//------------------------------// // Times of Peace // Story: Legion // by Thule117 //------------------------------// "There is no such thing as peace. . . merely a pause between battles." -Unknown D'nurian General Glittering Pages cursed her absentmindedness to Tartarus. Around her, the glum faced fillies and colts of Canterlot Prep's first grade class, stared at her in heartrending disappointment. While the ice cream vendor just gave Glitter a helpless shrug.  "Oh horse apples!" Glitter mumbled worriedly to herself. "Things were going so well up to now too!" Deciding that a beautiful sunny day shouldn't be spent cooped up in a stuffy classroom, Glitter had taken her class on a sort of field trip through the various gardens and parks of Canterlot. They had spent hours that morning learning about the various plants and animals they saw in the gardens, and the various historic buildings of the city. Then, on a whim, and feeling a bit sweaty, Glitter had declared that she was treating them all to ice cream after an early lunch. Only to discover that in her haste that morning, she had forgotten her bit pouch.     With a miserable expression, Glittering Pages turned to give the bad news to her students. She hated disappointing her students. Glitter had always done her best to make sure she was somepony her students could depend on, and come to with their problems. She strove to be more than just their teacher, but also their friend and confidant, just as her teachers had done for her as a filly. Unfortunately, while she may have been an excellent educator, Glittering Pages was a bit scatterbrained about pretty much everything not directly involving her students. She was constantly misplacing things or forgetting appointments with friends, and even once almost burned her house down when she forgot to take the kettle off the stove. Despite her forgetfulness in general though, she had never let it apply, even tangentially, to her students. Glitter knew every one of their full names, and their parents names, by heart. She knew how each student learned best, what their favorite foods and colors were, and she'd cut off her own hoof before she'd miss a meeting with a worried parent. Never once had her forgetful nature intruded upon her teaching or her students' enjoyment of learning. . . until now.     "I. . . I'm sorry students, I seem to have forgotten my-." Glitter was cut off, as a large shadow loomed over her.     "One for myself, and one for all my friends, if you would be so kind." The voice was deep, but youthful, and brought with it at once a sense of calm and reassurance, along with an almost electric feeling of authority, power, and a faint twinge of fear. Glitter knew that voice, she had only ever heard it once in pony, and a year had passed since then. But nopony who'd heard that voice could ever forget it. As Glitter turned toward the speaker, she caught a glimpse of her students' expressions of absolute awe, and the ice cream salespony with his eyes bugged out, and his mouth hanging open. Glittering Pages felt her breath catch in her throat, as the being some called the 'Equestrian God of War', extended a five fingered hand, filled with shining golden bits. "Will this cover it?" He asked, as he gave a gentle smile. Unable to respond with words, the salespony just nodded dumbly.     Derran smiled, as he waved goodbye to the group of schoolfillies and their still slightly starstruck teacher. They had wanted him to stay, and under normal circumstances he happily would have. Unfortunately he was running a bit late for his next appointment, so he had been forced to offer his apologies, and make a quick exit. Truth be told, his hurry was why he had cut through the park in the first place, as it offered a more direct route to his target. However, he happened to take note of the flustered adult mare surrounded by a group of fillies, looking increasingly frantic as she searched through her saddle bags.      Glancing at the ice cream cart and vendor the group were in front of, it hadn't taken much for Derran to put the pieces together. He supposed he could have just let it go, indeed should have, for the sake of punctuality, but he just couldn't stand to let the foals be disappointed. Much as he hated running late, Derran hated seeing the tears of children far more. That said, he could quite happily do without the awestruck expressions of the teacher and ice cream vendor.      Likely the soft pink coated and violet maned mare who was the fillies teacher, had thought him mystically summoned by her plight. There were more than a few such rumors that Derran had heard about himself, that ascribed him such absurd abilities. To the point that sometimes it almost seemed a grand jest. Derran stopped to help a few ponies during his day to day, and suddenly he was some sort of benevolent phantom, come to heroically save the citizens of Equestria from minor emergencies? How could anycreature not laugh at such an absurd notion? The mundane truth was that Derran just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and had an almost obsessive inability to ignore any problem he felt he could reasonably fix. After all, if buying ice cream and helping old mares cross the street were deeds worthy of legend, then half the citizens of Canterlot, and most of Ponyville, were national heroes.       Swiftly finishing his vanilla cone with chocolate syrup and rainbow sprinkles, Derran winced as he glanced at his pocket watch. Well, if he wasn't late before, then by the Light's holy grace, he most certainly was now. Increasing his stride, Derran headed for the fashion and art district of Canterlot with as much speed as he could while still maintaining dignity. It wasn't that his appointment was particularly time sensitive, or that the pony he was meeting would be offended, Derran simply despised making anycreature wait. If Derran Grandel said he would arrive at a certain time, then that was when he would arrive, no ifs' ands' or buts. It was a matter of principle. With that thought in mind, Derran halted abruptly before his destination. The Canterlot branch of Rarity's burgeoning fashion empire; Canterlot Carousel.      Pushing open the door with a small smile, Derran was heralded by the tinkling of a bell somewhere in the back. The boutique was lightly populated, the elegant grandfather clock against the right wall indicating it being slightly past noon. The few customers present stared at Derran with what they likely thought was well concealed awe. Despite plenty of ponies having gotten used to him over the last year, most it seemed still couldn't help but stare when he was physically present. Fortunately it didn't last for too long, and the ponies soon turned back to their shopping. Albeit, amid hushed conversations with those nearby. Typically beginning with something along the lines of: 'can you believe the Uncrowned King is here?' That Derran did his level best to ignore, despite feeling a slight tightening in his jaw.      Glancing around, Derran smiled as he saw the various masterpieces Rarity had on display. Everything from casual sportswear, to magnificent formal gowns and tuxedos. Derran arched an eyebrow as he noticed, among the various ponnequins, a single human shaped one, positioned carefully in front of a window. Wearing a magnificent formal suit, with a very specific symbol stitched onto the breast pocket. The same one currently on Derran's back. The obvious advertisement of Derran's patronage often struck him as a bit crass. But considering Rarity had asked his permission beforehoof, and that she was just about the only pony he ever bought clothes from, on top of being as good as family, and Derran wasn't really in a position to refuse. Besides, whatever he might have thought of it, Derran couldn't argue that Canterlot Carousel was now the most popular clothing shop in all of Canterlot.      "Sashes and sequins! Lord Derran, how are you?!" Asked in an enthusiastic, but elegant, voice. Derran smiled as he caught sight of the familiar, orange with blond highlights mane, of Canterlot Carousel's manager. As she sashayed toward him with a beaming smile.      "Quite well, Lady Saddles, please forgive my tardiness. Between the market, and a small incident in the park, I was unavoidably delayed." Sassy Saddles smiled as she approached, holding out her right forehoof so Derran could take it and incline his head over her fetlock, in a mock kiss.     "Oh dear, I hope it was nothing serious?" She asked, as she withdrew her hoof, and Derran straightened up, genuine concern in her voice. Derran just chuckled.     "Nothing of any great concern, just a small matter of a mare having misplaced her wallet." Derran explained, hoping against hope that his minor good deed could be glossed over without further comment. A forlorn hope indeed in the holy city of Canterlot. If there was one thing the citizens of Canterlot, Sassy especially, loved, it was gossip. Almost to the point that the city seemed to run on it. Derran fully expected that by the time he returned to the castle, ponies would claim with a completely straight face, that he had saved the class of students from a thousand rampaging hydras, with nothing but his bare fists and a garden gnome. Fortunately, Sassy forwent any further questions.     "Ah, that's a relief. May I assume then, that you are here to pick up your order?" Derran chuckled as he nodded.     "Indeed, my thanks for being so expedient." Sassy simply giggled as she headed behind the sales counter.     "Anything for our best, and most heroic, client." She declared happily, as she levitated a large bag onto the counter next to the register. Derran tried not to flinch at the word 'heroic', as he took the bag monogrammed with a pair of interlaced calligraphic C's, containing his outfit, knowing it was pointless to rebuke her.     "You flatter me, my Lady. May I also inquire as to how Ladies Celestia and Luna's gala dresses are coming along?" Sassy nodded happily.     "You may indeed my Lord. Rarity hasn't quite finished them yet. Unfortunately, she didn't give me the specifics of the timetable. She wanted the big reveal to be a surprise, and you know how she is with attention to detail." Derran chuckled.     "Very much so. Speaking of, I was approached outside the castle by Lady Fleur De Lis. You never mentioned Lady Rarity desired me to model for the Canterlot fashion show when last we spoke?" Sassy smirked.     "Bonnets and bows my Lord, if I told you everything, how would we ever surprise you?" Derran gave a good natured roll of his eyes. Sassy, in addition to being a good friend, was also one of Derran's primary sources of information on what the Canterlot elite were up to. Back on D'nur, this was a common method of keeping an eye out for potential assassins or nascent rebellions. It was an old, but extremely effective strategy. Find a gossip who is both innocuous, and at the same time an acquaintance of almost everycreature, and then become friendly with them.      The vivacious manager of the most popular dress shop in the city, was an ideal source of useful intelligence. A noble's husband bragging about his wife's indulgent spending outside of what she should be earning, told of corruption. A dress purchased by a lord yet never spoken about or worn by his wife, spoke of a possible affair. A servant fetching an order, talking about their employer and a large number of their friends meeting oddly late in the evening, was a warning of possible rebellious plotting. Derran's father had taught him that a smart member of the court, has eyes and ears everywhere, and that the best informants were those blissfully unaware of their role. Granted, that of course, was back on D'nur. . . .     In Equestria, nobles scheming for anything more evil than an invitation to private tea with Celestia, was all but unheard of. And Sassy was far less of an informant, and far more of just a delightful mare to talk to. Derran did keep an ear out just in case, but not once had anything more sinister than a bit of bad mouthing come up. That said, Derran did have a few enemies, Silverhoof despised him, as did a very small group among the nobility, including a certain prince Blueblood, whom Derran was shocked to find out was Celestia's adoptive nephew, and Cadence's estranged brother. Most of them simply disliked the idea of an alien marrying into the royal family, but one or two, Silverhoof and Blueblood among them, hated him for more personal reasons. However, between Fleur De Lis and her brother, Sassy Saddles, and a number of other contacts he had cultivated, none of his detractors could so much as pick their nose without him hearing about it. Although, in all honesty, he mostly used his informal information network to perform simple social magic tricks, like knowing about hush hush fashion show preparations a friend was trying to catch him off guard with.     "I suppose life would be dreadfully dull without a little mystery. But what would you all have done if I refused?" Sassy just laughed.     "You disappoint Rarity and Fleur? My Lord you would never." She declared confidently. Derran gave a small smile, even as a slightly uncomfortable feeling shot through him.     "No. . . I suppose I wouldn't, would I?" He agreed after a slight pause, a frown suddenly replacing the smile on his face. Sassy gave him a look of concern.     "Is something wrong my Lord?" Shaking off his brief moment of melancholy, Derran smiled again, pushing his discomfort to the back of his mind with an effort of will.     "No. . . apologies, just a moment's lapse in thought. It was a joy to see you again Lady Saddles." Sassy immediately perked up.     "Ribbons and rhinestones my Lord, it's always a pleasure. I'd ask you to stay and chat, but the after-lunch rush is due to start soon, and I expect I'll be up to my horn in customers." She stated with a laugh. Derran nodded and gave a bow.     "Then I shan't delay you further. I'll see you the week after next for tea with Lady Fleur and Lord Fancy Pants." He declared, as he headed for the exit. Then, as he opened the door, he turned back as though struck by an errant thought. "Ah, just one small favor before I go?" Derran asked with a smile.     "Hairpins and hatboxes, of course my Lord." Sassy replied indulgently.     "Please be so kind as to cease addressing me as: 'Lord'." He stated, before slipping outside without waiting for a reply.     Derran gave a frustrated sigh as he fell heavily into a bench, though he took care to place the bag he carried safely off to one side. The bench in question, stood at the edge of one of the largest plazas in Canterlot. A massive circle of dark gray flagstones, accented with winding decorative paths of white cobblestone starting at the four compass points, and terminating at a large decorative fountain. Around the edge of the plaza were various cafes, boutiques, art galleries, and spas. All done in gleaming white stucco, and with purple, mission style clay tile roofs. As well as colorful awnings, and the occasional minaret, or onion capped tower attached to a corner or growing out of the roof. Well dressed ponies walked by, chatting about this and that, running to get to urgent appointments, or sitting at the cafes, eating lunch and laughing about the latest gossip. For a moment, looking at the oddly tranquil scene, Derran almost forgot the source of his sudden annoyance. Until his gaze fell upon the large fountain in the center of the plaza. Instantly, he felt his eyes narrow in anger.     It was a new installation, only completed in the last month. A gorgeous piece of carved marble, depicting ponies playing amid the sprays of water coming from well concealed nozzles. The sculptures were incredibly lifelike, so much that one would swear you could almost hear the laughter of the smiling stone effigies frozen mid gallop. The fountain had been designed and crafted by Marble Zeal, a famous Prench sculptor, and was a true masterwork. Every detail was on flawless display, to the point you could count the number of hairs in the manes and tails of the ponies. Their expressions of joy and happiness, so real you could almost imagine they were moving. The local papers had heralded it as a cultural keepsake that put all others to shame. Even going so far as to suggest it might be better off in a museum, where the weather and birds couldn't get at it. Derran however, felt a flare of fury, as he glared at the central part of the installation, around which the stone ponies pranced and played.     There, surrounded by the frolicking ponies and artistic sprays of water, standing on a sizable plinth, and depicted larger than life, was Derran himself. Carved in loving detail from a single giant block of polished black granite, Derran's eight foot tall stony doppelganger was shown wearing the Praetor Suit, sans the helmet. One hand resting upon the crossguard of Unmaker, the sword's tip plunged into the ground beside him at a slight angle. The statue's expression held a beneficent smile, as he gazed down at a sleeping foal, nestled in the crook of his opposite armored arm. It was a lovingly crafted tribute to Derran's rescue of Flurry Heart a year past. . . Derran hated it with every fiber of his being.     Struggling to swallow his mounting anger, Derran forced his expression to stay neutral. He appreciated that the ponies were grateful Flurry Heart had been rescued, but more and more it felt as if they were willfully blind to reality. Derran wasn't a hero, he wasn't a savior, he wasn't an angel or a god, he was a killer! The whole point of him being 'Guardian of Equestria', was that he was a relentless engine of death and destruction, meant to slaughter anycreature seeking violence against the holy land. The Seraphim were the heroes, he was just the iron strapped to their flank in the event of an emergency.      The flare of anger in Derran's breast briefly became an inferno, as he grit his teeth and clenched his hands into fists. Glaring at the fountain as if seeking to destroy it with his gaze alone. How could the Seraphim and their children not see?! Were they blind?! He was a killer, a ravager, a monster unleashed by heaven upon its enemies! One would have thought the incident with Tempest Shadow six months ago would have forced them to wake up to what Derran and the Doom Slayer actually were and did! But. . . it had not. If anything, Derran's renown was only increased, even though he had given several interviews with the Manehatten Times, the Baltimare Globe, and the Fillydelphia Free Press, explaining that had it not been for the timely intervention of their divine majesties, innocent lives would have been lost. Yet despite this, the ponies still regarded him as if he was some kind of champion of justice! It was appalling! Taking a deep breath, and letting out an explosive sigh, Derran forced himself to calm down. Placing his face in his hands and running his palms and fingers across his forehead and cheeks, before massaging his temples with the index and middle fingers of both hands.     "I am being a fool. . . ." Derran declared softly under his breath.     The truth was, it was his own fault. He had been far too indulgent. Returning to his beloveds after a millennia, all Derran had wanted was to see them smile. As a result, he had made innumerable promises and agreements, that he now knew to be grievous lapses in judgement. He should have fought harder when Celestia angled to make him regent, protested louder, when she had sought to boost his profile in the eyes of the nobility. He should never have agreed to the Tournament of Dreams. Curses on the Darkness, he should never have even gone outside the castle! He was a weapon, and the proper place for a weapon when not in use, was locked up in the armory! Getting to his feet, Derran shook his head. This had to stop, he had to stop this.     If the ponies came to idolize him, they may in turn begin to idolize his methods. That could not be allowed to happen. Part of what made Equestria strong, was that, unlike most human civilizations, they did not see violent conflict as an option, unless somecreature was physically attacking them. Equestria survived as it did, because even at their worst, ponies generally saw dialog and negotiation as superior to the use of brute force. However, that was not set in stone. Ponies were resistant to the evils men's hearts so easily succumbed to, but they were not immune. If they saw the brutal methods of the Doom Slayer as a cure-all, then they might seek to try it themselves. Violence was a seductive shortcut, reducing everything to a zero sum, 'might makes right' equation. Violence was simple, easy, and terrifyingly effective, it was also. . . unquestionably evil.      No matter what the reason, no matter what the cause, killing was a sin. Those with blood on their hands could never be truly good again. There were times when blood must be spilled, it was inevitable. Only fools believed absolute pacifism would be met with anything other than eventual annihilation. That was why Guardians like him existed, but it didn't change the moral balance. Not even the Seraphim could restore a life once taken. To kill another sentient being, was to take away all hope that they might mend their ways, that they might find redemption. No one, not Pony, not Griffon, not Dragon, Hippogriff, Changeling or Yak, and certainly not Derran, had a right to take away that chance. Even in a land of peace, violence was at times a necessary tool, but to call even the most necessary death 'good', was to prove the corruption within one's heart. And, thanks to the Doom Slayer, Derran's heart was corrupt indeed. But that was as it should be, let the monsters kill, so that the angels could fly.       Derran let out another sigh as he grabbed his parcel, and started heading back toward the market, his stride tense and determined. It was too late in the week to trouble ladies Celestia and Luna with this now, he'd be leaving tomorrow after all. But when he returned from Ponyville, he was stepping down as High Minister of Royal Affairs, regardless of what Celestia thought. He would also need to persuade Luna to stop making him a part of the tournament of dreams, or better yet, cancel it entirely. He needed to make them see reason. To get them to recognize the razors edge of disaster they were walking, by putting a creature like him up on a pedestal. . . .