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// To The Princess 
// Story: In the Company of Night 
// by Mitch H 
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To Luna, Princess, Mistress of the Night, Lady of the Moon, Queen of All the Heavens and Their Stars, Rightful Sovereign of Blessed Equestria, Best of Mares,

Hail!

We, your faithful actors upon the stage they call the Chain of Creation, greet you in anticipation of your much-awaited return from dusty exile. We have waited nearly a thousand years for you to re-join us. We shall not need to wait much longer. The prophets have foreseen your return, and while we may not know the day and the hour, we know it comes soon.

We only mourn that we will not be there to greet you upon your arrival. The prophets, also, have warned us of the consequences if we attempt to join you upon your escape from your imprisonment. We have had one small taste of that fire that we believe would come if we were there when you descend from your celestial exile. We would break Equestria in two, smash the heavens to join you on your day of return, if it would not destroy the very thing that you would take back into your rightful care.

All that being said, we have a few words for an expected interloper, pardon us.

To the usurper, the thief, the tyrant, we extend our contempt, our rage, our fury, and yes, our hate. We know you will most likely compel your loyal servant, Cup Cake, to divulge this confidential message to your much-abused sister, and find that we must also, regrettably, address you, her faithless kin.

This is all your fault, and always was. You stole your sister's birthright, forced her to fight all of your battles, and neglected her interests at every turn. You allowed your sycophants to abuse your sister's ponies, to steal her revenues, destroy her properties, malign and libel and slander her in your name at every turn – and worse, you neglected her veterans. You allowed her maimed and mangled soldiers to be the subject of mockery and abuse. The Nightfall War was your right and just punishment for all of your wicked indolence and self-regard. We only regret the damage it did to the innocent and the uninvolved. 

If your sister upon her return enchains you in the burning heart of the Sun for three years exchange for every bitter year you left her to freeze upon the Lunar surface, it would be your just reward.

But enough of that. Usurper, for you we have nothing but hate, but for your sister's sake, we must, regretfully, cry peace. We have in us not only that furious substance which ate away at your abused and neglected sibling in her last years before the Nightfall, but also that earlier, gentle soul who found herself, barded and armed, fighting all the horrors and terrors of the night for your sake. She had within her a treasury of love and affection for her elder sister which is, even now, barely diminished by time and centuries of exile. 

For her sake, we shall not invade your territories, slaughter your ponies, tear down every last palace, smash every last monument, bring the very pillars of the heavens down on your faithless ears. For her sake, we will not destroy the whole Chain of Creation, to get at you.

Because without the continued existence of Creation, none of us will ever see our Princess again, and you are just not worth the cost.

And so, we extend our curses, and nothing else. No pony of the Company will cross your portals, but for our messenger, Cup Cake, and that one pony whom she desired as her boon for this service. We relinquish both from our service, and wish them well among your lickspittles, sycophants, and fools. Cup Cake, we understand it if this letter falls into the hooves of the usurper, but we do ask that you expend every effort in preserving it unread for the true princess.

That unfortunate duty having been completed, I return to you, our princess, our treasure. We shall rejoice in your return, when it comes! We hope that your difficulties pass quickly, and smoothly, and with as little pain as possible. We know you were in a very bad place when the War went against us, though we have forgotten most of our mutual history with you, lost to the sands of the Dar al Hisan and the decay of memory. We have sent you our recent histories via your sister's loyal servant, those that encompass your memory's rebirth within the Company. We forgot you for far too many years, stumbling along blind, forgetful and weak. Forgive us our weaknesses, Mistress, for we are ponies, and thus very fallible. 

We will not approach you until you find your stability, and your centre, for we worry that our presence would only unbalance you further from your proper pitch.  Let us know when you are steady enough in yourself that you might need retainers, and some few volunteers shall appear at your portals with any passports you might send them. Although not I, I fear, for I carry too much of the Nightmare within me, and too little of the Princess.  But those who remember the loving, kind princess - they, they will come, if you send for them. But no more than a few. We have collected a vast treasury of naked power in our many, many years of death and dying. Too much for any one pony, even one as vast and strong as we know you are.

For we have fought on dozens of worlds, in a hundred wars, on a thousand battlefields. We have died on every world of the Chain of Creation from Equestria to Derecho, and from the Dar al Hisan to Tambelon. We have killed on almost as many worlds, in the service of dozens and dozens of employers, none worthy to be the weakest, most faded nebula in your flowing mane. Our founders, your defeated servants, built in us a great collector of deaths-magic, of naked power, intending to hurry your return. Somehow it never actually came to a return, and the Company forgot its purpose for far too long. And now, it is too late, we are too big, and you, the vessel we were made to fill, would crack and burst if we tried to pour ourselves into you.

We love you too much to break you with our regard; please, we would see anything but that. In the meantime, this poor, abused land requires our help and assistance. That vast hoard of lives and magic which would wick you into a world-devouring blaze in blessed, over-rich Equestria,  is merely a torrent of wild magic down here in this magic-starved half-Tartarus. All the waters of our vast, generations-deep reservoir of magic could be swallowed up by these parched sands, and barely touch them with living foliage. But, we have our ways, and there are, even now, oases here and there that mark our passage through this thirsty land.

In other matters, Princess: In recent years, our returning memory of you has taken on its own life. She is but a semblance of you, a shadow which walks, and talks, and struts her way across this stage, this Tambelon. In our saner moments, we are aware that the Spirit is not you, but she has a reality which is hard to deny when her fury is in full spate. We love her as if she were you, but both she, and we, know full well we are not you.

For the truth is, we are not simply a mercenary company of soldiers; we are also a troupe of players, of performers. We have always done more through pretense, and performance, and illusion, then we've ever done with lances and spellfire and brute force. We are not simply warriors – we are actors.

And sometimes, our characters - the roles we play - appear more real than the actors that tread these boards.  That is because, in a way, they are. We your performers are mere ponies, full of contradictions, and starts, and faults, and wrong cues. Our characters, our roles are pure, refined - they are the story, itself, breathing.  All we can do is be them for the briefest moment on stage.

Your Highness, we have had the privilege, in this lifetime, to be your actors.  We have been given, have given ourselves, the chance to be you. Our subconscious selves, our idea of you, our 'you in I', takes form, takes shape, and talks and acts you as if you were the character our better selves were born to play.  We have been, for a few brief years, a few brief months, for some, the unlucky, a few brief moments - you, our Princess of Dreams.  We rejoice in your triumphs, we rage at your losses, and we weep for your sorrows. We cannot bear your burdens in those moments that will come; of this we are sure, for it is also sure, that our conjunction would break both you and us, and the world in passing. But although we cannot give you our presence for now, we can still offer you encouragement, and hope, and faith.

May you find harmony, for we are your faithful players, The Company.
By the hoof of Feufollet, Forty-Third Archivist of the Black Company

Submitted to the archives directly by Her Royal Highness, Luna, Diarch and Co-Ruler of Equestria, to her newly appointed senior archivist, Faded Palimpsest, First Year of the Second Age of Harmony, September 8th, to found and re-establish the Lunar Archives. Filed with the original manuscripts of the "Annals of the Black Company", 11-9-1 AH2

*I knew that mare was hiding something! - FP