Interlude II: A Frustrated Series Of Notes
~BlackRoseRaven
I should pummel Celestia. I should pummel Scrivener Blooms, too. Making me write this myself, telling me it would be cathartic. Cathartic, is that right? Scrivener Blooms, come and spell-check my work. I order thee, as Champion of Equestria! Oh. Stupid quill, stop writing. No, don’t write- oh never mind. And shut thy mouth, Scrivener Blooms, ‘tis far easier to dictate than it is to write. I am a dictator. I mean. Oh damn everything to Helheim.
Oh, so thou will sit and listen but not write for me? Thou art lazy. Lazy. Lazy-lazy-lazy. Oh so what if I can enchant a quill to write as I speak, I should not have to. Thou should be doing- shut up. And… what, Celestia? I order thee out of my chambers. So what if thou art Queen, I care not! ‘Tis not thy castle, I do not see thy name writ upon it anywhere! Why, in fact, I remember cutting my name into the stone in the dungeons when I was once locked down in those dreary cells, before thou took Canterlot over. Therefore it is my castle. Therefore I order thee to get out of my chambers. Does so count. Does so!
And now Twilight Sparkle and Discombobulation, do any of thee not understand what it means when I ask for privacy? Oh ha, ha, Scrivener Blooms. And the damnable quill still writes what I say! This is why I require thy aid, Scrivy. I do not require Celestia or… oh fine. Fine, be that way. Bob, either put the accursed popped corn away or share with me. No, Celestia, thou may not have any. Thou art evil. And fat. Evil and fat ponies do not get popped corn.
Oh very well. I shall resume where I had left off, but I swear to Odin if I hear but a squeak I shall pummel all of thee. No Bob, I did not learn this trick at magic school and do not know what a ‘Hogwarts’ is. Bob. If thou does not shut up, I shall roll thee up like a piece of paper, stuff thee in a tiny bottle, and fling thee as hard and far as I can from the top of Canterlot Tower. Excellent, I am glad to see thou understands.
Alright Luna, close thy eyes, and calm. Thou art in the presence of friends, yes? No, shut up Celestia, I am not speaking to thee I am talking to mine own self for a moment of friendly and intelligent conversation. And… accursed quill! (The writing descends into an illegible smear)
There. Although Celestia, Twilight and Discombobulation have insisted on staying and watching, Scrivener Blooms has agreed – in his most humble, courteous (the writing has been blotted out) –ting for me. These memories are being recorded to keep track of what I can recall so far: to serve to help me clear my mind, if nothing else.
The legends would tell us that Odin was the God of Wisdom, Warrior King of the Warrior Gods. There were many among the Aesir, and who roamed Asgard, and the Vale of Valhalla and the halls of the mighty fortress-paradise. It was not unlike Canterlot: city and castle together, named the same… but it was better than Canterlot, because in place of city, there was nature. In place of politics, there was honor. Because it was wild.
There were forty of us. Forty Valkyries: the elite of the elite, who kept watch and guardianship, and who swept down onto the battlefield at the call to arms to cull warrior’s souls. Were we reapers? Aye, in more ways than the literal: we were the very best at what we did, made sharper by honor, and hardened further in practice. We slew worthy and unworthy, but gave those few most-worthwhile the chance to come back to the warrior’s paradise. But much of that is unclear… or worse, too clear, and the dark part of me… the Nightmare Moon part of me… wants to linger among tantalizing shadows.
Therefore, that part is best not to think about. Rather, I think of the one-eyed god… I think of him with fondness and anger, with love and hate, with loyalty and the pain that can only come from betrayal. I think of… Freya, passionate Queen, but who always fought beside us, who always was the first on the battlefield, leading the charge. Who treated her soldiers as her family, who knew all our names, who sometimes sat with me, sharing silence or conversation, when I would find myself alone in Valhalla’s hidden galleries. And Thor… but Sleipnir changed the least of us all. Freya fell to this world full of supernatural anger that afflicted her, and I had my own deep darkness roiling inside me… but Sleipnir laughed. Sleipnir was happy. Sleipnir was warm, and loving. But nothing could ever break him… the only time I ever saw him angry was when he witnessed the innocent being oppressed by the guilty. Even then… he would show a mercy, a compassion, I could never match…
I believe, even though I don’t want to. It scares me to think about these things, what it could mean: and truly, if I died again, what would it mean? Would I lay silent and still in the ground, gone forever… would I rise again to Valhalla to repeat the cycle? Am I cursed now to fall to Helheim… but what scares me most is that I will bring my daydreamer with me, wherever I should go. What scares me even more is that he is willing to follow… into darkness, into Heaven, into Hell. Incorrigible, foolish beetle.
(A timestamp has been signed here, likely out of habit more than anything else. The ink is a little smeared, as if written in a hurry.)
There. Celestia and Twilight Sparkle have left, Discombobulation has been pummeled into another plane, and Scrivener Blooms is fetching me something to eat. Quill, I order thee to work properly. Oh damn thee, feather, fine. ‘Tis ridiculous, I can move the moon and yet a damnable dictation spell refuses to work properly. Very well, I have precious few notes to make in any event.
I do not believe this… to be important. Nay, I phrase my words badly: I know why it is important, but otherwise… I do not feel it to be so… oh damn my lack of words. Scrivener Blooms, I know thou can hear me. I command thee to tell me why this knowledge does not feel as important as it perhaps should.
There, exactly! It is important that I know, and prepare accordingly: it is perhaps even important that I look to the past, and try to remember what I can of our enemies, should the enemies of then be also the enemies of now, driven by a need to annihilate me completely, or abuse of me my heritage in some way I wish dare not imagine. But it is not important who I was: it is important who I am. I am Luna, known as Luna Lightblade in the past, and I fight for my reasons, not for Valhalla, not for the sake of gods I still barely believe in, not for the sake of my past. I fight for my friends, and my family, and my loved ones. And I fight for myself, for who I am now… not for who I was then.
Perhaps in time I will know more… perhaps in time I will forget. But if this has done one thing… it has opened my eyes not to greater evils, but to a truth I am happy to have found: aye, in blood, we were not family, Sleipnir, Celestia and I. But we share a deeper bond. We are true siblings… and I shall honor my brother, and always look fondly up to my big sister. Our siblinghood was forged in fire and battle and ancient days long past: the links are wound so tight and true, that they shall never break, not even bend. Mistakes are forgotten and forgiven, for what does it matter that sister and I have cut one-another with blade and word and lost a little blood over it? We have also shielded one another for countless years, and lost far more from the claws and bites of our enemy, to save each other from their pain. Yes, let the worst come! Let the darkness surge against us! I have Celestia, I have Twilight Sparkle, I have Scrivener Blooms… and I have hope.~Luna Lightblade, Champion of Equestria