4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 11. Call the Banners!
“If you, my Lords, held reservations before,” Dame Wintermail announced, her voice resonant and reaching, “Cast them aside now. With our own eyes, Lady Stellara, our Uncle, and I have all gazed upon what awaits us in the West!”
The reassembled Congress of Equestria murmured amongst itself. Five Princes and Princesses sat quietly in the marble stands of the high chamber, digesting the alicorn’s words and studying her.
Wintermail allowed some time before continuing, permitting them to create their thoughts and let the ideas of terror implant themselves into their minds, “It is worse than we believed. It is worse than imagined. We reached Mareposa, and saw the Enemy! We witnessed its strength and extent!”
That city’s exiled King sat uneasily, hanging onto the Wintermail’s words with a painful anxiety. She saw in him fear and despair, and she could say nothing to abate his suffering, “A hundred-thousand warriors reside now. Soon they must advance. And what’s more, this is no mere company of minotaurs and mustangs! Within their ranks can be counted zebra beastmasters atop giant grey mounts than can shatter walls! The thestrals, the bat-ponies of the mountains fly under their banners! And dragons, lusting all the gold and gems within our borders have been called around a single Darkness.”
“What binds them together? What prevents them from murdering one another at mere sight?” asked Princess Nephele of Cloudsdale. Her deep maroon eyes told the alicorn well enough she was unmoved, but not stalwartly so.
Wintermail steeled her mind and recalled the greatest happening of that trip, “A peril over all the others. Whether by fear or sweet promises these varied foes unite around a single point of terror: the rumors were true.”
Those of a more mystical inclination recoiled in horror, understanding well what had transpired. More cynical lords raised eyebrows, crinkled their snouts, and crossed their forelimbs.
“Discord has returned. And he means to ruin our land, make no mistake.” Wintermail let the mood sink in.
Prince Wealthford of Detrot’s eyes dilated, and he replied in a wavering voice, “How was this done? What brought that fiend back into our world?”
Lady Stellara, donned in her armor and weapons, stepped forth, “The poor people of Mareposa were kept as feed for the blood rituals shamans and acolytes have committed. Discord was born of malice and death, and we can expect nothing less from him.” The exiled King Auburn Flare felt his face pale, and he placed a hoof over his mouth as his chest thumped like a great drum.
Wealthford turned to his attendants and spoke in murmurs. Others followed, the Congress devolving into dozens of small conversations about this news.
The Grand Mayor of Baltimare however sneered, “I suppose we should make sacrifices to our own gods. Perhaps Lionheart might declare for us.” He scoffed, “Let us not focus on Discord. This horde can be broken apart and dealt with in pieces.”
“We are not here to suffer your wit, my Lord,” Wintermail shot, glaring at the pegasus, “We saw him! We heard his words, his fell whispers. His power is terrible, beyond what we have known. Uncle,” the knight turned to a stoic Henarion hidden behind his nieces.
The orange stallion moved forward and undid the clasp of his saddlebag. Reaching in with his magic, he pulled from the bag a blackened claw, the trophy won in the outskirts of Mareposa. He threw it with a forceful burst onto the floor, and glowered at these pompous nobles. “I am Stronghoof, and I cleaved that from Discord himself. He is as real as I am, as much flesh and bone as us all.”
Some lords gasped, others became uneasy but were too prideful to admit their folly. “Certainly…that must be something else…,” said a nervous Kalleia of Neapony.
“And what may it be?” the Prince of Canterlot at last spoke. He stood from his throne and knocked his scepter, “A thunderbird? No…this is proof of what we’ve known for quite some time, but have refused to accept. The time for debate is over; there can be no denying it now. This foe, one we’ve thought lost to time and myth, has emerged again. Only by consensus here; by solidarity, can we defend Equestria now.”
“And Horsava shall make good on its word,” Princess Brynhilda called out, her voice far more powerful than her tiny size suggested. “I pledge my sword to the defense of Equestria!” With the sound of striking metal she raised her massive alicorn great sword above her seat; her vassals in attendance did the same.
“Perhaps we may not need to fight,” offered a craven Kalleia, “If we give them what they want—“
“You should be thrown from the ramparts, you damn coward!” Rufus of Fillydelphia shot, “They want only to lay waste to us! War is our only course, for it is not our choice.”
The Dogaressa of Manehattan stood up in all her indignance, “Quick to draw the sword, are we? I will not have you Princes throw your titles and honors about and disrespect one of my peers. Sea Lady Kalleia has reservations, understood enough, over spending her ponies’ lives when gold might save thousands from death!” The Sea Lady gave an acknowledging glance at the Dogaressa.
Tulip Hollow of Trotterdam, for really no more reason than to subvert every single one of Manehattan’s moves, joined the debate, “Typical of you islanders; not every problem can be solved with gold and spices! “
“Better than bouquets and furniture from your diseased marshlands!”
“Bite your tongue, you—“
“Silence, the both of you!” Petrafyrm asserted, unleashing his commanding presence over the Congress, “Our rivalries and grievances must be postponed, and I should hope Equestria’s best has the maturity to do so.”
This worked very well, and the two squabbling city-lords quieted like caned foals. Canterlot’s Sovereign hardened his gaze, “No amount of tribute can stay the barbarians for long. You would bleed dry your holdings to appease them, and still their thirst would never be satiated. A Cult of Evil ensnares them, whispering into their minds promises that seduce their darkest desires. Discord shall spur them ever onward until whatever designs he possesses are fulfilled.”
Wintermail spread out her wings and flew upwards, a flash of magic capturing her throat for a grand voice, “We have a choice, my Lords. We can adjourn and return to our homes and look to our own defenses. But that will not stop Discord. The cities and castles will fall, one by one, as their ponies fight with every ounce of valor in their bones. They would be last stands to sing of, if there remained those to sing them, for however brave and honorable their falls, these ponies will die in the end.
“And the map of our fair land will be scorched black. Discord will poison our hearts with fear and jealousy, harvesting our memories,” she spat, Wintermail and her sister meeting eyes for a moment, “To turn us away from all that is good in this world—simply for amusement and sport. Through his ‘games’, the weakest of us will be forever lost, and the strongest then outnumbered and outmatched.”
She landed on the floor, but kept her voice powerful and fierce, “Or we can rally together as an Equestria with the means and will to push back this Enemy!” A number of ponies in their seats shouted and stomped their hooves, throwing out cheers and appellations of the Wintermail and for unifying Equestria. Many others however remained hesitant.
“And what of the Prince of Trottingham?” came the voice of Cobalt Stone, King of Coltorado, “He is not here; Noblesse Oblige is not a fool—surely he sees the coming threat as clear as day. What does he know that we do not?”
“On the contrary, Noblesse Oblige is the greatest fool of all ponies. He is a traitor.” Wintermail paused, feeling a low rage in her chest. “He has betrayed his kind, his lands, his honor, and his vows. He has cast his lot in with the enemy, and sworn allegiance to Discord.” A gasp rose over the crowd. “We fought him at Mareposa; as a token of their new alliance, the Minotaur King granted to him an alicorn blade,” she looked at Auburn Flare, “The captured heirloom of that city’s rightful master. In fact, it was only by Noblesse’s intervention that we could not disrupt in time the black magic which brought forth Discord. That so-called Prince has placed all our fates on a razor’s edge.”
Lady Stellara took over, “And in light of his betrayal, we ought to expect the host of Trottingham to be against us. Noblesse knows our country, and none should doubt he’ll draw the most vicious path through the lands of whom he has grievances.”
The sisters looked at one another; now was the moment, Wintermail decided. “So, esteemed Lords of Equestria, Heirs of Houses and Bloodlines greatly revered, I call upon your goodwill and honor to stand with one another! I ask this not as Queen, nor as a knight, nor even as an alicorn. I ask in grandest humility as a pony who does not wish to see her country plundered and burned; I have seen those horrors, the ghastly rituals and the cruel fiend to come of them, and I shall fight whether an army stands behind me or not.”
Dame Wintermail pulled Eónadin from its sheath and raised it. Stellara drew Ailéránen in concert, and Henarion’s Bálebemoséo following third. “Who will stand with us?”
Without delay Prince Petrafyrm took hold of Manycsudë, the Southern Keen, in his violet aura and rose from his throne, “Canterlot will! The Mountain-borne Keep shall give whatever it can to the defense of Equestria!”
Brynhilda needed no more prompt. The strong pink filly rose Rectitude high with her uncommon strength, “You already have our answer! The Lances of Horsava’s Hussars shall ride to war!” Her entourage erupted with battle-cries and bellowing; a mere taste of the formidable ferocity they could be trusted to bring to any battle.
Stately and venerable Princess Nephele stood up, “A great host shall be mustered, as not seen in an age! We’ve lingered too long in our decrepit state; a new Kingdom must rise, and Cloudsdale will see that it is not killed in its cradle.” Nearing a century of age, Nephele nevertheless still possessed the vigor to draw her own heirloom sword Bánucfasíl, Thundermaul, and fly upwards as war-ready pegasi do, “An echo of the Elder Days casts itself over us! Heroes and their deeds were needed then; let us be those heroes in our time!”
Prince Wealthford possessed no named blade of great repute, but pledged his weapon all the same, “The forges of Detrot, this Arsenal of Equestria, will arm our host! There can be no more righteous cause than the one laid before us!”
“Dame Wintermail and Stellara speak truthfully; we cannot delay any further! Fillydelphia will stand with Equestria. With her reaches, our armies shall not know hunger!” Prince Rufus called out wearing his long beard and warrior’s braids, joining the others in their salutes.
“Hoofington concurs with Princess Nephele’s sentiment. Our country must be reborn, and what better subject for the poets than against these foes?” the impeccably-groomed Luminescence spoke in his mellifluous voice, producing the blade Foródyl, Evenstar, to join the concert, “We shall take the field!”
King Cobalt Stone cast his support, knowing his people would be among the first to feel the wrath of the horde. “Mine are a hardy folk; you all would do well to have them in your ranks. The Kingdom of the Foothills and Valleys consents!” He stomped his great hoof, hard as stone and proud as the peaks he’d been raised under.
Hillwick King of Poneva followed, understanding his father would have done the same in his day. Valedóreva, Snowdread, settled comfortably into the arrangement of bared steel. “Let the Horn of the North sound deep in the night, for in the dawn her banners shall answer the call!”
The exiled King of Mareposa at last stood and summoned the courage he’d forgotten all this time, “By life or death, I shall reclaim my land, and avenge my people who were made instruments of evil!” He drew his mundane blade and grimaced, “And take back Hordebreaker my birthright sword! But, let this one suffice for now!”
The lords of the Free Cities, hesitant for a time, finally caved when dozens of eyes leered at them. Dogaressa Marina rose first, stomping her richly-decorated hoof and proclaiming the riches of Manehattan will fund the armies, and its great harbor and many ships will ferry soldiers should the need arise. Trotterdam’s Tulip Hollow was not far behind with similar promises. Kalleia of Neapony then pledged her city and its resources to this common cause. Prince Rufus then offered her a heart-felt sincere apology for his early outburst; the Sea Lady accepted with a slight smile.
And with much pride hurt and swallowed, the obstructive and dissenting Fenraker finally agreed to bring Baltimare into this new coalition; after all, merchants cannot sell to the dead.
The Lords had now reached consensus, and the Prince of Canterlot smiled with a fullness he’d seldom displayed in his years. The urge to shed a tear of joy was strong, and he glanced at his side to the Librarian, who smiled in kind. After so many years, so many reigns, the dream of uniting Equestria was all the closer.
But one body remained unconsulted. Wintermail looked to a corner of the chamber, spotting a number of figures that towered over the rest. They had been quiet, their leader having learned now to listen and wait in silence. Wintermail stepped forward and looked at the green pony among them, beside whom a lavender mare sat.
“And you, Benecëai, Triple-Kin, Alicorns of here and beyond; I call upon you as your Exilarch, as descendant of your bygone Kings…will you join us as Equestrians? Cardúnón, Lís lostánilúsíma dim-menëai?(Will you ride with us?)”
Eshna nor-Osademesaca, the Leader of the Downfallen, rose and narrowed his silver eyes. Cardúnón cleared his throat and began in his deep voice, “Yes, Majesty. There remains still fire and strength in our kind’s blood; let us remind our foes why they trembled before the Alicorns!” His sister Rhílë joining him in standing, and then the rest of the attending alicorns—more seen in one place by Tulicëai since their king had been slain.
Ponies who had heard the stories of the alicorns, of their past glories, could not restrain their excitement. A new purpose was instilled in every heart within the chamber. Soon that sentiment would reach beyond to the furthest reaches of Equestria.
“Then it is settled!” Petrafyrm announced with a magically-charged voice, “The Host of Equestria shall march once again! Call the Banners! Every knight, every levy, every citizen who can wield a weapon must join us! With Providence and no short supply of valor, we shall cast down Discord and his army!” The Prince knocked his scepter.
The cries were deafening. Old friends flew from their seats to embrace one another. Swords clanked in the air and hooves smashed upon the floor. Pegasi soared above in a room that was not big or high enough for such stunts. Petrafyrm sat back on his throne, lowering his scepter at last. Little Lord Vale perked up and smiled at his father, who picked him up and placed him on his lap while stroking his mane. Princess-Consort Coruscina tenderly grabbed his foreleg and kissed her husband, laying her head against as grand a Prince as God ever made.
Henarion wrapped his forehooves around his nieces and pulled them in, planting kisses on their cheeks and laughing. Wintermail, not to be outdone, snared them both in a large embrace and squeezed with her mighty strength.
Cardúnón swooped downwards to meet Stellara. They shared a smile and went off to talk. Wintermail thought she might have heard him expressing how much he had missed her sister; tender talk like this didn’t interest the white alicorn much. Divorcing herself from the main crowd, she came to the foot of the marble platform upon which Peter sat. A light impact caught her attention.
Delbedasir, the Librarian, coughed and grumbled like the old stallion he was. “You’ve done well, Nikóleva. I daresay you’ve even impressed me.”
Wintermail giggled, “Shall I receive good marks for that?”
“Not a chance; you’ll need to study as everypony else.” He looked at the lords and their ponies, “This was the easy part; raising a force comparable to that which approaches is not a task that can be done overnight.”
“The horde was still in Mareposa when we left. We do have time.”
“Even so, that’s not what concerns me.” The Librarian said grimly.
Wintermail furrowed her brow, “What does?”
“We can discuss this in time; there are some very important lessons we shall start tomorrow. Enjoy the good sentiments here for today.” He gave a weak smile and headed off to attend the duties this Congress had prevented him from.
The white knight didn’t like this, and spent the rest of the day feeling uneasy about his cryptic words. Yet, if she could trade this feeling for the ones she’d endure in a very close future, this uncomfortability would have proven far more agreeable.
She delved back into the crowd, accepting words of praise and dispensing honors and thanks.
Meanwhile, at the back hidden in the dark where the braziers and torches were not so stern, a lone alicorn brooded. It was a curious fellow, blue with a green mane and grey eyes, face utterly ageless. Stallion or mare? Well…what an impolite thing to ask. The pony spotted that white mare. It took a sip from a wooden cup and grinned, slipping away once business was concluded.
*――――――――――S――――――――――*
“You asked to speak with me, my Liege?” A wave of the Prince’s hoof invited Wintermail forward, stepping into the light of the candles strewn about his study. His Highness stood over a grand table, pouring over atlases and charts and all manners of papers. The item he was currently inspecting was a list of the forces each of Equestria’s sovereign lords could provide.
The Dame approached the table, upon it sprawled a large map of Equestria decorated by small wooden markers. A point was marked roughly in the center of Equestria, and around it were many such figurines of different colors. The Prince muttered to himself and magically moved two more from Canterlot, one figurine settling on this “rendezvous point“, the other finding itself on “Trottingham”.
Wintermail studied the map a second before meeting her lord’s eyes. “I’ve called you here, Dame, to tell you of some of the developments my commanders and I have made.”
“Equestria’s banners are to rally near Hoofington, correct?”
The Prince smiled, “It is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” He placed down the pages and trotted around the table to meet his knight, “Though…I wish circumstances were different; it is a pitiable but not altogether unexpected thing that Equestria should only have united when faced with a grim war.”
Wintermail cleared her throat, “You place a great amount of stock in the idea that our new-found unity will not simply evaporate at the conclusion of hostilities, my Lord.”
“That remains to be seen. And when the time comes, I should hope the right ponies are in the right places,” he said, giving her a knowing glance.
This upset her, but she did not let it show. “Will the Guard march with our host? Or will it remain to defend the city?” She then levitated up the marker on Trottingham, “Or, is there another assignment for Canterlot’s Elite?”
Petrafyrm took the figurine and put it back where it belonged, “The Guard is the backbone of our force; we intend to show our neighbors and enemies the Pikes of Canterlot!” The two laughed, but then the Prince steadied himself and stared at his vassal intently, “But I have another task for you in mind.”
Wintermail did not respond, only serving her undivided attention. “I offer you field command of Canterlot’s Banners. You have marched under the Six-Pointed Star; will you lead it?”
The white alicorn did not speak. Her eyes widened and she glanced all around her surroundings. Eventually she slowly walked to the Prince’s balcony, looking out over the river valley’s harbor. The numerous boats had since departed to return to their own homes and prepare for war as Canterlot’s smiths and soldiers were doing. She tapped her hoof and thought, finally summoning the voice to reply, “You don’t expect me to refuse, do you?”
Prince Petrafyrm appeared beside her and felt the cool nighttime spring air in his mane, “The Heir of Sun Flare, of Thunderhoof, cannot be absent. If these lords are to follow you, then it shall be in battle before in court. A crown has yet to be forged, but we are so close!”
A time of silence passed. “My Lord, may I speak frankly?”
“Frankly enough that you may dispense with ‘my Lord’,” he replied warmly.
Wintermail sighed, “As your vassal, as a knight in your service, besides protecting your estate and answering your call to arms, a duty of mine is to provide counsel. I feel…that you are being awfully…presumptuous. When you first met me, I did not know my heritage. Even after learning of it, I was not the candidate you sought—still seek. Even after a year and a half, I am still not that pony. Kings were my ancestors, but I am not them, nor can I pretend to be.”
She finished and meekly stood awaiting whatever harsh words awaited. Contingent of his generosity was the expectation she would become the Queen he desired. The Prince looked at here for a while, his countenance neither punishing nor forgiving; simply…present.
“In my blood resides remnants of your race; you know this. I am taller than most, stronger and more adept with spellcraft than unicorns ought to be. My years will be greater—half again more than pure-bred ponies, if chronicles and traditions are trusted. I inherited a great sword, now loaned in perpetuity to Lady Stellara, and a mighty crown over a strong realm. I should be foolish to think none of these descended to me in no small part due to my alicorn ancestry.
“We call ourselves ‘Strong-Bloods’, and we’ve held ourselves mighty since the coming of the Exiles, mightier still after the King fell.” He paused to think, “Quite a lot of expectation, isn’t it? A Prince, an inheritor of a grand legacy of not one, but two very different worlds and peoples.”
The Prince returned inside, and stood at the head of his large table, “The gifts my descent grants unto me are varied, but I don’t think I should ever be deserving of them. Our ancestors cast great shadows that we find inescapable. But the wise don’t expect their children to surpass them; merely to look at their examples and live their lives as best as can be done—as best as those that came before knew how.”
Again he paused, turning to face the fire roaring behind him. “Flesh is weak…mortals are weak. Flawed and brimming with iniquity. But God did not make perfect creatures, for the perfect cannot grow, cannot add more beauty to this world. To strive as close as we can to the light is all Lórian asks of us. It is all we can ask of our children.” He broke his gaze from the fireplace and turned to Wintermail with tender eyes, “And it is all I can ask of you, Nikóleva.”
“Then I should tell you: lesser queens benefit few. I’d serve the light best keeping out of business that concerns me not,” she said, a dry tone in her speech.
Peter chuckled, “Perhaps. But the time is still young; we have a while, and an arduous climb still lies before us. In the meantime, shall you lead my banners?”
“If my Lord commands as such,” she said bowing, “But should not Canterlot march with its Prince?”
“Quite right, and indeed it shall. But its Prince is not the fiercest of warriors, nor the most clever of generals.” Wintermail could not resist a smirk.
“Lady Stellara might fulfill your needs better there.”
“In concert, then, shall you two act.” He returned to looming over his maps and charts.
Wintermail looked at the war-planning again, and that figurine on Trottingham, “And what role does Marshal Helmraed play?”
“On a different assignment, one that holds less glory and more suited to somepony as…long-toothed as he.” The Prince replied, finishing rather curtly.
The alicorn’s curiosity was not finished. “What sort of plan involves Trottingham?” she asked with a brooding tone.
“There are valuable resources we cannot allow the enemy to secure. Her Prince is a turncoat, and possesses the means to turn Trottingham’s weapons against us. A threat like that in our rear could be catastrophic.”
“And you think its ponies will support him even in his betrayal?”
“I hope and pray they will not, but oaths are powerful things, and not lightly forsaken by most. Vassals have pledged to Noblesse, and even in his evil they are bound by their word.” Petrafyrm’s tone became forceful then.
Wintermail narrowed her eyes, “What do you intend to do about that?”
The Prince looked frustrated, “Extend an olive branch, or prevent them from harming us in our struggles.”
“By what means?” she asked, a terrible sinking feeling in her heart.
“It is late, Dame. I expect an early rise to drill the troops.” The Prince kept his voice dark and low.
“I am not tired.” Wintermail knew enough to understand what her liege intended for Trottingham. “I hope his Princeship recalls the arms of his realm are for the defense of ponies.”
The Prince’s eyes became filled with pain, “Ultimately, yes. But as a knight, you need not concern yourself. The Marshal’s appointed task is a most unknightly one; I shan’t have mine betray their vows for the sake of pragmatism.”
“Helmraed’s mission will not stop at seizing the armories, will it?”
“If Trottingham’s ponies are of a less tenacious sort.”
“Not to blood and fire would they bend.” Wintermail added, her brow tensed.
“No,” the Prince admitted. He looked at his knight in all his dignitas, “Does my strategy disturb you? You have the right to let me know.”
Wintermail sighed, “I am in the business of killing. I have been for almost as long as you’ve been alive, my Lord. Death and war I’ve regrettably grown accustomed to, if not comfortable.” The Prince opened his mouth to respond, but the Dame cut him off, “But as a knight, an alicorn, and a pony, I am not without my honor. I will kill a soldier if need arises. I will raise my sword against those who would do others harm. But when they’ve thrown down their weapons in surrender, the killing stops. Mercy is not something I have always practiced—that does not make it any less right.
“I draw the line at defenseless peasants slaughtered before their families; at scorching fields and homes so they starve and freeze come winter. I have seen much of this, and wish no part in it. You have not asked me to wage war on Trottingham’s ponies, but I still voice my opinion, as is my right: Equestria’s enemies are not within, unless we make them ourselves.”
The Prince stood quietly, breathing heavily, “Would that it were so. I seem to have been lacking in my instruction of statecraft to you. We now have the resources to achieve our goals, chief among which is defeating the incoming horde. If that can be done only by removing Trottingham as a player on the board, then so be it.”
“Beware, my Lord, that the evil beyond our borders does not pierce through, even if Discord need not lift a finger.” Wintermail paused, taking a chance to think, “Or…is what Prince Noblesse said before not entirely incorrect: The opportunity to dethrone your great rival has shown itself at last, and you’d be loath to let it pass? Do not let your ambition—“
“Ambition!?” the Prince shouted, enraged as Wintermail had never seen him before. His hooves were shaking, his eyes filled with a combination of anger and sadness, “You have the right to dissent my wishes. And I am remarkably tolerant of those in my service and protection besmirching my name or actions. I have suffered more ridicule than you know for taking a wandering smith into my court and naming her knight.” He approached, just a hoof’s breadth away from Wintermail, “But what I will not suffer is a questioning of my motives or ambitions. My entire reign, and even before that, has been devoted singularly and without rest to Equestria; to my people! That one arrogant unicorn could betray his kindred and it be no small affair is a bitter reminder of how far I still have to a new kingdom!”
Wintermail felt the sincerity in his words, but a stubborn thing in her mind would not let her wholly supplicate, “My suspicions were then misplaced. But even so, you cannot set your soldiers to wreak havoc on the defenseless!”
A sardonic cackle squeezed from the Prince’s lips, “So now she pretends to be Queen? Well then…be a Queen, and command me to stand down!”
The alicorn shook her head and gnashed her teeth, “I never wanted to be Queen! I never wanted any part of this! I was quite content as a smith, completely ignorant of who I was. I would happily while away forging for three-hundred years and then die! And now you’ve…brought me into this perilous web of politics, and expect me to hold my peace when I see wrong be done!”
“You could not escape it forever,” Petrafyrm said, sitting on his chair. He sighed and took a drink from his cup. He removed his spired iron crown and placed it on the table, running a hoof through his mane, “The horde would have come either way. But now you possess the means and position to play a great part in this terrible turn of events.” He looked at her, white face illuminated by the orange glow of the fire, “You know quite well of battle, but little of war. Those that wear crowns and are trusted with the lives of their people often do not have the luxury of acting when it is right, or abstaining when it’d be wrong. All we can do…is our best.”
He stared forward then, lost in thought for a long time. Finally, as Wintermail was thinking herself, the Prince swallowed and spoke once more, “You’re right. But there shall be demons in our ranks, as no doubt there are angels within the enemy’s. But my decision is made because I fear what greater evils will befall us if smaller ones are not committed. In the end, as with all others, I shall pay for my sins.”
The white knight craned down her neck and whispered, “And what am I to do? How can I ignore these wrong-doings?”
“If you trust me, Dame Wintermail, then trust these words from somepony born into a different world that you now find yourself in: I fear that I will lose myself to evils that I believe will lead to good. If they consume me, and I no longer abide by fair counsel, would you forsake your oath of loyalty to me for the ponies of Canterlot?”
She inhaled to answer, but was cut off, “If ‘yes’, then would you endure the stigma countless will assign to you? Would you suffer names like ‘Oathbreaker’ or ‘Traitor’? Your regrets have caused you to seek good works, and to avoid the poor decisions born of fear or hatred that caused you to flee home all those years ago. You’re young, for an alicorn, and fire still reigns in your blood, along with great ideals. It is fading in me, though I’ve kept it better than most; the world is showing its ugly side more and more, though I endeavor to see otherwise.
“Good deeds may have evil consequences, and so too the opposite. And try as you might, you cannot avoid them. You will in time have to make choices that are painful indeed, some of which there is no clear good or evil. We follow laws, both earthly and divine, for most things, and try our best for what remains. And you will find never more elsewhere than in politics and leadership.
His words would in time prove prophetic. The mare thought them over, hearing the wisdom within. Wintermail had now cooled, as hot iron glowing red dims to a hard black. “Then I apologize, my Prince. I am…wont to stumble in with flame and passion, especially when I think I’m right.” She gave a meek smile.
“And who says you aren’t? Your love for others is not something to be counted against you. And you need not apologize; it is dissent and fury like yours that remind me why I shall not sleep well tonight—nor for many nights to come.” His face turned penitent, especially as he looked up at his giant knight, “I hope you don’t think less of me, though I should understand if you do.”
“I don’t give you enough credit. I know good stallions are brave, wise, and just. Now I suppose the great ones understand how much further they can still rise, or fall.” A very nice smile, full of warmth and goodwill, curled upon her lips, “I am truly honored to be in your service, and all the kindness you’ve shown my sister and me. I shall go as you command me, because you’ve removed all doubt that what you do is for our country; for others and never yourself.”
“And you, Nikóleva, have a good heart—one that shall be needed in the times to come. Never stop seeing the green in trees, or feeling the pleasantness of a springtime breeze. And never forget your love for your sister.” A while longer they sat in light conversation. A little more was spoken of the strategy and the great rally, and a few words of Discord and his terrors. At last, Wintermail bid her liege a good night with a courtly bow, while he replied in kind with a low supplication, as befitted royalty.
The alicorn departed to her chamber, and the Prince to his bed. Uneasy sleep covered both, as predicted. Fell deeds remained, and whatever good should emerge from rides and raids, a steep price would be paid.
The Prince stirred; he understood as much far too well.