back on you, then go see Script, now.”
“Where are you going?” Sonata asked, raising her head.
Loyal Stride didn’t look back as he trotted back out of the cell. “I’ll be there shortly, I simply need to appropriate that ridiculous vehicle. I’ll explain more of what we’re doing on the way.”
Sonata’s mouth seemed to jam as she watched him leave. She wanted to ask more, but her mind lingered on what had already been said. It wasn’t until she heard, echoing back to her, the last thing Loyal Stride said, that she stirred.
“Script’s on the fourth floor. Corridor on the left, third door.”





Sonata made her way through the castle with the edgy disposition of a prison escapee. Which, technically, she was. She wasn’t entirely sure about what her status was in regards to access to the castle, since she had personally requested herself to be imprisoned. So if she let herself out, did that mean she was allowed out? Somehow, she doubted it.
This puzzling conundrum set her nerves on edge, and her teeth to clenching as she passed each corner. Curiously however, she didn’t come across any guards. None at all. 
That wasn’t to say that there wasn’t anypony around. She saw several official looking individuals with scrolls and clipboards, and cleaning staff complacently dusting the hallways. Several changelings also zoomed by, mostly flying, but one of them – for whatever reason – had taken to walking casually along the ceiling, humming to itself. 
Sonata dodged them all, and found herself at the fourth level of the grand staircase before she noticed something else.
Loyal Stride need not have told her where Script was. Whether it was a result of the event in Dodge City, or simply that she was paying more attention to the wretched rock clinging to her neck, she found that she could feel where he was. Or more specifically, she could sense his moodiness. His trademark sense of annoyance and impatience. This, intermingled with something she thought might be fear, and loathing, seeped out through the castle like ribbons of interlacing threads leading through and formed out of the green mist of negativity.
What intrigued her most, however, was another of these emotional ribbons. It hung twisted and sinewy in the air amongst the sparkling green, glimmering with a complex array of emotions that Sonata found it difficult to assess. 
Script can wait, she thought vaguely, her legs carrying her upstairs where the ribbon trailed.
Sonata almost felt like turning back when she came to see the highest of the accessible floors. It was dark, or perhaps it was better to say, ill-lit. Dim blue flames cast a dismally ethereal glow upon windowless walls, which intermingling with the thickening green mist Sonata could see, gave the hallways the distinct appearance of an underwater ship-wreck, or a haunted house coated in ghostly ectoplasm. But close as she was now, she thought that she could tell precisely who this ribbon belonged to. 
Justice Sonata thought, smirking. She advanced into the gloom, her magenta eyes glimmering red as Moonborne’s smug face blossomed into her mind. And maybe, I’ll make her tell me what she thought sending that messenger was supposed to do. 
Sonata’s teeth clenched together as she felt prickly rage tingle over her skin and over her scalp. If it hadn’t been for her listening to that changeling...
At the centre of a long stretch of featureless purple wall stood a tall set of imposing double doors, each one inlayed with a stylised image of a pony and a changeling circling one another. One of the doors was ajar, allowing a pulsing green radiance to come spilling out into the hallway. Sonata crept closer, hoping to catch Moonborne unawares, if for no other reason than scaring the bejeebus out of her before the interrogation. Upon reaching the doorframe however, she paused, hearing low voices from within the room. 
“—st as you feared.”
“Even the stores we discovered from the old hive are no longer enough to sustain us.”
Sonata crept up to the space in the door, and peered surreptitiously inside. Within was a large, spacious room with a high ceiling. Dominating the chamber was a tall, obelisk-like crystal that sent a jolt of recognition through Sonata. This crystal was certainly what was giving off the strange green light; it hummed slightly, releasing small wisps of greenish energy. 
Or is that the negative energy? Sonata thought.
Concentrating for a moment, she forced her vision back to normal, ignoring the enticing wafts of negative energy as the stone at her throat drew it in like water to a plughole. Without the additional layer of glittering green gas, Sonata saw that the crystal was giving off a much feebler light than she’d thought, as though it needed a change of batteries. The light was pulsing at a sickly rate, reminiscent of a dying man’s cardiograph readout. 
Bathed in this unhealthy light were three figures. The first, tall and thin, her knife-like horn glowing purple, was Moonborne, facing the crystal and looking worried. The other two were a pair of other changelings, their great blue eyes glowing and their black carapaces shining green.
“What can we do, my Queen?” one of the changelings asked fearfully. “If the supply should run out—“
“We must keep searching,” Moonborne said in a quiet yet firm voice. “Equestria has always been a stronghold of love. There must be reserves to tap. We simply have to keep looking. There has to be somewhere that isn’t tainted.”
“We’ve scoured the land, my Queen,” the second said in a lower, female voice. “All of Equestria is the same. Save for perhaps the Empire.”
“Reaching beyond the Nightlands is already defying the Over Queen’s will,” the first said, trembling.
“The Empire cannot be touched,” Moonborne sighed, scowling. She stepped up to the crystal. “Its defences are too complete; we would be discovered instantly.”
“But surely the Over Queen will understand if we—“
“The subject is closed!” Moonborne snapped. “Feed the hatchery with my private reserves. There will be no divisions now. If all else fails, the next generation must come first. Now be gone.”
“But, my Queen,” the second said with a small sense of urgency. “You have no heirs. There are none to take you—“
The two changelings took half-steps back as Moonborne fixed them with a piercing purple eye. Even Sonata felt a resentful, faint twinge of fear deep in the cockles of her heart at the ferocity in the look. Glancing at each other, the two changelings turned towards the door.
Sonata stepped nimbly sideways as the doors swung open, and kept silent as the changelings trod down the dark hall to the stairs, muttering to each other and shaking their lowered heads. Waiting until their clip-clopping steps disappeared into the gloom, Sonata circumnavigated the door, and slipped inside. A heady sense of hungry malice began to bubble inside her once again as she crossed the threshold, until she caught sight of what Moonborne was doing, and what she saw made her pause in uncertainty. 
“Hush now,” Moonborne said tenderly, her horn still glowing. “I’m sorry I yelled. It’s alright now. Here you go, drink as much as you like.”
Sonata stared in open-mouthed surprise as she saw a small bundle hovering before the crystal. From the depths of what Sonata took at first to be a cloth, but which upon closer inspection proved to be a curious sort of purplish gauze, sprouted a small, round, black something. It squirmed fitfully, making tiny noises like a newborn bird.
Seemingly in response to the thing in the bundle, the crystal hummed and glowed a little brighter. From every defined side of the obelisk came an almost imperceptible hissing, as though of escaping gas. A thick tendril of sickly green tinged with an unhealthy pink converged on the bundle, seemingly being sucked greedily into it.
Moonborne shushed the bundle quietly as the magical essence spiralled down and away, and set it down on a large four-poster bed. It was only then that she noticed Sonata standing in the doorway. Her face went a virulent shade of purple as her eyes widened.
“You!” she hissed. “How dare you—“
“Shh,” Sonata said, eying the bundle on the bed.
Moonborne’s expression soured. “What do you think you’re doing here?” she snarled in a venomous whisper. “How did you escape—“
Sonata had no patience whatsoever for Moonborne’s voice. Her own melodic tones drowned out the queen, not with volume, but with a deeply perceptible gravity, as though the sound were travelling through more than just air. Instantly Moonborne’s face relaxed into a look of polite bemusement, her mouth slowly closing as whatever mental impulses drove her to speech seeped inexorably from her mind.
Sonata regarded her with palpable malevolence. She was of the opinion that what she felt for the changeling right now wasn’t enough, not virulent nor malicious enough for what the creature deserved. To her chagrin, she found that her attempts to build up a bit of rancour were not having much effect.
A sound from the direction of the bed diverted her attention for a moment, and she turned irritably to see what it was that was distracting her. She scowled as she stared into the purple gauze, unsure of what she was seeing. Then the thing yawned, and Sonata took an involuntary step backwards, her pinched scowl vanishing.
The small changeling baby blinked at her with its enormous bug-eyes. It regarded her with a sort of bright curiosity, and chirruped squeakily. Sonata’s expression turned stony at the sound, an angry glint in her eye as she continued to look at the thing. Her mouth worked as though grinding something between her teeth, the crease in her brow deepening.
Abruptly she turned away from the infant and turned her full attention back onto the mother.
“How did you know we were here?” Sonata asked sharply. 
Moonborne looked blank. Sonata made an impatient noise and rolled her eyes.
“When we arrived in Ponyville. How did you know?”
“I did not,” Moonborne replied absently.
“Yes you did,” Sonata spat. “You sent changelings to attack us. In the tunnels under Ponyville. They attacked us and—“
She stopped. Moonborne’s slightly puzzled expression was really throwing her off her line of questioning. Being under Sonata’s spell, the queen should not be able to lie to her, so if she wasn’t answering the question, then perhaps the magic simply wasn’t strong enough, or the question specific enough.
Sonata drew deeply on her power, forging a spike of precision within her, within the pendant, and let out another ensnaring note. It rang, eerie and echoing, as if in an underwater cave, rising and then falling in an enticing melody. Although it wasn’t loud, the very air thrummed with it, eliciting a mesmerised coo from the baby changeling, even though it was not the target. Moonborne’s expression did not change.
“Tell me why you ordered changelings to attack me and my friends near Ponyville,” Sonata said, slowly and clearly.
“I issued no such order,” Moonborne replied, even more distant than before. 
“Yes you did!” Sonata snarled through her teeth. “Stop lying to me!”
Moonborne made no response, but continued to look vaguely confused.
Sonata let out a growl of frustration and anger. She seized hold of Moonborne’s head and held her at eyelevel. “Tell. Me. The. Truth!”
To Sonata’s awful displeasure, the baby became upset at the angry tones and raising volume, and began to sniffle. Before Sonata knew it, the baby erupted into tears, bawling as loudly as its small but impressive lungs allowed. Sonata felt her frustration increase. She needed answers; why was Moonborne not giving them to her? She shouldn’t be able to resist her questions when under her will...
She glared into Moonborne’s blank, deep-purple eyes, but noticed that the queen herself seemed unable to focus back. They flicked sideways with every scream of the wailing child, her brows twitching and her mouth opened slightly.
With a groan of frustration, Sonata ordered Moonborne to tend to the child, and spent several moments pacing and seething. She didn’t have time or patience for this; she needed the answers before Script wondered where she was. She didn’t much care if she inconvenienced him, but she frankly wanted to avoid him asking her anything about where she’d been.
She looked back at Moonborne, who was by this point rocking the baby in a purplish aura, whispering small supplications to the child. If she wouldn’t tell Sonata why she ordered the changelings to attack, even under magical enchantment, then the only logical recourse was that she didn’t give any such order. Or didn’t remember doing it.
But that can’t be true, Sonata thought bitterly. They have that hive-thing. Who else could have sent them if not her?
The changelings back then had said, openly, that they were there on behalf of the Over-queen, and that was Luna. Sonata had assumed that this had meant that Moonborne had sent the changelings, and that the changelings had surmised that it was on Luna’s orders. But if Moonborne had no recollection of sending any such order, then either someone had erased the memory, or...





“It’s obvious,” Script scoffed impatiently. “Of course Moonborne didn’t send those changelings after us.”
“You knew?” Sonata demanded.
“All along,” Script said smugly.
Loyal Stride gave him a dig in the foreleg.
“Ugh, fine. I figured it out later,” he admitted, rubbing the area Loyal Stride had struck. “Not that much later though.”
“So, what does it mean?” Sonata asked impatiently.
“That somepony else has access to the changeling’s hive link,” Script said grimly, making objects appear in mid-air and squinting at them before making them disappear again. “No. No. Ooh, mint. No. No. No.”
“The pony that Script believes is behind all of this.”
“Don’t make it sound so melodramatic,” Script chided distractedly. “They’re only responsible for some of what’s going on. The entire thing, on the other hand: The initial invasion of Equestria, the madness of the previous dynasty, what happened to you, my sister, and I. All of that, of course, is because of... another party.”
“Who?” Sonata demanded. “Who’s doing this?”
“I am not at liberty to tell you that,” Script said, poofing a wooden box and giving a grunt of success. “Also, I don’t want to. As moody as you’ve gotten, you’re still dumb.”
Sonata felt the complex knot of feeling deep inside of her pulse angrily.
“And you’re still a smart mouth. How’re those ribs healing up?”
Script actually smiled. “Very well, thank you. How’s your heart doing?” He gave her pendant a casual flick of his hoof, sending it spinning on its necklace. “Just as I thought. Broken.”
Sonata gave a shriek of fury and leapt at him, only to be intercepted by a muscular embrace.
“Calm down,” Loyal Stride said firmly. He looked over her shoulder at Script. “Both of you settle down. None of this is helpful.”
Sonata remained ridged, and was still breathing hard, but she turned with a noise of disgust, and paced her side of the room. Script sneered at Loyal Stride, and then turned his attention back to the box.
“Now, usually of course,” he said, lifting a sinister looking object from the box, “you’d be under an anaesthetic.”
Sonata looked at the thing warily. It looked to her like a short metal stake, or perhaps a large nail, encased within two lighter metals like a shell.
“That’s supposed to stop me doing magic?” Sonata asked sceptically. “You sure it’s not just meant to kill me? It looks like an iron nail.”
“It is an iron nail,” Script confirmed. “Imbued with the traditional magics that make it a prophylactic against magical use. Iron naturally resists magical affects, and this quality can – oddly enough – be magically reinforced by the simple application of an augmentation spell. The spell boosts the nails ability to dull magic, which in turn dulls the spell upon it. The weakened spell triggers automatically as its energy is diminished, and so therefore a cycle occurs until the nail is strong enough to dim the spell entirely. Should the effect weaken, the spell comes back into effect and reinforces the metal’s strength again. But this balance is extremely difficult to maintain, and can be thrown off by things like weather, physical trauma, and a host of other things, which is why the object is generally inserted into the subject’s body to protect it. And prevent removal. Depending on the strength of the magic, the nail can be made to have a stronger—“
“Just get on with it,” Sonata grumbled, tired already of Script’s monologuing. “Do you need a hammer or something?”
Script’s lips pursed, as they always did when he was interrupted.
“Because you don’t have a horn,” Script said icily, “your procedure is going to have to be a little more complicated. Made even more so by the fact that the pendant’s magic will force your body to adapt to any outside intrusion. In short, if I jab this into your head, your head will spit it out. But the nail needs to be about where a unicorn horn would be, since that’s still above the part of the brain that consciously controls magic, even in none-unicorns.”
“Are you sure it’s the same with her?” Loyal Stride asked.
“No,” Script replied casually. “But that shouldn’t matter.” He gave a somewhat twisted smile. “What I’m going to have to do is fuse the nail into your skull. Essentially replace a part of your bone-structure with the metal. Before you ask,” he said in a slightly raised voice, “yes, it has been done before. It’s just a lot harder to do, and a lot more permanent than simply putting in and taking out an iron spike.”
“Permanent?” Sonata said uncertainly.
“Oh, don’t worry, this is still a temporary measure,” Script explained breezily. “One way or another, your curse will detect the presence of the nail and reject it eventually. I kind of want to see what that’ll be like to be honest,” he said musingly. “I imagine it’ll be exceptionally painful.”
“Can you just get on with it?” Sonata growled. “Before this thing starts making it seem like a good idea to throw you out of the window.”
Script gave a long-suffering sigh. “Alas, thoughts for another day. Now, hold still whilst I apply the anaesthetic.”
“I don’t need any stupid anaesthetic,” Sonata snapped angrily. “Just put the thing in.”
Script turned back slowly to her, and regarded her with a cold look of incredulity. He looked at Loyal Stride, and then back to Sonata, the iron spike still floating in the sky-blue aura between them. Script’s horn flared slightly, and the nail zipped like a bullet right into Sonata’s cranium. 
Sonata let out a shriek of pain that was muffled by a dense blue light covering her mouth, and she fell back in shock and agony. Before she’d hit the floor, the pendant gave an angry pulse, and sent the nail spinning in an arc to land on the floor, leaving a trail of small red droplets as it pinged across the solid floor.
“How did that feel?” Script asked with cold fury, pulling Sonata roughly to her feet and giving her a cursory shove towards the table where the box he’d summoned lay. “Did it feel good? Still don’t want anaesthetic? Now sit down and stop brooding like a damn foal for two seconds whilst I melt this thing into your head. And think next time before saying anything so utterly stupid.”
Sonata was too shocked, and still reeling from the sudden lancing pain in her head, to make any answer. Effectively cowed, she remained quiet whilst Script extracted a small bottle from the box. Cylindrical, and wider than it was tall, the contents were an ominous purple colour, thick and glutinous. 
“Now hold still,” Script said in a less aggressive tone. “This’ll take a few seconds to work, and then given the dose, should last for several hours. However,” he said pointedly, frowning a little. “Given your status, it might not last very long at all.”
Explaining succinctly that if Sonata felt the iron being grafted, her body might react to it, it was therefore necessary to have everything done whilst she could not feel it. Sonata watched as, in the strong glow of Script’s magic, the nail began to morph, becoming misshapen and warped, eventually breaking down into a shiny liquid.
Sonata wondered vaguely how exactly Script intended to proceed, and felt a trickle of trepidation at how rough he was going to be. His expression did nothing to ease her misgivings, since his sharp green eyes were narrowed in intense concentration. The little bottle of pain reliever, and the liquid metal hovered either side of her head, like a pair of mismatched predatory eyes.
“Hey Strider,” Script said suddenly. “Is the door locked?”
Sonata looked around instinctively towards the door, and before she knew what was happening, she felt her fringe being magically pulled back, and a splash of a cold, jam-like substance splattering across her forehead. She let out a squeak of surprise, and then almost instantly began to feel a numbness pass across her entire head. 
“Ew!” Script exclaimed. “What’s happening to your eye?”
“What?” Sonata asked, alarmed. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Stop getting distracted,” Loyal Stride grunted.
“Oh, right,” Script said. “But seriously. That’s just distracting.”
Sonata tried to glare at him, but found that her left eye seemed no longer to be under her control, and was listing inwards so that all it could see was her nose. She thought of saying something scathing, but then her still good eye saw a gleam of shiny black metal grow larger before her, and then—
The sound was not one she had expected. Expecting a splat, she was surprised to hear instead a sound like a slab of meat hitting a chopping board. 
“Hold still,” Script grunted, his horn flaring brightly.
Sonata remained as still as she could, trying her best to feel the metal, but had to admit that she could not. The most that she could have said was that she felt a sort of pressure on the opposite side of her head, as the muscles there strained to push back against the force pressing them back. It was as though he was simply trying to push the metal into her head. The only thing that made her think that there was more to it was the bluish force before her eyes, slowly becoming smaller, and dimmer as Script strained. 
With a grunt of exhaustion, Script let his magic wink out, and sat down breathing heavily.
“There,” he wheezed. “Easy as snail pie.”
Sonata scowled, feeling her forehead. She thought it very strange to touch her forehead, but not feel it at all. She rubbed her hoof across it, and felt nothing but a cool greasiness, which she supposed must have been the pain-relieving goo.
“So...” Sonata said uncertainly, tapping her pendant experimentally. “No magic now?”
“I put as powerful an augmentation spell on that iron as I could. It should stop any attempt to actively use your magic,” he explained, wiping his forehead with a nearby cloth. “As to when you use it accidentally, well,” he shrugged. “That may be more complex. It’ll certainly slow it down,” he went on quickly, seeing the look in her face. “But know that this is meant to be a temporary measure. As the curse grows to full strength, it’ll eventually reject the dampening metal. Again, something I’d like to see happen. Your entire head my explode and then reform. Or maybe it won’t.” He made a considering sort of noise. “You’ll have to relate the details to me if you survive.”
“That’s enough,” Loyal Stride interceded. “We may not have much time.”
Sonata bit her lip. She supposed he was right. Deep down, a small part of her, the part closest to her fragile and bruised heart, she wanted to say goodbye to Sunset. But that was impossible now...





“So why are we going to the Badlands?”
”So that you’ll be safely out from beneath the eye of the pony responsible. If we’re right about who it is, you should be safe under the general’s protection.”
“Oh,” Sonata said in surprise. “So, am I like, seeking asylum or something?”
Loyal Stride didn’t immediately reply to this. Trees and bushes rushed by them as they neared the border between twilight and day, between the Nightlands and Equestria. Several times they’d seen small airships flying in formation over towns, or heading south, which Loyal Stride had said was an indication that war had begun; if not in deed, then certainly in expectation.
“Not exactly,” Loyal Stride said evasively.
Sonata eyed him shrewdly. “I’m going to be a prisoner, aren’t I?” she asked flatly.
“More-or-less. Believe me, there’s a reason. I need the general to listen to me about the coming invasion, and the best way I can do that is by bringing him proof.”
“And I’m proof? Of what?”
“That he’s not being told what’s happening,” Loyal Stride said darkly. “And that we’re all being set up in this war. If nothing else, you’re the creature that destroyed a part of the invading fleet, and the senate will naturally conclude that you’re some kind of Equestrian super weapon. Capturing you will at the least make them listen.”
“Can we stop it? The war, I mean,” Sonata asked, feeling a clench in her chest as she uttered the question.
“I sincerely doubt it,” Loyal Stride replied gravely. “The truth won’t come out until everything is in motion. I just hope that we uncover it before too much damage is done. And hopefully we can delay its beginning. But the Princeps himself is leading the campaign. There is no stopping it now.”
Sonata thought about this. She’d been on the cusp of global disasters before now, some of which she had been partly responsible for, and she knew the signs of impending doom when they darkened the horizon. She knew that there were no guarantees, no certainties. She and Sunset seemed now to be just two tiny paper kites blown apart by the penultimate winds of an oncoming tornado, powerless before such primordial might. Perhaps they simply weren’t fated to be together in the end.
But Sonata had no other reason to go on other than the hope that maybe they could be again.


- To be Continued
> Script's Heartfelt Tale of Woe
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam 

Parchment Script 
  

Among Parchment Script’s numerous talents, interests, and eccentricities, was a fondness for architecture. He was no Brunelleschi himself, but he had the natural interest in structure and art that came from being a serious study of culture, which was an integral part of magical study in Roam. As such, under normal circumstances he would have admired the grand parlour of the changeling castle. Its high ceiling and robust yet elegantly carved pillars of sculpted purple... stuff, told him much about the culture and values of its builders, filthy, disgusting bug abominations that they were.  

Unfortunately, he was not at all at liberty to admire it. He was, once again, forced to sit down, and explain to ponies who didn’t and wouldn’t understand, why it was necessary that he did what he did. 

“With all due respect, princess,” he said in a witheringly exasperated voice, “your ridiculous edict, even if it did serve a purpose at one time, is a moot point now.” 

“Do not try my patience, Parchment Script,” Luna intoned warningly. “You have yet to even adequately explain your actions regarding the release of Sonata Dusk, let alone this perfidious request.” 

Script resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. A difficult thing to do with hooves, but a talent he’d once spent several weeks working to perfect. 

“I’ve already fully explained my decision there.” 

“As if it was your decision to make.” 

And as if Princess Compensating-For-Something wasn’t bad enough, Script also had to deal with the grieving... widow? Ex? What does one call a none-wife bereft of their lover? Thoughts for another time.  

“It was the decision that needed to be made,” Script said in as patient a tone as he could muster. “Obviously no pony else would have even thought of it, so it was only my decision to make.” 

Sunset clearly had no response, and was consciously angry of it. The daggers she glared at him might have become tangible if she hadn’t reigned in the magic sparking from her horn. 

“By your actions,” Princess Luna began solemnly, “you have delivered a powerful entity into the hands of your people. A powerful entity who has recently singlehandedly been responsible for a number of deaths, again to your people. One whose magical power is despised and feared. By your people.” She arched her eyebrows slightly. “Need I explain why I’m having trouble understanding your decision? Especially when you claim that it is in the best interests of Sonata Dusk.” 

“If I suspect is who I think it is, then the headquarters is the safest place for her right now. The Princeps will be there soon, and they will not act under his watchful eye. The important thing is that she is far away from here or—“ He cleared his throat. “The point is that she’ll be safe. She can’t be killed. Loyal Stride will explain that she is an Equestrian weapon that needs to be studied—“ 

“A claim that will only escalate tensions!” Luna barked. 

“War is already coming!” Script snapped, stamping a hoof down. “The Princeps is personally leading several of Roam’s strongest armies to your shores. We are beyond escalating tensions. Within months at most, the armies of Roam are going to burn a path to Canterlot and claim your former land of sunshine and rainbows for the greater good of the Republic, or so they believe. Instead they’ll be walking Roam straight into a trap. A trap I might just remind you that Equestria will be caught up in as well. The Princeps will be on his guard with Sonata there, but if this all goes as our enemy has designed it to, then every major pony nation will be under the iron grip of a male ali—“ 

“A claim you have yet to prove to be true!” Luna boomed. “The secrets of male alicorns and their history is one of the most well kept secrets in Equestria’s history, one of the few secrets of the ancient past that has not and cannot return. I refuse to believe that anypony has learned of them after the steps my sister and I undertook to insure the annihilation of any and all such records.” 

Script fixed her with a beady look of his bright green eyes. “Given your track record, princess, I find that a little hard to believe. Twilight Sparkle alone uncovered and  dealt with most of your delayed or unsolved problems. Including you. Can you be so certain that this one secret is different from the rest?” 

Luna’s severe countenance cracked for the briefest moments. “No records reside within the land of Equestria. My sister and I committed the important aspects to memory. Even the entirety of your Roaman Empire cannot possibly have the descriptions you claim this mystery king-mover possesses. None but the most fleeting mentions can have survived the world over.” 

“Save for...” Script asked leadingly. “A place you did not have access to.” 

Luna bit her lower lip. 

“Hang on just a minute,” Sunset interjected heatedly. 

“I already explained that she’s safe,” Script said over her. “Strider will make sure she’s unhurt. He’s good friends with the gen—“ 

  

SMACK! 

  

Script reeled, clutching instinctively at his smarting cheek. He blinked rapidly at the intense look Sunset was giving him, and for once his tongue and lips could form no words in response.  

“I don’t give a damn about your assurances, you arrogant, unfeeling, selfish, secretive bastard!” she screamed at him. 

Script rubbed lightly at the red hot feeling spreading across his cheekbone, finding it hard to maintain eye contact. A defensive feeling rose up in his gut, something he’d not seriously felt in so long that it made him a little nauseous.  

“Well, you two were having issues anyway,” he muttered, a little too much shame in his tone for his liking. “You never know, maybe some time away will—“ 

“Don’t dare try to ad hoc this into a good thing!” she growled. “Don’t you even dare!” 

Without another word she stormed from the room. 

For a few moments after the doors slammed shut, the hall of two remained eerily quiet. Script felt like leaving the conversation where it had been thrown onto the floor and crushed underfoot, but he knew he had to get it up and out of the way now.  

“Perhaps we should continue this another time,” Luna murmured, evidently thinking along the same lines. 

“No,” Script said firmly. “Princess, I know you’re not fond of the idea—“ 

“Not fond of the idea,” Luna repeated, her lip curling. “Sometimes I think that you do not grasp the severity of what this knowledge could do. My sister and I lived those times, Parchment Script. Our brother alicorns were a force even the likes of Discord did not trifle with.” 

“But look at it from this perspective,” Script went on quickly. “I already know how male alicorns come to be. So there’s one exception to your edict already. And then there’s the old changeling kingdom in the Badlands. The remnants of their throne.” 

“Irrelevant!” Luna hissed. “ 

Script spread his hooves wide. “Then when it comes down to it, it becomes a question of whether or not you trust Sunset Shimmer to betray the secret. I need her help.” 

Luna’s gaze wondered to the floor. After a few moments she said “Twilight Sparkle trusts her implicitly,” she admitted somewhat grudgingly. “But that is hardly the point. It’s not a question of trust, it’s a matter of assurance. There’s always the chance that she could allow it to slip unintentionally. Impart the knowledge by accident in some way. That’s a chance my sister and I have striven long to avoid.” 

“A male alicorn is going to be created if we don’t stop it,” Script persisted. “Princess, you know what chaos would be unleashed should they be successful.” 

“Then provide me with proof that it is being done.” 

“I’ve told you—“ 

“Suspicions,” Luna said flatly. “This matter is far too important to leave to mere speculation. I. Need. Proof.” 

Script held her unwavering gaze. He knew ever since the first outburst during the dinner when he’d first explained the threat that it would probably come to this. But he still didn’t relish it. It felt... almost sacrilegious.  

He raised his horn, and with more of an effort than he would usually require, summoned an item from amongst the disappeared. The item fell with a crunch to the hard stone floor, sliding slightly across its smooth surface, and landing in the pool of light cast by the twin sconces on the royal dais.  

Luna regarded the item with some scrutiny, and then looked up at Script. 

“What is this?” 

“Proof,” Script said, nudging the rough-cut bag so that its glittering contents spilled a little over the floor. 

Luna’s eyes sharpened, and somepony with excellent hearing might have heard the faintest of quickly stifled gasps. Anypony might think that the princess was uncomfortable, Script thought with some grim satisfaction. 

“It used to be a bone,” he said bitterly. 

  



Some years ago, when he and his sister had been foals, Script had chanced upon the great library of Roam, the Caesar Bibliotheca Imperialis, a place he was ostensibly not meant to be. His sister had tried to stop him, but they’d both been found, and through a bizarre series of misunderstandings involving an irascible guard captain, a partially blind and senile patrician mare, and a burned teddy bear, Pen Stroke spent three days living in a noble’s home. That was until the patrician lady finally accidentally noticed Pen Stroke’s horn, and subsequently remembered that her actual daughter was about thirty years old. 

The long and short of this event was that the tutor in the mare’s home (who had been incredibly surprised to be pulled out of retirement fifteen years after being released from service) had taken notice of Pen Stroke’s innate mathematical abilities, and recommended her to sympathetically minded colleagues, thus beginning Pen Stroke’s eventual career track into the sciences despite her and her family’s relative poverty. Script on the other hand was not afforded the same schooling. 

Like most Roaman foals, he attended a public class in a nearby market, taught by one of the sons of an elderly baker’s assistant. He genuinely had no animosity towards his sister for the way things had turned out, but the events had had their effect upon him. 

Young Script felt no particular affection for any of his peers, who in traditional Roaman fashion were all colts like himself; the fillies were taught separately by an extended relative of the baker’s assistant whose husband ran a patisserie, which was a shame really, since Script more often found the company of fillies to be more enjoyable than that of the rowdy colts that made up his class. 

Gifted like his sister, although in a different way, Script worked hard to attend magic school, and from there achieve a place in Roam’s central forum personnel, the Custodians, and from there, become chief librarian of the imperial library in the royal palace.  

Script had no particular goals beyond this at the time. He was happy with his duties, and derived a great deal of professional pleasure from adding to and categorising the font of knowledge available to Roam’s proud citizenry. 

Grumpy, irritable, short tempered, and impatient, most ponies could only grudgingly respect his efficiency and work ethic, even if he did sometimes flout authority and act independently. Almost no pony regarded an independent librarian as any sort of threat, however, and thus Script lived more-or-less as he always had. Alone, solitary, secretive, and unwilling to change any of it. 

Until the day that he gained an assistant.  

  



Script found Sunset not far away in the main foyer, the eerie purple statues all around staring down as though in frozen conclave. Upon seeing him, she adjourned swiftly into a nearby corridor. 

“Oh, please don’t make this a thing,” Script called, half pleadingly, half exasperated. “I don’t want to have to follow you half way around the castle trying to speak to you.” 

“Then don’t speak to me,” Sunset said severely. “Problem solved.” 

She let out a sound of scorn as he appeared before her in a flash of blue light. 

“We need to talk.” 

“I have nothing to say to you.” 

“Good, then listen.” 

Sunset put her nose right up to his. “You want a matching hoof print on your other cheek?” 

“I want you to be reasonable,” Script said scathingly. “With the princess’ blessing,” he said with arrant distaste, and then lowering his volume as Sunset pushed passed him, “I can tell you the full story.” 

Sunset whirled on him. “When are you going to cut this nonsense?” she hissed. “You could have told me everything a long time ago. You could tell me anything in secret, away from Luna. Away from this castle. You could have told me you were sending Sonata away. The fact is that you didn’t. That you just. Don’t. Think.” 

When Script said nothing to this, she moved away, her eyes burning. She probably imagined that he was done, but to her chagrin, he once again teleported in front of her. 

“You already know my reasons,” he began. “I’m secretive. I didn’t know whether to trust you at first. I wanted to see if you could be useful. All that junk, sure, I thought those things. And it’s true, maybe if I was more forthcoming we could have avoided a lot of this nonsense. But think what’s at stake.”  

He locked eyes with her. He had no idea whether he seemed more sincere or not, but he said the plain truth anyway. He did at least recognise the blunder that had been his keeping his knowledge to himself in a plan that required cooperation. 

Sunset tapped him hard in the chest. 

“I could forgive all of that,” she said, her voice low. “I can understand that you felt the need to keep what you knew a secret. But did you really think that you could do anything you wanted? I cannot understand you. You. You think I’m angry just because you didn’t consult me, or because you sent away the pony I love.” She shook her head. “It shocks me how little you understand. It almost terrifies me how sociopathic you must be, how out of touch with other pony’s feelings you have to be to think that what you’ve done is the least bit acceptable, however necessary you thought it was.” She fixed him with a look that bit down deep into his memory. One he remembered seeing a few times by the kindest, most useless ponies back home when he was a small colt.  

“I could at least pity you if I thought you had the capacity to understand,” she said in little more than a whisper.  

She was practically around the corner by the time he spoke up, and even then he wasn’t sure that it was the right thing to do, whether he might not regret it later. But he recognised as a consequence of his actions, and he needed to try. He needed Sunset to go along with his plan. He needed her to cure this cursed amnesia. And more. 

“When I worked at the imperial library,” he said, feeling a slight something in his throat. “I had an assistant.” 

“Paper Weight,” Sunset said, frowning. “You mentioned. He was the one you noticed had gone missing.” 

“Yes, well,” Script murmured, his eyes fixed on the floor. “It was true that he was my assistant, but on the day that it happened... well, he hadn’t been working that day.” 

Sunset hesitated, and then trotted slowly back to him. “Then what was he doing there?” 

“That’s not the only half truth I told,” Script went on. “It wasn’t I who informed the guards of the discovery. After I found him, I ran from the building, I... well, I wasn’t quite right at the time. I went home. I told my sister, and she raised the alarm as it were. Unfortunately she told the truth of what happened, or more accurately what she knew. That’s mainly why I attracted so much blame; they assumed I fled the scene because I was guilty of the crime.” 

Sunset’s face darkened. “Why are you telling me this? What was the point in lying?” 

Script didn’t look at her. “I find it hard to tell ponies about my feelings. I didn’t want to say... but it’s important you know now.” 

“That I know what?” 

Script tried to wait for his mouth to stop being dry, but it was no good. All of the moisture seemed to have gone to his eyes instead. 

“Paper Weight wasn’t at the palace for work. He was there for... for me.” He chanced a glance at Sunset. “He was... always really sweet like that. Bringing me dinner and stuff, although he was a complete dolt of a cook, and knew he shouldn’t bring it to the library. Burned what shouldn’t be burnable, and left raw might well have poisoned us.”  

He cleared his throat, brushing his hoof against his nose. 

“But, you know, I tolerated him. Annoying, nosey, over-attentive little chicken that he was.”  

Sunset stared at the floor too now. Anypony coming along the corridor might have assumed there was something wrong with the foundations of the castle, or that something was frozen into the purple material that formed the structure, and that Script and Sunset were trying to identify it.  

“What I mean to say,” Script said a little hoarsely, clearing his throat again. 

Sunset nodded almost imperceptively.  

“I’m not even saying I’m not a complete sociopath,” Script shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve always left that up to other ponies to decide. It’s not really been my place to say—“ 

“Script,” Sunset interrupted.  

Script’s lips tightened involuntarily, and it took a long moment for him to unpucker them.  

“I just thought it important for you to know... I didn’t send Sonata away without considering how you’d react. I know what it’s like to lose somepony you, err... think a great, um... that you care about.” He paused, wondering if she would say something. “I realise that I shouldn’t—“ 

“Script, just—“ Sunset took a breath, and then said in a low whisper. “Lets get that amnesia spell off you. What you remember had better be important.” 

“Oh, it is,” Script said, and then frowned. “At least, I’m fairly certain it is. But not whilst we’re in the castle. I’m pretty sure that the princess will sense it. And I don’t want to do anything right now that’ll change her mind.” 

Sunset scowled. “What? Then where? Outside?” 

“No,” Script said, his usual manners returning rapidly. “I’ve gotten what I need from this castle. I thought perhaps Luna might keep the information I need close to her, but true to form, she’s destroyed even records that she personally keeps. What we need isn’t here.” 

“What?!” Sunset cried in outrage. “After all it took to get us here?” 

“Don’t worry,” Script said breezily. “The next location is actually fairly easy to get to, since Princess Twilight is good buddies with the seneschal.” 

“Seneschal?” Sunset asked, puzzled. “What place in Equestria requires a seneschal? Where is it?” 

“Oh, you’ll see.” 

He reached the doors back to the entrance hall, when Sunset’s voice came to him from behind. 

“Script.” She passed him, but looked back with an earnest glint in her eye. “Thank you for telling me that. Knowing you, and judging by the word salad tumbling out of your mouth, I know it can’t have been easy.” 

Script managed a curt nod. “He’s my motivation, you might say,” he muttered. “Call it revenge if you like, but it’s more than that. Paper Weight wanted me to be happy, and I can’t be as long as I know that bastard is out there planning – of all the clichéd things – world domination.” 

Script made a distasteful sound with his tongue, as though he’d swallowed something bitter. “Vesta’s virgin flank, I’m already sick of this. If you’ll excuse me I need to go be an ass to somepony before I break out in hives.” 

As he made a hasty exit to the upper floors, he had a brief look at Sunset’s face. It seemed to him that she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes, which made him feel a bit more sanguine than it strictly should have done. Whilst he could admit that baring his shrivelled little grey heart for the world to see hadn’t been as wretched an experience as he’d imagined, he was glad to be back behind his well worn walls once again. 

He supposed there should be a lesson here, but for the life of him he couldn’t imagine what it should be. 

  

Sunset Shimmer regarded the conversation with a less whimsical perspective. She was no fool, and understood that it was entirely possible that Script had attempted to manipulate her emotions. It was even possible that he was good enough an actor to pretend the repressed pain and burning emotion she’d seen in his eyes, although she thought it unlikely.  

On the whole, as she retreated to her own quarters within the castle to think, she believed that he had been more-or-less truthful. What disturbed her however, was that if any part of the experience had been a lie, or only a partial truth, the most likely part would have been the story itself. The deceased Paper Weight. If he had existed, was it possible that Script was simply using the dead pony’s memory to manipulate her? 

  

Script smiled to himself as this scenario flashed through his brain. Surveying his own quarters, he wondered just how true his little fantasy was in regards to Sunset.  

“So many distractions, Script old-boy. How do you get anything done?” 

The answer was simple really. He had nothing else to do. He told other ponies and even himself sometimes that the reason for his departure from the military camp, his desertion, was so that he could get closer to the source of all this, to avoid the mastermind until the time was right. And whilst there was some truth to this, it wasn’t the real reason.  

Looking up, he saw the tall mirror hanging on the wall. There again his overactive imagination began weaving itself into distractions and beguiling ideas. His sister, and Strider, and their baby. Roam as a harmonious society like Equestria, its ever-present wrath turned for once to the pursuit of destroying the real enemy. 

His expression hardened. 

Blinking hard, he glanced over to the side table, where the bag of dark blue shards lay, their dullness filled with the radiance of the moon. One might have been forgiven for mistaking them for common gems, but the disturbing truth was horrific enough to let that fantasy remain. 

“I know you can’t hear me anymore,” Script breathed, a cold hardness coming over his eyes. “But don’t worry. It won’t be long now.” 
  

- To be Continued
> Vespegasus Objects to your Obvious Lies
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam 

Sonata Dusk 

 

What else is a plate of metal replacing a part of somepony’s skull supposed to do other than inflict pain? And yet it didn’t. The numbing pain radiating across Sonata’s head was not from the metal within her, but the metal in Strider’s hooves. 

“Sorry.” 

That was all that she remembered him saying before the darkness crept upon her senses.  

Joy, she thought wryly. Another betrayal? 

Then she remembered more of it. 

Oh, right. She giggled. It hurt. I agreed to it. Another feather in my cap of good ideas. 

She considered this thought. 

“I should buy a hat,” she mumbled. 

“I think it’s awake.” 

“Out. Everypony out.” 

  

Her vision returned rather unwillingly, as did her balance. The first time she tried to stand, she felt as though her head were heavier than it had been before, and she collapsed back onto the bed she now realised she was lying on. This realisation made her curious, and slowly but surely, she forced her eyes to open. 

What she found at first was a confusing colour palette of green and purple, centred around a pair of bright pink eyes. 

Sonata let out a yelp of shock and leapt back. 

“Whoa!” said the tangle of purple and green. “Settle down. That healing power of yours doesn’t seem to deal with pain too well.” 

Sonata had to grant the truth of that. Her brain felt like a blob of jelly being shaken around in an electrified box. 

“Purple. Green.” Sonata slurred. “Worst candy ever.” 

The solidifying image of a pony with what Sonata now understood to be purple and green hair frowned, as though confused, and pushed a pair of spectacles up her nose. 

“Um, Strider, am I not speaking the language correctly?” the pony asked over her shoulder. “I’m not sure I’m getting what she’s saying.” 

“Not to worry,” said Loyal Stride’s familiar voice. “She rarely makes sense at the best of times.” 

Sonata gave the army pony a devilish look. “Hey, I was hit on the head with a metal pole recently by some Roaman jerk soldier.” She quirked a smile. “Funny, he looked kinda like you.” 

“Quite the coincidence,” Loyal Stride said, the corner of his mouth curling upwards a little. “Sonata, this is Pen Stroke, the lead researcher here. She’s going to be looking after you.” 

“Pen Stroke?” Sonata repeated. “Why do I feel like I know that name?” 

“Now that you’re up though,” Loyal Stride went on more seriously, “we need to fill you in on a few things before—“ 

“—amned if I don’t look this thing in the eye. Now get out of my way!” 

Sonata felt her head give several responding throbs at each barked word, and felt her eyes protest at the sudden explosion of metallic shine assaulting them. In through the flap of the tent burst a tall pegasus, wearing the most extravagant armour Sonata had ever seen. Having lived for quite some time, and through several fashion periods where aesthetic bludgeoned functionality into the dirt and robbed it blind, this was saying something.  

The newcomer flicked his head in her direction, and narrowed his steely grey eyes. 

“So,” he snarled menacingly. “This is the creature responsible.” Without warning, he brought a glass to his lips and drained the remnants. “Are you sure feeding her into a shredder wouldn’t be enough?” 

“General,” Loyal Stride said quietly. “As your friend—“ 

“If you’re going to bring up this again,” the General snapped, shaking the glass in front of Strider’s muzzle, “then keep your head down!”  

Sonata flinched as the glass smashed against the solid wall of the reinforced tent.  

“You’d do well to keep your head down as it is, given what you’ve done. Unicorn, come here.”  

He beckoned to Pen Stroke, who moved cautiously forward.  

“What have you discovered so far? Is there any way to execute this thing?” 

Pen Stroke’s expression became a little tighter, but the general didn’t seem to notice. 

“Not that we’ve been able to find. As you know, General, the cursed are often extremely difficult to, um...” she hesitated, glancing at Sonata. “To put down.” 

“What can be tried?” the General growled. “I’ve a mind to hang her from traitor’s cliff.” 

“That would not be proper,” Loyal Stride intoned. 

The General scoffed, sending bitter spray in Sonata’s direction. She instinctively shut her eyes to avoid the flying spit, but there was no need. The droplets stopped half way to her, dissipating against a shimmering barrier that rippled in the air like cling film in a breeze. 

“Proper? Dead is dead. I don’t care how it’s done.” 

He glared at Sonata for a moment longer, and then looked around. His lip twisted as he met each face. 

“Then what would you suggest, doctor?” 

“We keep it under observation. Parchment Script has effectively nullified its magic for the time being, and with the camp’s succendum field in place, I doubt she can be of any danger.” 

Sonata swallowed. She knew that she was supposed to be playing the part of a secret Equestrian weapon, and so thought maybe she should portray that role just a little bit. 

“Y-You think so?” she said, trying to sound scathing. “I’ll get out of here. Then I’ll, um—“ 

The General took a sudden step forward, his eyes widening with sudden fury. Sonata managed to keep her composure, but just barely. Inside, she was screaming. But she had one thing on her side. Part of being a siren was being able to put on a show. No matter how difficult the situation was, no matter what weirdos tried to stop your attempt at global domination, just fake it till you make it, and everything would turn out okay. 

Either that or you’d be transported to some parallel dimension and eventually shot with a giant rainbow laser. It tended to be hit or miss. 

“You think you can scare me?” Sonata asked, managing a sneer. “The things that I’ll do to all of you are unspeakable.” Her bluster ran out about here. “So I... I won’t speak them. To you. Ha!” 

A long pause ensued as she and the General glared into each other’s eyes. For being drunk, he could keep his gaze pretty damn steady. 

“Tell me the moment you’re sure it can feel pain,” the General slurred eventually. “Each and every one lost deserves to hear its screams in the afterlife. And I intend to sound them out personally.” 

With that he left the tent, studiously avoiding all of their eyes. 

“Please don’t do that again,” Pen Stroke whispered, after having let out a massive sigh of relief. “Why were you trying to provoke him? If he decides to test that not feeling pain lie we fed him, you’re going to be in for a rough time.” 

“It was a smart move,” Loyal Stride said, giving Sonata what she interpreted to be an approving look. “Whilst she’s here, we need her to appear the monster we’ve told Trotus she is.” 

“Which reminds me,” Pen Stroke said suspiciously. “Why is she here? Of all places for a cursed being to be.” 

“Because this is the one place the enemy doesn’t want to be right now. Not with the Princeps arriving. Not given what he’s been pretending to do.” 

“The enemy?” Pen Stroke repeated. “Who—“ 

“Later,” Loyal Stride promised.  

“Aren’t you going to tell me?” Sonata asked.  

“It’s not somepony you’d know,” Loyal Stride replied evasively. 

“Oh,” Sonata said flatly. “Never mind then. I guess I’ll find out eventually.” 

“Oh we’ll all meet him eventually,” Loyal Stride said darkly.  

“Which reminds me actually,” Sonata added, “how long are we going to be here?” 

“At least until the war begins in earnest,” Loyal Stride sighed. “The Princeps’ fleet shouldn’t be here for a few days, and then the true preparations for battle won’t begin until he and the General have worked out strategy.” 

“That sounds like it could take a while,” Sonata murmured, feeling a plummeting feeling in her stomach. 

“Roamans take war seriously,” Loyal Stride intoned gravely. “Likely the Princeps already has a strategy, but he’ll want to confer with the occupational army for up-to-date details on the local topography and enemy defences.” 

“So what are we doing until then?” Sonata asked, suddenly missing Sunset even more than she had just moments ago. Having a purpose didn’t feel the same without Sunset there to encourage her, she found. 

Pen Stroke grinned suddenly, her pink eyes flashing with eagerness.  

“Why, tests of course!” she squealed, quivering with excitement. “To think; a real live curse victim! And a late-stage one too! I dare say you know that Roaman law requires that cursed individuals be neutralised immediately before their curses wreak havoc or develop immunities like yours, so as you can imagine testing has always hit a few roadblocks.” 

As she wittered on about the various problems of finding and testing cursed ponies, Sonata found herself wondering something that hadn’t really occurred to her before: Were all Roamans this seemingly oblivious to pain in others, or did she only meet the sociopathic Roamans? 

“Well that sounds fun,” she said, trying to smile. “I have another question though.” 

“Ask away!” Pen Stroke cried, still taken up in her excitement.  

“Could I have some paint supplies?” Sonata asked. “And some paper maybe?” 

  



  

Although slightly perplexed by the request, Pen Stroke was relatively quick to acquiesce. No sooner had Loyal Stride left and the other scientists come back then Pen Stroke began discussing possible experiments to perform on Sonata. Sonata didn’t understand much of what they said, partially because they sometimes slipped into what she assumed to be their native language, but also because they used a lot of techno-babble. However, she was able to understand that Pen Stroke was allowing the others to make suggestions themselves before she made her proposal. 

Thus, when a masking frame and a box of paint passed through the field, it seemed as though it was part of... some science-y thing or other. Or so Sonata thought. 

“We’re hoping to perform a psychological evaluation of you,” Pen Stroke said coldly, looking down at the clipboard she was levitating. “Just paint whatever you feel like and we’ll detail the results to help picture your mental state.” 

Sonata didn’t question it.  

The cloak of disillusion was still over her, and Sonata very much wanted to be alone, trying to paint. It had been a fleeting fancy at first, but the idea had been the only thing she could grasp a hold of. Even the prospect of revenge as Loyal Stride and Parchment Script had provided to her felt hollow and almost meaningless, and the only reason she’d agreed to it in the first place was that those who had hurt her had hurt Sunset as well. Worse, she Sonata had hurt Sunset. 

Maybe she thought that painting would rekindle something within her. Perhaps it was that Sunset had always encouraged and admired her artwork back home. Maybe she just wanted to attack an innocent sheet of paper with pretty pink and periwinkle blues of frustration and rage. Whatever the truth, she found it hard to do, and not just because the wretched rock around her neck was trying feebly to reach deep into her primal nature and twist her thoughts towards feeding. No, what was really bothering her was— 

“The subject seems to be experiencing frustration of some sort,” a nearby science pony muttered, scribbling away at his notepad. 

“Perhaps its attempt to pass the time is not succeeding,” intoned another. “It hasn’t gotten very far with its painting.” 

“I’m a she, for the record,” Sonata said loudly, spitting the paintbrush out of her mouth. 

“Responds with indignation,” the first science pony said quietly.  

“Possible further indication of deep-seated anger, as recorded in previous subjects,” the other added, tapping her pencil against her pad thoughtfully.  

“Oh, you know, perhaps we should observe it—“ He flashed a look at Sonata, who was eying him beadily. “Her,” he corrected. “Perhaps we should observe her whilst she cannot observe us.” 

“Oh, quite,” the other said, biting the pencil thoughtfully. “That would probably make this more objective.” 

“Or maybe you could ask me how I’m feeling,” Sonata suggested. 

The two science ponies looked at each other. 

“That doesn’t sound very objective,” the second one said.  

The first concurred, and Sonata was left alone. 

Sort of. 

She couldn’t fully escape the presence of others. The tent in which she was nominally imprisoned was one of three work stations for Pen Stroke’s researchers, and as such there were ponies constantly coming and going, many staying well clear of her walled off section. Even the guards or soldiers who occasionally took reports or described problems for the unicorns to sort out didn’t come near Sonata, although many of them did give her the sort of look that burned. 

Besides a bed, a curtained off toilet area, and her painting supplies, Sonata’s space was sparsely furnished. She didn’t much care. She spent as much time as she could trying to paint, trying desperately to make anything happen.  

It wasn’t that she couldn’t put brush to paper. It wasn’t even that she couldn’t think of anything to paint. More than anything else, it was that as she tried to make the image in her head a reality, it would just leave her, change, or otherwise become incomprehensible, and the work she’d already done would collapse into meaningless lines and splotches.  

“Good mor—“  

Pen Stroke came to an uncertain halt as her eyes fell upon the interior of Sonata’s space. 

“Is it?” Sonata asked. 

“I’m not sure anymore,” Pen Stroke said delicately. “Trouble?” 

Sonata looked up from her position beneath the bed. She considered her surroundings. 

“I ran out of paper,” she replied, trying to repress the dull ache in her head. She supposed that she couldn’t complain too much. Of all her headaches that she’d had since coming to Equestria, this one was perhaps the mildest.  

“Oh,” Pen Stroke grunted. “Well, not to worry. The walls are non-stick, so I dare say it’ll come off.” She looked up and down. “Not too sure about the light fixture though. Is this a common way for Equestrians to paint?” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Sonata sighed. “I’ve been elsewhere for... I don’t even remember. Aria always said she kept the years, but I don’t know how much I believed her.” 

“Aria?” Pen Stroke asked, gently but with a hint of professional interest. 

“No offense, but could you not talk to me like I’m a hospital patient?” Sonata groaned.  

“Sorry,” Pen Stroke said, her mouth thinning momentarily. “But, uh, you had a friend named Aria?” 

Sonata regarded Pen Stroke with an aggrieved eye. “I’d rather not talk about it,” she muttered. 

“Very well,” Pen Stroke said. “No problem. Just trying to make conversation.” 

Sonata looked over at her, feeling the pang of guilt beginning to rise within her as Pen Stroke turned to a work station. 

“So what do you guys do here?” she asked. “Make weapons?” 

“Not really our purview,” she said, her face twisting a little. “Mostly it’s geological surveys and investigation into Equestrian forms of magic. I suppose some of it might count as counter-weapons research you might say. As my brother probably told you – and at length – Roam doesn’t really trust, and therefore doesn’t much use magic in a military capacity.” 

“Your brother?” Sonata asked. “Loyal Stride is your brother?” 

Pen Stroke snorted loudly and looked thoroughly embarrassed. “Strider?” she spluttered in a high voice. “No, no, Strider and I aren’t blood related.” 

Sonata frowned slightly, and then it came to her. 

“Oh Celestia, no...” 

“That is the usual reaction ponies have,” Pen Stroke tittered, her lips curling. 

“But...” Sonata pointed at her. “You don’t look like him. Other than the horn.” 

Pen Stroke ran her hoof over the side of her mane. “I dyed this. As for the coat, I take after my father, and Script after our maternal grandmother.” She grinned wickedly. “It was always a favourite tease of mine to claim that he was adopted because he didn’t have the same colouring as my parents, but to be fair, he has my mother’s angular frame and my father’s disposition.” 

“Oh, good,” Sonata murmured flatly, thinking with no little horror of there being two stallions like Parchment Script in the world. 

Pen Stroke watched Sonata for a moment, as though trying to decide something.  

“You’re friends with Strider, aren’t you?”  

“I guess,” Sonata shrugged. “I let him hit me with a pipe. Only the best of friends let you do that.” 

She was perhaps being a little sarcastic. In truth, she’d always found Loyal Stride to be a rather distant fellow. But she felt that he was at least a kind and honourable sort, and knew no great fault in him. 

Pen Stroke bit her lip a little. 

“If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it to yourself?” 

“Sure,” Sonata said. “Not like anypony is going to believe anything the evil curse pony has to say, anyway.” 

“Fair point,” Pen Stroke conceded. “But even so, I really need you to keep this secret. But at the same time I really want to tell somepony. You see, Strider and I are...” She trailed off, looking suddenly towards the door.  

Deficient as Sonata was in general sense, being a teenager for the vast majority of her life made her adept in spotting patterns, real or imagined, in the complex webs of infatuation. 

She drew in a long, loud breath. “You guys are in love!” she squealed, ignoring the throb of her headache as some sense of excitement washed over her. 

Pen Stroke coughed meaningfully, one eye still on the door. 

“Oh. I mean, uh,” she lowered her voice to a significant whisper. “You guys are in love. Eeee-h!” She grinned toothily.  

Pen Stroke smiled somewhat distantly. “Yeah. Forbidden though it is.” She eyed the look Sonata gave her. “Well, heavily frowned upon, I suppose I should say. There’s nothing lawfully against it.” 

“So, same thing today?” Sonata felt it incumbent upon her to change the conversation as soon as Pen Stroke’s tone turned. “Psycho-logic. Should I amp it up, make myself seem more insane? If you have some hip-hop to play I’ll really turn it on.” 

Pen Stroke’s brow arched. “What is hip hop?” 

As Sonata repressed an unaccountable chill, Pen Stroke went on. 

“Not today I’m afraid. The Princeps’ fleet is expected today.” 

“Really?” Sonata asked. “This soon? Didn’t Strider say he was days away?” 

“He did,” Pen Stroke said darkly. “It’s a bad sign. Given the date he left the Republic, he’d have had to force the fleet at top speed to get here this fast. Either there were no storms or high winds to divert him at all, or else he taxed the weather machines to breaking point.” 

“Is that bad?” 

“Depends on the conditions, like I said. It wasn’t necessarily dangerous, but it’s like running. You do it too long, too fast, you wear yourself out. And unlike ponies, machines can’t just wait off the lactic acid.” 

“So, does the prince coming early affect us?” 

“The Princeps,” Pen Stroke corrected. “I don’t see how it would. He shouldn’t show more than a passing interest in you. He has more important things to worry about. Hopefully.” 

“Hopefully?” 

“Well,” Pen Stroke began, sounding distinctly uncomfortable. “The Princeps is a perceptive stallion. He kind of has to be to survive Roaman politics. Nothing good could come of him taking an overt interest in us.” 

  



  

It transpired that with the fleet arriving that day, most of Pen Stroke’s colleagues had been conscripted into preparing the camp for its imminent arrival. In the silence, Sonata found herself able to focus better on her painting, and at just how bad she now was at it. Although she wasn’t in the least surprised, it did dispirit her.  

What did you expect? her rarely listened to internal voice of reason asked. Of course you can’t just relearn it. It didn’t work the first time, either. 

Sonata sniffed.  

“Where’s my I-want-cake voice? I miss her.” 

She’d just set her brush to the paper again, only to find that it had no paint on it, when the entrance to the tent flapped open, and Pen Stroke came in with a sack levitating in front of her. 

“Oh dear. No, no, it’s okay,” Pen Stroke cooed. “Sonata, I don’t suppose you’ve ever had a foal, have you?” 

Sonata opened her mouth. And then closed it again. And then opened it once more. 

“Huh?” she asked, not sure she’d heard correctly. 

“A baby,” Pen Stroke said, trotting over. “They asked me to leave the nursery whilst they clean it, and he won’t stop crying. I just wondered if you had some advice.” 

Sonata peered through the force field and down into what she’d thought was a white sack. A small, moving thing was nestled within, its tiny pink eyes squinting in its stark white face. At first she wondered what she meant by it crying, since she could hear nothing, but then realised that the little thing was letting out the most piteous little trembling gasps, and tears were rolling down its face. 

“Aww. He’s so adorable,” she said. Her voice hitched a little as her throat tightened, and for some reason her eyes began to burn a little. 

“He’s not hungry,” Pen Stroke murmured distractedly. “I changed him.” 

“Does he have wind? Does he need burping? I saw that on T.V. a few times.” 

Pen Stroke took the baby in her hooves and gently patted his back. After a few moments she stopped, but the child didn’t cease crying. 

“Mm, I’ve never had a baby before,” Sonata admitted tightly. Now that she thought about it, that did seem like a bit of a hole in her several-thousand year long life.  

“I suppose all I can do is hold him until he calms down,” Pen Stroke sighed, rocking the foal gently. 

Sonata stood for a moment, wanting to help but unsure what to do. She felt as though she were somehow intruding upon a private moment. She gazed at the baby for a long moment, and thought of Sunset, feeling the distance between she and her. If possible, it made her feel even more despondent than she had been already. 

Then, as she watched the little colt sniffle and stutter, another thought came to her; something that didn’t come from television. It had the bitter tang of nostalgia to it, something half remembered. But it was enough. 

Without thinking, Sonata opened her mouth, and breathed out memory.

As Sonata sang, her brain tried to assert itself over the memory, and she discovered something eerie. She had no firm recollection of the song itself, who sang it, or where she’d heard it, but the words came freely and without effort. And like many childhood recollections, the meaning was more startling than she remembered. 

Finishing the lullaby, she was slightly relieved to find that the baby was fast asleep. She gave a stifled snort so as not to wake him again, and snickered. 

“Wow. That song was darker than I remember.” 

“I thought it was nice,” Pen Stroke said earnestly. 

“But it involved a group of foals all dying slowly of plague whilst their carer watches helplessly,” Sonata protested quietly. 

“Yes, but the message was a positive one.” 

They both smiled. Then Sonata frowned. 

“Can I ask you something?”  

“Sure, go ahead,” Pen Stroke said cheerily. 

“I know that Loyal Stride probably told you about me and everything, but why are you so friendly to me?” 

“You answered your own question there, I think,” Pen Stroke chuckled. “He told me you were pleasant, sweet, caring, a little neurotic, and then explained that you’re already attached to somepony else. So why wouldn’t I like you?” 

Ahh, Sonata thought. She could understand that. 

“Isn’t it dangerous for you to be friendly with me though?” Sonata asked. “Won’t the other Roamans... I don’t know. Think bad things about you or something?” 

“If they knew, probably,” Pen Stroke agreed, rocking the baby gently as it squirmed in its sleep. “I do have to wonder though,” she added, the first look of concern coming over her face. “Strider said that your singing ability came from your gem.” 

Sonata was hoping that she wouldn’t mention that. Once she’d realised what she had done, she’d scanned the area immediately for the tell-tale greenish mist that usually accompanied her hunger. But there had been none, much to her relief. 

“I’ll just have to be careful with that, I think,” she said ponderously. “Script said the curse would get out again eventually.” 

“Best not to exacerbate it,” Pen Stroke agreed. “Still. It didn’t seem to have any effects this time. Possibly it’s a matter of not allowing the curse to build up. Hm, I’ll have to add that to the observational notes just in case.” 

  



  

Sonata found herself a little more relaxed as the day went on. There was plenty of noise, rushing about, clanking, and general caterwauling as alarms blared, officers barked orders, and every pony and their grandmares rushed about trying to get everything done, but the rush was outside, and so had the illusion of distance. Not much went on in or around the tent, since the actual camp itself was impeccably clean at the best of times.  

As a result, Sonata found that her visualising came easier to her, and her next few attempts to paint were just above the level of refrigerator crayon drawing.  

Pen Stroke jumped visibly as she entered the tent, looking flustered, as the easel hit the force field and burst into flame. 

“Wow,” Sonata said, taking a hasty step back from the force field. “Is it supposed to do that?” 

“From that side, yes,” Pen Stroke said feverishly. “Trouble?” 

“Nothin’,” Sonata grumbled, eying the smouldering easel with a glacial glance. 

“Good,” Pen Stroke went on, looking behind her. “Because the Princeps is coming!” 

“He’s almost here?” Sonata asked, her ears flicking up. 

“No, I mean he’s coming here. To the research tent! Oh, at least there’s no paint all over the tent walls again.” 

“Yeah, but...” Sonata said through her teeth, indicating the charred wooden remains of the picture stand. 

With a wave of her horn and a flash of purple light, the easel snapped back upright and clattered back into place, the blackened edge singeing away back to its regular colour. 

“One-way magic deflection,” she muttered absently. “Good thinking Heuristic Analysis. Must remember to recommend a commendation. Now—Eek!” 

The flap of the tent flew open as a number of the science ponies all filed in, followed by two earth ponies in full armour. Like the regular soldiers Sonata had seen, they wore steely armour and helmets over a red tunic, but in addition, these two wore what looked like the pelts of manticores draped around their shoulders, the open maw of the fallen beast reaching over their heads so that their fangs flashed before of their eyes. 

Both snapped to attention, and in strode the General again, his blue tunic and bronze-grey armour flashing as though freshly shined. Sonata expected him to turn to her, perhaps try once more to intimidate or question her. Instead, he turned back to the door, and stood to attention as well. 

Through the flaps stepped a tall stallion, taller even than Strider, who followed after. At first, Sonata thought perhaps her gem was reasserting itself, and tricking her into seeing double of the General, but then she blinked, and she began to see her mistake. 

The new stallion was a similar shade of blue to the general, but greyer as though with age. His mane hung at the sides of his head in tight curls, over which was perched a crown of purple and green leaves. Around his slender body was loosely wrapped a white and purple toga, which even to Sonata’s untrained eye, was obviously made of an expensive and rare fabric. His hooves were encased in silver horse shoes, and his flank displayed a laurel crown cutie mark. 

This stallion looked around with a calm, penetrating grey eye, which then fell on Sonata.  

“This is she?” he asked. 

Sonata was taken aback. She had been expecting a harsh, authoritative, or even elderly voice, for his face was slightly lined. Instead, the voice was low, calm as a summer sea, and had a naturally thoughtful or inquisitive tinge to it. It was also heavily accented, and the words came as though he were new to their pronunciation.  

“Yes, your eminence,” Pen Stroke answered, genuflecting.  

The stallion approached, making little to no noise on the hard tile floor. Sonata wished that Pen Stroke and Loyal Stride would stop looking so worried; it was making her feel nervous. At least she hoped that was the reason she was feeling nervous. As the stallion loomed taller and taller as he approached, Sonata couldn’t help being put in mind of that one time she’d seen Princess Celestia. 

“Hello,” the stallion said in his low, calm voice. “I wish to be bold, and ask your name.” 

Sonata gulped, her throat feeling unaccountably dry. She wished Pen Stroke would stop glancing at Strider. 

“Sonata,” she managed hoarsely. “Sonata Dusk.” 

“Pleasant greetings. I am Trotus Flyavius Caesar Vespegasusius Augustus. Or more easily to you, Vespegasus. You are the Equestrian weapon told to me?” he inquired. 

Sonata found her eyes watering as she waited for the guy to blink. 

“Y-Yes,” she replied.  

“Interesting,” he said. “Then perhaps you would do me the...”  

He paused, and looked over his shoulder to the General, speaking a word Sonata didn’t understand. 

“Favour,” the General said. 

“Perhaps you would do me the favour,” Vespegasus continued, turning his gaze back on Sonata, “of answering questions for me.” 

“Oh,” Sonata said, feeling wrong-footed. “Err, shoot I guess.” 

“She means yes,” the General said when Vespegasus didn’t reply. 

“Ah,” he said with understanding.  

The General said something rapidly in his own language. 

“No,” Vespegasus replied. “It would be better if I experienced the small and large parts of this language myself.” 

Sonata regarded him thoughtfully. She was no four-syllable dictionary herself, but she recognised the lack of experience Vespegasus seemed to have, as though he’d learned the basics of the language from studying it rather than speaking it.  

“I should like to know first how long you have been a weapon for,” he said, addressing Sonata again. 

Sonata hesitated. “Not long,” she answered. “I was fairly new to it.” 

“I see,” Vespegasus said. “If you know, where is weapons program being created?” 

Sonata considered, feeling a creeping heat under her skin. It occurred to her that as a supposed captured Equestrian weapon, she should refuse to answer. On the other hand, she had already agreed to answer questions, and Vespegasus hadn’t evinced any surprise, which made her wonder what he thought the circumstances of her supposed capture were. Given what Pen Stroke had told her about his cleverness, was it possible he was trying to catch her in a lie? 

Oh, she was no good under pressure! 

“I, um, don’t,” she said, trying to maintain eye contact. “See, I’m not really from Equestria, so I don’t know the places much.” 

“A shame,” Vespegasus intoned, his voice unchanging. “How many of you were there?” 

“Well, I can’t be sure,” Sonata said, gaining in confidence a little as a thought struck her. “There might have been others I didn’t see. But there were at least twenty others with me.” 

She smiled internally. Perhaps she could bluff her way into stymieing the war, delay it at least a little. If she could scare them enough, maybe they’d even call the whole thing off. 

“A tall number,” Vespegasus said, arching his eyebrows. “Tell me. How were you and the others kept from harming your testers?” 

Sonata felt a shiver. She had no idea what to say. 

“Your eminence, if I might answer that,” Strider said. “It was my agent who discovered this conspiracy.” 

“Yes,” Vespegasus said. “Captain, if you would step outside, please.” 

Strider’s jaw tightened. His eyes flicked to the General, who didn’t look back at him, and then to the two guards, who stared implacably forward. Shooting a last glance at Pen Stroke, he exited the tent. 

“I’m not really sure,” Sonata said, thinking fast. “I think there was something in the walls. If they took us out of our rooms they put us to sleep first.” 

Thank Celestia she watched so many movies. 

“Clever of them,” Vespegasus intoned thoughtfully. “I admit I know small of Equestria’s science and industry level. It is hope to gain insight into your...” He paused again, and said another word that Sonata didn’t understand. 

“It doesn’t really translate well,” the General said, his brow furrowed. “Cultural values, I suppose.” 

“Cultural values,” Vespegasus repeated, as though testing the phrase. “One last question: did you join in program of your free will?” 

“Y-Yes,” Sonata said, trying to sound stoic. 

He nodded, and then turned to Pen Stroke. “Head researcher,” he addressed her, “tell me, what are your plans for her?” 

Pen Stroke inclined her head and began declaiming in her own language, presumably using a lot of complicated words she didn’t think Vespegasus would otherwise understand. After what seemed a brief explanation, he raised his head. 

“I see no cause for that,” he said in Equestrian. “You will let her free.” 

A moment of stunned silence. 

“S-Sir?” Pen Stroke asked breathlessly. 

“Free her,” Vespegasus said equably.  

  



  

Long ago, in more prelapsarian times, Sonata would have regarded abrupt changes like this one with a carefree amusement; something for Aria and Adagio to worry about. It might even have entertained her. But now, alone and powerless, she could only feel the creeping fear of uncertainty. 

She looked ahead to the end of the canyon, a dull, dusty road between two dangerous overhanging crags. It may have simply been an optical illusion created by the placement of the two great shunts of stone, but the tiny passage of light looked so far away, so unbearably out of reach. Or perhaps that was simply her own misgivings. 

She looked back to the small grouping of ponies behind her. The General, grim and scowling. Strider looking determinately straight faced, but sweating more than he strictly should have in the late afternoon sun. Pen Stroke slightly behind him, her pink eyes wide and never still as they flicked between Sonata and the other ponies beside her. And then Vespegasus, his steely grey eyes fixed unblinkingly upon her, his expression relaxed and nondescript.  

“That is the way to home,” he called, his respectful voice echoing between the canyon faces. 

Sonata looked back towards the exit again, not knowing what to do. She’d agreed to come here to be contained. To save Sunset (and Equestria, she supposed) from what she’d done in Dodge City. So her curse could be studied and stuff. So whoever it was in Equestria manipulating Roam and Equestria to war wouldn’t be able to get to her and do... things, and stuff.  

She thought there were other reasons too – and stuff – but right at that moment she couldn’t think of them. 

“This is a trap, right?” she called back. “There’s, like, guards half way there?” 

“No traps,” Vespegasus called back. 

Sonata looked again towards the distant exit, and then at the two cliff walls. 

“Are you sure?” she shouted. 

“Yes,” Vespegasus replied patiently. 

Sonata paused. 

“You don’t want to put one here?” she asked. “I can wait.” 

“Get the hell out of here!” the General roared. “The Princeps told you to go! Now go!” 

Sonata took a couple of hesitant steps, feeling the cold shadows of the cliff slide over her. What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t wander off alone into Equestria. Where would she go? What would she do in a land she hadn’t been in for a thousand years? Especially so close to the place where Starswirl had discovered her and her erstwhile companions, and banished them to the human world. 

She bit her lip hard as those recollections, and others, came flashing back to her, the gem around her neck suddenly becoming somehow more real. 

“But,” she tried again, turning to look back. “But, aren’t I dangerous? Shouldn’t you keep me here and lock me up?” 

“You are dangerous,” Vespegasus replied placidly. “Or at least...”  

She watched him turn briefly to the General. 

“Or at least potentially dangerous. That is one cause for you to go.” 

“Yeah, but—“ 

She cut herself off as Vespegasus spread his impressively wide and graceful looking wings. Within seconds he’d come to a stop a few feet from her, the faintest of whooshes sounding on the wind as his silver horse shoes touched lightly to the ground. 

“You said that you joined weapons program of your free will,” Vespegasus said, his quiet and respectful voice suddenly darkening. “You seem oddly against leaving if this is so.” 

“I-I’m not against leaving,” Sonata stammered, taking an involuntary step away from his lowering head. “I just think that you guys shouldn’t make any hasty decisions. Isn’t it important to learn from your enemies?” 

“I’m learning a great deal,” Vespegasus breathed.  

“Oh?” Sonata asked, smiling cheesily. “Like what?” 

“You were not brought here against your free will,” he said decisively, the combination of the almost casual tone of his voice and his beginning to pace filling her with a gnawing sensation of nakedness.  

“I-I—“ 

“You are no weapon of Equestrians,” he continued, his retinue catching up to them. “What you are is dangerous, and what I want to know is why you are here actually.” 

“Your eminence!” Loyal Stride gasped as they caught up. “I can explain the situation.” 

“Speak no more now,” Vespegasus ordered, his eyes still on Sonata. 

There was a pause, and then without saying anything further, he looked away. All of a sudden his shadow seemed to recede, the overwhelming presence of his authority dimmed. The last places it left were the inner chambers of Sonata’s heart, and the trembling marrow of her bones. 

“General, have the Equestrian put back into science and technology tent.” 

The General gave a curt nod, and then gestured to the two guards. 

“Head researcher, I wish to be told of anything you find whilst you test her. Even small things. I expect a full report of everything.” 

“Y-yes, your eminence,” Pen Stroke answered quickly. 

“Captain,” Vespegasus continued, turning to Strider. “Come with me please. I wish your help.” 

“Of course, sir,” Strider said, standing briefly to attention. “I live to serve.” 

“But fath—“ The General began, but then stopped. “Princeps, you’re surely not going to ask his advice after... after all this!” 

Vespegaus didn’t answer immediately. Once Pen Stroke was out of earshot, and the guards had escorted Sonata sufficiently far away, he spoke in his native tongue. 

“Trotus, I value your leadership and tactical abilities,” he began reasonably. “But you lack, as you always have done, in being able to deal effectively with your personal problems. Does he still imbibe?” he asked Loyal Stride.  

Loyal Stride shot a quick look to the General, his throat muscles tensing as he received a venomous stare in return. Fortunately the Princeps didn’t seem to expect an answer, and nodded knowingly. 

“Captain Loyal Stride has lied, to you and therefore to me. Despite this,” he said, turning to fix Loyal Stride with his piercing grey eyes, “I do not believe that you have done so for treasonous reasons.” 

Loyal Stride said nothing, but maintained the Princeps’ gaze as calmly as he could. 

“Nevertheless,” Vespegasus went on, his tone deepening. “That does not mitigate the crime. At some point or other, when I decide it appropriate, you will face consequences for your actions against the authority of the Republic.” 

“Yes, sir,” Loyal Stride said. 

A short pause ensued as the two of them maintained eye contact. 

“Until that time,” Vespegasus said, his thin lips twitching upwards briefly. “I wish to know the details of whatever scheme Parchment Script has you involved in.” 

“With all due respect, sir,” Loyal Stride murmured, bowing his head. “I can’t reveal everything.” 

“Can’t?” Vespegasus echoed, the mask of his expression returning. “For what reason?” 

“What was detailed to you about there being a conspiracy is true, your eminence,” Loyal Stride said, ignoring the General’s disbelieving hiss through his teeth. “And it does involve Sonata. But it’s not an Equestrian plot against Roam.” 

“It originates from Roam,” Vespegasus said, his brow furrowing, “but it’s taking place here. Then there is only one answer. But, curious... Parchment Script would know that I would...”  

He trailed off. 

“Sir?” Loyal Stride asked, feeling the blood draining from his face. “Y-You know?” 

“I suspect,” Vespegasus said in little more than a whisper. “Or more accurately, Parchment Script suspects. It was not difficult to figure out whom he suspects. It certainly makes his circumspection more understandable, given the precarious nature of the situation should he be right.” 

“If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” Loyal Stride said breathlessly. “What will you do?” 

“As things stand, it’s obvious that Parchment Script wished for me to understand, but not act. And given that he didn’t tell you that, I can only assume that he wishes to withhold the reason why. Does he have proof of his claims? Do you perhaps know what it is that is being planned?” 

“Nothing concrete, sir,” Loyal Stride said tightly.  

“Father, what is he talking about?” the General asked, sounding as though he was trying to keep the anger from his voice. “What is going on?” 

“Nothing that we could safely act upon at any rate,” Vespegasus murmured. “For now, Trotus, I think that we must go along with Parchment Script’s game. Undoubtedly he knows more than he has told the captain. But I still wish to know all that you do of this situation,” he added to Loyal Stride. “Whatever Parchment Script has told you, or whatever you have figured out for yourself, I want to know all of it. I shall not act on it for now.” 

Loyal Stride swallowed. “Yes, sir. I’ll tell you what I can.” 

“Excellent,” Vespegasus said, striding passed him. “In addition, from this point forth, you shall be my personal aide-de-camp. Tell me, do you have any teaching experience?” 

“Teaching?” Loyal Stride repeated dumbly. “Nothing formal, sir. Nothing outside of combat.” 

“That shall suffice. I would be grateful if you would assist me in learning the particulars of the Equestrian language.” 

“If that is your decision, sir,” Loyal Stride said flatly, standing at attention. “I shall do my best.” 

“Thank you, captain. General, if you would begin preparations in earnest. I want the Fifteenth Ferreta deployable, and the forces I brought with me up to speed on local the geography.” 

“Yes, sir,” the General bit out. “And the ventnavi, sir?” 

“Unfortunate,” Vespegasus said quietly. “Or perhaps not. Captain, what are Parchment Script’s designs regarding the coming war?” 

“I don’t think he had anything particular in mind,” Loyal Stride replied. “He knows it’s coming. He didn’t tell me that it needed putting off or anything.” 

“Just as well,” Vespegasus said evenly. “Full repairs are to be conducted. I want those ventnavi brought up to spec in double quick time. The army is to be ready to move within two months.” 

The General’s stony expression become, if possible, even tighter. “Yes, sir,” he said through numb lips. “That might not be strictly possible. I can begin raids into the Equestrian heartland within the week, but—“ 

“No,” Vespegasus said. “I will not chip away at Equestria piece by piece.” 

The General’s eyes narrowed. “The capital?” 

“Forgive me, but is that wise?” Loyal Stride asked. “Equestria is vast. We would have no supply lines. We could be easily encircled.” 

“Your concerns are valid, captain,” Vespegasus conceded. “However, it is Equestria’s vastness that allows us to take this bold approach, in conjunction with Equestria’s historical defeats. Although a unified people, Equestria has classically relied upon Canterlot to make unilateral decisions, and implement military responses. With Canterlot conquered, the remaining territories will be scattered and incapable of a unified counterattack.” 

“Cut off the head,” the General nodded. “It was an effective stratagem during the first invasion.” 

“Which is what makes me hesitant to believe that the Equestrians haven’t considered that point as well,” Strider retorted as respectfully as he could. 

“An excellent point,” Vespegasus concurred. “However, their response will most likely be to reinforce the city itself, rather than the country as a whole. More difficult to assail, but not impossible.” 

The General nodded. “According to our reconnaissance reports, that is the method the Equestrians have employed. The city’s defences have been admirably strengthened, and they’ve bolstered their garrison. But none of the surrounding cities appear to have been similarly strengthened.” 

“Make no mistake,” Vespegasus intoned ominously. “The next two months will see us attempt to penetrate whatever preparations the enemy have in store for us. It then becomes a matter of who has kept their hand secret from the other.” 

“I’ve always considered the army a little too dashing to be secretive,” Loyal Stride said, following the Princeps back to the camp. 

“In open warfare, secrecy is in the intent, captain,” Vespegasus replied. “Everything you have is there for your enemy to see, if he is capable of reading it. The duty of the commander is to make sure he cannot.” 

  



  

“Stallion. Smart. How he do that?”  

Sonata lay upon the simple bed behind her force field, still reeling from the mental beat down.  

“I honestly couldn’t say,” Pen Stroke muttered, absently rocking her baby. “I’d never seen the Princeps work before today. I’d only heard stories, and we Roamans have a tendency to exaggerate the prowess of our military commanders.” She gave Sonata a side glance. “Only a little though.” 

“I think this might have been a mistake,” Sonata mumbled. “I was safer in Luna’s castle. She could suppress my magic, and Script could still have put this wad of metal in my skull.” She paused. “Which, saying it out loud, sounds kinda dumb.” 

“So does telling ponies to make sure their foals are lying face down when they sleep,” Pen Stroke sighed. “Both were once procedure, both are now anachronisms.” 

“What?” Sonata blurted. 

“Oh, didn’t he tell you?” 

“No, I mean I don’t know what anachromany means.” 

“Anachronism,” Pen Stroke corrected. “It means displaced in time, as in something from an older generation. Outdated. We don’t actually inflict ironbonding upon ponies anymore. The mortality rate was far too high for us in the modern day.” 

“What?” Sonata gasped again. “He didn’t say it was deadly!” She frowned, thinking about it. “Or at least, I don’t remember him saying that.” 

“He probably didn’t,” Pen Stroke shrugged. “You can’t die, so even if he goofed it, you’d still be alive.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Sonata piped up, brightening. 

“You’d simply have been in unbearable amounts of agony until your body purged the enchanted iron from your skull.” 

Sonata gave her an aggrieved look. “I’ve been wondering; is it just you and your brother, or do all Roamans talk about suffering in such a casual way?” 

Pen Stroke laughed lightly. “Something you pick up as a scientist, I’m afraid. Purges a lot of your squeamishness.” 

“Does that make that guy a scientist?” Sonata asked, her voice lowering. 

“Who?” 

“The prince.” 

“The Princeps?” Pen Stroke said, surprised. “No, why do you say that?” 

“He has no squeamishness,” Sonata said darkly. “None at all. I can’t see or feed on the negative energy here, but I know it’s around me. It’s caused by conflict, anger, or fear.” She swallowed. “When I was alone with him, there wasn’t any. Any at all.” 

Pen Stroke seemed to consider this. “Isn’t that a good thing?” 

“I don’t know,” Sonata mumbled. “I guess? It just makes him...” She trailed off. 

“Scarier?” Pen Stroke supplied.  

“Pretty much,” Sonata admitted. “He’s just so unreadable. I mean he seemed angry at one point, but at the same time he wasn’t.” 

Pen Stroke nodded a little stiffly. “The assistant I sent to the command tent told me that Strider is telling the Princeps what he knows about Script’s plan.” 

“He’s not supposed to do that!” Sonata exclaimed. “Is he?” 

“Given what I’ve seen of his eminence, I rather think he might have tumbled to the truth by himself. If so, there’s little point in keeping the details from him.” 

Sonata sank back into her pillow, which was surprisingly soft and plump for a prisoner pillow. 

“I suppose. I just hope Script knew how smart the Prince-ecks is.” 

Pen Stroke rolled her eyes. 

  

- To be Continued
> Seneschal of the Crystal Empire
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam   

Sunset Shimmer 


Even in her present mood, Sunset could still feel the flickering inner glow of excitement and, to a certain extent, trepidation.  

“The Crystal Empire,” she said aloud. 

The words conjured nostalgia. Her, alone, deep within the forbidden sections of the Canterlot archives, reading feverishly by candlelight, searching for the knowledge that had been hers by right. Or at least, that was what she thought at the time. The thought elicited nothing but a faint and distant unease. She’d discovered many secrets there that neither she nor any pony in living memory beyond the Royal Sisters could possibly know about. Not simply written down, but many encoded, hidden, buried within layers of subterfuge and forgotten references: 

The entrance to Tartarus. The Seven-sided chest of Chicomoztec. The Alicorn Amulet. The location of the Temple of Talacon. The existence of the Tree of Harmony. And of course, the magical mirror.  

But the secret that had captured her imagination the most at the time had been the forgotten realm of the Crystal Empire. For less idealistic reasons than other young mares might have had. Frustrated and resentful of Princess Celestia’s supposed secrecy, Sunset had dreamed of resurrecting the empire, usurping its power for herself and using it as a springboard to conquer Equestria.  

She smiled at the thought, thinking how ridiculous it sounded. 

“Sounds like the plot of a story I would read,” Script conceded, his moustache twitching as he considered it. “Although I’m given to understand that the empire already had the disembodied dark essence of its former king trying to bend it into an imperialistic war machine intent on global domination. How would you have dealt with him?” 

“I don’t think I really considered that at the time,” Sunset admitted. “I had some idea I could just wing it if I got that far.” 

“You must have changed a great deal from that time,” Script said soberly. “I can’t see you making a mistake like that now.” 

“That change didn’t come easy,” Sunset chuckled. “Nobody tells you these things, but getting hit by a rainbow laser actually hurts.” 

“A rainbow laser?” Script asked incredulously.  

“Well, emotionally,” Sunset shrugged. “What? That counts as pain. There were tears. Many, many tears. And people staring.” 

“Just keep an eye out,” Script huffed. “We should be nearly there.” 

“Perhaps we’ve over shot it,” Sunset said with a shiver. “It’s cold enough to be Yakyakistan.” 

“No,” Script said darkly. “It lies ahead. I can feel it.” 

“How’s that?” Sunset asked. “Are you using some kind of alicorn magic spell to home in on it?” 

“No, I mean I can literally feel it,” he said. “Can’t you?” 

Sunset narrowed her eyes at him, but subconsciously began to probe at her tactile senses, and realised that he was right. The cold was beginning to recede, as though they were on the edges of a distant forest fire. Indeed, even the swirling snow around them seemed to be diminishing. Then she saw it, a welcome burst of colour and warmth in the form of an enormous cluster of sparkling crystal buildings. 

Sunset was used to the real thing being far more dazzling and breathtaking than any illustration could make it, but in this case the difference was absolutely astounding. 

“I wouldn’t get too worked up about it,” Script said in response to her expressing this. “You’ve been under the eternal twilight for quite some time. Seeing pure daylight after so long will hit you like flaming torches jammed into your eye sockets. I recommend you wear some tinted green glasses to prevent your eyes being dazzled if you’re not confident.” 

“You have that movie here?” 

“What’s a movie?” 

“Never mind. So we’re here?” 

“Indeed we are,” Script sighed. “And a good thing too. Keeping up that antifreeze spell was murder.” 

“Agreed,” Sunset said, rubbing at the base of her horn where a dull pang like an overused muscle gently throbbed. 

The balloon they occupied – an older looking basket balloon made of faded purple fabric – touched down at the edge of the crystal city before a tall standing arch. Before the arch stood a pair of ponies. 

“Wow,” Script said flatly, eying the two guard ponies. “Secondary thing to look up in the archives: crystal pony vivisection studies.” He arched an eyebrow. “Unless either of you two fine stallions wants to help me with a scientific experiment?” 

“Script, we’re in an entirely new place. Could you not instantly offend everypony, please?” 

“It’s hard,” Script groaned. “You’re all so sensitive.” 

“Lady Shimmer,” one of the guards interceded, sensibly ignoring the contents of the conversation. “Master Script. We’ve been instructed to deliver you to the castle. His lordship wishes to see you immediately.” 

“Mm,” Sunset said, narrowing her eyes as the two ponies led the way into the city. “Why is everypony determined not to mention who is ruling the empire?” 

“Are they?” Script asked innocently. 

“That’s the same tone Twilight took,” sunset complained. “Please tell me it isn’t Prince Blueblood. That guy was a dork.” 

“I know not to whom you’re referring. You’ll see when we get there. As I understand it, you’ve known him before.” 

Sunset considered this. If she’d known them, she supposed that it must be someone who had been infected with the mysterious plague that had turned half of Equestria into Nightlanders. But she hadn’t known too many stallions that well before escaping to the human world, so she couldn’t imagine who Script could be referring to. 

As they trotted down the grand thoroughfare linking the palace to the arch, Sunset continued to drink in the beauty of the place, and with a sudden gut-rending feeling of regret, she saw it for what it must represent to Equestrians everywhere. A last, untouched piece of antebellum Equestria. Unspoiled by war and plague.  

Every building resembled a hewn precious stone, carved to appear like giant rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. The road shone like crystal, and even the trees, bushes, clouds, and ponies had a lapidarian quality. And naturally, the statues did as well. A particularly large one, depicting a stubby bipedal figure holding something aloft, stood upon a pedestal between three buildings, although from behind Sunset couldn’t interpret the features well before they’d moved passed it. 

“It looks pretty,” Script said idly. “But how much of this is functional? Somepony could slip on this road and break their neck.” 

“Would it kill you to be positive for once?” Sunset asked, making a real effort not to roll her eyes. 

“Maybe,” Script shrugged. “Perhaps I should go prancing down the street here, happy as a lamb, and see if I don’t hurt myself on this ridiculous glass floor.” 

If the two guards heard Script, they made no outward expression of it. Sunset was glad of it, but just to be on the safe side, she decided to change the subject. 

“That’s quite a large window,” she projected with false cheer, looking up at the castle’s facade. “Must make it easy to see panoramically.” 

“The space was necessary, Madam Shimmer,” one of the guards said. “His great and honourable lordship requires it to exit the palace.” 

“To exit the palace?” Sunset echoed. “What, he can’t use doors?” 

The guard didn’t reply, but looked faintly puzzled. Next to her, she heard Script hold in a snort. 

The uniform grandiosity of the castle impressed Sunset, and appealed to her sense of symmetry. Idly she wondered how it had looked whilst under the yoke of its previous king, the evil Sombra who had spitefully dragged the empire into banishment with him when the Royal Sisters had defeated him. As she considered it, her imaginings had the beautifully balanced interior turning dark, spiky, and distinctly out of true.  

“It must have been quite different when the dark king ruled, don’t you think?” Script asked into her thoughts. She wished he wouldn’t do that. 

“Very, I suppose,” Sunset answered. Then she frowned. Now that Script mentioned it, she remembered in her reading somewhere about what effects dark magic could have upon normal objects. She tried to remember what it was that she’d read on the subject, but all too soon they’d passed through the elegant hall to the grand double-doors leading to the throne room. 

“Don’t be alarmed,” Script said languidly. “His appearance can be a little startling.” 

“Ah, yes, the mysterious seneschal of the Crystal Empire,” Sunset sighed. “Let’s see him.” 

Obligingly, the two guards took hold of the great doors with their magic, and with a loud clunk, they swung open. 

Sunset blinked. “Um...” she said uncertainly. 

Beyond the doors was a second barrier, a great wall of purple crystal plugging up every inch of the large opening into the throne room beyond. Sunset considered the glistening facets of the barrier with some momentary interest; the wall of purple crystal was rough-looking instead of smooth, yet had a pattern to it as though someone had carved hundreds of triangular shapes into it. 

She looked at Script, but he simply stood straight, looking expectant. 

She glanced towards the guards, who were standing at attention facing away from the door. After a few moments however, they looked back at her and Script, as though wondering why they weren’t entering. Then they both looked at the entrance. 

“Your great and honourable lordship, with the greatest of humility and respect, you’re pressing up against the door again.” 

A deep and resonant rumbling sound fairly shook the floor beneath them. 

“Ahh, see,” Script said, tapping the crystal floor dispassionately. “There’s another problem with this design. No flexibility at all. One earthquake would bring the entire thing crashing down.” 

Sunset watched in awe as the great wall of purple crystal seemed to rise, tearing itself from the entrance and rising into the throne room. Then something else swept by the opening, Sunset only catching the merest glimpse of it. A flash of purple and green, like a kite flying by a window. 

A monumental foot, ending in long, curved claws and covered in purple scales slammed down just inside the doorway, making Sunset jump and take an involuntary step backwards. For a brief second as a large, shadowy, cruel-shaped muzzle of long, sabre-like teeth sipped into view, Sunset had to fight the urge to flee. Then the deep green eyes found her, and the terrible mouth curved upwards into a toothy grin. 

“Sunset Shimmer!” the beast bellowed, fairly ruffling Sunset’s hair and sending Script’s toga into a flurry. 

“And Parchment Script, my lord,” one of the guard ponies, added respectfully. “Madam Shimmer, Master Script. The Great and Honourable Spike, the Brave and Glorious. Rightly appointed Lord of the Crystal Empire, Defender of the Crystal Heart, and Protector of the Realm.” 

Spike, smiling fit to split his enormous face in two, gave a small wave through the door with his terrifying clawed hand. 

“Hi,” he said coquettishly. “Come in, come in! It’s been so long. I’d hug you, but, you know.” 

As the doors swung shut behind her, Sunset Shimmer was still staring, mouth agape, up into the towering visage of Spike, his horned head and gracefully folded wings creating a distinct and awe-inspiring picture against the sparkling crystal decor of the chamber. 

“Spike,” Sunset Shimmer said at last, half laughing. “You’re the ruler of the Crystal Empire?” 

Spike shrugged modestly. “More-or-less,” he said modestly. “While Shining Armour and Cadance look after things in Canterlot, they invited me to look after things for them.” He winked. “I’m sort of a local hero here, you know? Which reminds me.” 

He rose up onto his feet, bowing his head from the ceiling, and swept an arm across his chest decorously in a low bow, eyes closed and aimed at the floor.  

“Welcome, Sunset Shimmer, and Parchment Script of the Roamans, to the Crystal Empire.” He looked up, opening one eye. “Seriously, no pony told you it was me?” he asked confidentially. 

“No,” Sunset chuckled. “No pony. And you’re... you’re so big. And have wings.” 

Spike waved an airy hand, turning his head to one side so they wouldn’t see the colour rising in his scales.  

“Oh, well, we all grow up some time, right?” 

The more he spoke, the more she could recognise him. The little affectations of humility, the eagerness and excitement that characterised his movements, restrained though they were by the proximity of the walls. Although it was startling to see him as he was in contrast to how she remembered him, she could see the baby dragon she had known behind the fearsome reptilian eyes, which despite his enormity and angular, predatory appearance, still contrived to look warm and kindly. 

“Huh!?” Spike gasped, rattling the enormous chandelier in front of his nose when Sunset confirmed that she didn’t know the story of his ascension. “No pony told you how I saved the Crystal Empire?” 

“Twice,” Script said hastily.  

“Twice!” Spike said, spreading his arms. 

“Yes, your great and honourable lordship,” Script said loudly. “Perhaps we could—“ 

“You want to hear about it?” Spike asked, plainly not hearing Script and casting one large eye upon Sunset. 

Sunset glanced surreptitiously at Script, who was making small but insistent signs and signals in the negative.  

“Sure, Spike,” Sunset enthused, shooting a beaming smile at Script’s darkening expression. “Tell me all the details.” 

  



  

“You’re kidding,” Sunset whispered in awe as she munched on a piece of cake. “The whole stadium?” 

“Yeah,” Spike grunted modestly, wave an airy, clawed hand the width of a small car. “Like I said though, it’s nothing anypony else wouldn’t have done if they could breath fire, you know? But enough about me, how are you? It’s been— what, seventy years?” 

Script, who looked very much as though he wished there was something he could politely interest himself in, coughed meaningfully. 

“As interesting as it is to hear of your valorous deeds, oh great and honourable Spike, the brave and glorious, Sunset and I have come here apurpose.” 

“Oh, you probably did, yeah,” Spike said, rubbing his horny chin in a musing way. “We can finish catching up later,” he added to Sunset, giving her another sawblade smile. “So what can I do you for? Need some crystal? We export that, you know.” 

Sunset found herself smiling as Spike jabbed a finger into his slightly inflated chest. She could just imagine the lists he’d made in the course of his duties for the empire. She had to wonder what he wrote with though. What bird alive could give him a quill? 

“No, your lordship,” she said. “We’re here for some hopefully not-so-lost knowledge.” 

“Oh, neat,” he boomed. “Want me to take you to the library? I can drop you off.” 

“Is it that far you need to fly us there?” Sunset asked, a little puzzled since the empire wasn’t a large city. 

“No, I climb across the buildings,” Spike said sheepishly, pointing out of the large opening.  

“You need not trouble yourself,” Script reassured him. “I have a feeling that what we seek is here, in the palace.” 

“Oh?” Spike said, raising his heavy, scaly brow. “Why do you say that?” 

“Because of you,” Script said, shrugging. 

Both Spike and Sunset looked at him. Spike’s eyes widened, and Sunset scowled. 

“Are you suggesting that Spike—“ Sunset began. 

“No, no, I don’t mean that,” Script interrupted impatiently. “I mean this.” 

Raising his head and imbuing his horn in a soft blue light, a thick tome appeared out of the ether of nowhere. As it hovered in front of Script’s long snout, Sunset read the cover of the book. 


A Recent History of the Crystal Empire ~ Facet Faucet 


Script cleared his throat. “Chapter eleven, page one hundred and twenty seven, and I quote It was then discovered by Princess Twilight and Spike(GHBG) that certain aspects of the palace were not as they seemed. Upon using a controlled form of minor dark magic, it was revealed that the insidious Sombra had utilised his dark powers to conceal the crystal heart, and even the means by which anypony might have stumbled upon it.” 

The book snapped shut. “You see?” Script said confidently, looking at both of them in turn. “You get it?” 

Spike rubbed his chin again, apparently thinking about it. Sunset on the other hand understood immediately. 

“So you believe there are other parts of the castle that Sombra might have concealed.” 

Script clapped his hooves together once in the manner one might do when snapping their fingers. “Exactly. The Crystal Empire predates the Royal Sister’s dominion over Equestia. And even if they managed to eliminate information about male alicorns here before Sombra’s reign, I’m willing to bet he had information on them himself, which the sisters would have no access to during his reign, or whilst the empire was trapped in limbo.” 

“But the empire has been back for years, I heard,” Sunset contested, frowning. “Surely they would have come and erased any such information by now.” 

“Possibly,” Script said. “If they found it. I’m willing to bet they missed something.” 

Sunset shot him a gimlet stare. “You mean you’re guessing. Hoping.” 

“Don’t question my genius and intuition,” Script said dismissively. “With your permission, Lord Spike, I’d like to search the castle.” 

Spike gave a good-natured shrug. “Doesn’t bother me. I’ll get you somepony to show you around if you like. I’d do it myself, but...” he trailed off, his deep growl of a voice rising a few octaves towards the end. 

“We understand, Spike,” Sunset assured him. “We’ll be fine with a guide, right Script?” 

“So long as it’s not one of those really chatty ones,” he said darkly. 

  



  

“Spirits, take me now. I’m ready.” 

Sunset frowned at him, but otherwise she couldn’t help agreeing. 

“...as I said before, the ceiling was designed and built independently of the main structure here, as at one time the hall was an audience chamber that saw up to the palace’s pinnacle. Instead an additional floor was added and the third floor state room installed above. Whilst the style is different, the complimentary placement of the...” 

“We need to ditch him,” Script said, eyeing the guide’s back.  

For once, Sunset agreed with him. They were never going to search the place whilst he led them on an audio tour that didn’t have a pause button. 

“Well what do you suggest?” 

Script cleared his throat loudly. “Very interesting. Where might the restrooms be?” 

The guide paused in his endless flow. “Oh. Down the hall, two floors down, through the passage on the right, two doors on the left near the servant’s quarters.” 

“Thank you,” Script said, taking the guide’s hoof in both of his own. “It has been a truly inspirational tour. If you don’t mind though, I’m going to process it all. I might be a while.” 

“Oh,” the guide brayed, his cheeks flushing. “Very well. Madam Shimmer—“ 

“I need to use the facilities as well,” she said apologetically, unable to believe this was working. “We’ll catch up to you.” 

Disappearing down the stairs, the two of them let out sighs of relief. 

“I am a genius!” Script hissed, pumping a hoof. “So original.” 

“So where should we try first?” Sunset asked. “The way to the crystal heart was in the throne room.” 

“It’s simple,” Script said confidently. “Habit will tell us.” 

“Habit? How would you know King Sombra’s habits?” 

Script shot her a sideways look. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he asked, his tone pitying. “Think back to the story I told you back when we first met up with Loyal Stride.” 

Sunset considered this. It seemed like quite some time ago, but she did remember him telling her.... well, quite a bit actually.  

“About how Rome became a republic,” Script added when it seemed clear that she didn’t understand. 

Then it clicked. Sunset’s breath seemed to vanish as she realised what he was saying. 

“Wait, wait,” she exclaimed. “You mean that King Sombra—“ 

Script nodded, grinning.  

“But...” Sunset stared disbelievingly at the floor, not actually seeing it. Then something occurred to her, and she grinned. “So... so Roam was the reason the Crystal Empire disappeared.” 

Script frowned. “What?” 

“Sombra was your king. The last king. The one who fell to insanity and darkness. And then...” She trailed off, trying to remember more details. “Then your ancestors banished him across the sea. To here!” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Script snapped. “It’s not like they knew they were banishing him to Equestria. Aside from the royal sisters, no pony from either Roam nor Equestria had ever been to the other. Besides, it’s done. Unless you’ve suddenly invented a time spell that can go back that far, I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

Sunset snickered. She found herself warming to Script a little in these little tit-for-tat engagements. As to the time spell, she’d actually been in the process of expanding the standard spell found in the Canterlot archives, more as a side-project than anything else, but had had to stop when, discovery, self-banishment, etc. 

As far as she knew, the only force able to effectively and safely time travel was a chaos magic user, of which she knew only one. And he wasn’t exactly available. 

“So the basement then?” she asked. “I think you said that’s where the, um... thing happened.” 

“I don’t recall saying so,” Script said a little stiffly.  

“Then where?” 

A distant look came into his eye. Something like shame, or perhaps self doubt came into his expression. Sunset was almost sorry she’d brought it up. At least when he spoke, it was in his usual sardonic tone. 

“Where do you hide books and research where no pony will find it?” he asked. “Why, in the library of course.” 

Sunset felt disappointed. “A tree in the forest, huh?” 

“It was more insidious than that,” Script assured her. “But in essence, yes. The secret entrance to the secret dungeon lab where secret things happened was right under my prodigious nose the entire time. Again, another reason why I was cast as the most likely suspect.” 

“Well, how did you find it?” Sunset asked. 

Script’s face darkened. “In the most clichéd, least imaginative manner possible,” he growled. “I noticed that the wall looked different.” 


- To be Continued