//------------------------------//
// Vespegasus Objects to your Obvious Lies 
// Story: Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam 
// by Daniel-Gleebits 
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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