//------------------------------//
// Chapter 15: The First Martyr 
// Story: The Blue Knight 
// by The_Darker_Fonts 
//------------------------------//

The stallion stared blankly at the carved stone tablet that marked the side of the rather unassuming bluff.  On it was inscribed a date from twenty-four years ago and yesterday’s date, the name of the unfortunate stallion etched above it.  Brick had carved the stone tablet himself, some of his tears still visible on the slab.  The large earth pony stood silently beside the stallion, his face blank as the last patch of dirt was thrown onto the pile, Scarlet kindly finishing the burial in spite of hardly knowing the stallion.  
The young mare stepped away from the grave and to his side, where she usually stayed when the other stallions were around.  It seemed, especially with the death of Thorn at the hooves of the Blue Knight, that his choice to begin recruiting more ponies for the cause was the right call.  Already, they had lost one member and several fights with what appeared to be their only enemy, and had it not been for the Blue Knight, he may be buried right now as well, his dream and the future dead with him.  
He was still confused as to why the stallion beneath the mask had chosen to save him when he obviously knew the threat he posed to the Princesses.  Perhaps he had been playing the “good guy” front, though it didn’t make sense when taking into account that the Blue Knight had proceeded to kill somepony moments later.  It may have been simple equinity, the primordial urge to save another member of the same species.  However, one again the discrepancy was formed when taking into consideration his other violent actions, the nigh-on fatal beating he had given the two stallions and leaving them to their fates.  On all accounts, though, there was one thing the unicorn could take away.
The stallion was a bloody, and could now be considered bloodied, being the first pony to kill another in centuries.  It was a grim, yet inspiring milestone, proving to the stallion that, when the time came, he could and would be able to kill, be it a stallion, mare, or Celestia forbid a Princess.  The thought made him smile slightly, in spite of the ongoing funeral, a twist of his lips that he knew was disturbing.  It didn’t matter, he knew, as long as nopony else saw it.  Wiping his expression, he curtly turned away from the grave, taking a step across the short plain that hung off the side of the mountain.  
The young pegasus mare took the initiative, lifting off the small bluff and catching the constant drift that the mountain provided.  Behind him, he heard the sturdy stallion emotionally heave one last time, his hoofsteps following behind him anyways.  Turning his head to watch Brick, he gave the stallion a sympathetic nod, allowing his disappointment and conniving to subside for a second and allow sorrow through.  He may not have always been the best companion around the stallions and may not have much care for their antics, but the familiarity between him and them was true.  Glancing behind the stallion for a brief second, getting a final look at the tombstone, knowing that in the coming days and weeks, there would be no time for an earnest visit.
With a subtle change in his position, he breathed in deeply and pulsed his inner flux, deep within his core feeling the urge to use more than necessary.  Practice and discipline, however, held strength over savage, violent urges, and he was able to cap off the magic.  Using the small amount of arcane energy sent a shock through his body, a lasting effect of surging out of control.  He had grown used to it already, as it was more of a shock than a pain, and was able to focus through it.
In a flash of blue light, he and Brick disappeared from the mountaintop, reappearing seconds later in the small house in the woods they had taken refuge in.  While the stallion had prepared to have to relocate, this was one of his least favorite safehouses.  He had no way of knowing how many critters crept past the wooden walls during the night, large or small as they may be, and the inability to keep inventory of such gave him an uneasy feeling of the surroundings.  There were too many trees as well, the Padderhoof Forest almost as wild and gnarled as the pinewoods of the Everfree.  
Still, the house was what it needed to be, a safe, solitary refuge from the views of outsiders and anypony who might foil his plans.  He had two in Canterlot, but considering his rapid rise to fame the previous night, it was wisest not to end up back in the city.  After all, he had no way of knowing how many ponies were on the street when he had battled the Blue Knight, let alone how many might have seen him if he had happened to be caught on camera and featured in the newspapers.  Growling slightly at himself, he wondered exactly what could have been done to get away cleanly.  Perhaps it was the  magical burst he had released on the constables that gave him away, perhaps it was some sort of communication to them, but somehow the Blue Knight knew that they were escaping.  Even worse, he knew where they had been heading.  All in all, last night’s scuffle was an unprecedented defeat.  Unless.
A quick vision flashed through his mind, the sight of the Hero of Canterlot retreating into the air, back aflame with the mixture of magic and oil.  He had been on fire for a good while before he had even managed to retreat, and seeing as there was no exact way to calculate where he was heading or how he put himself out, there was a good possibility he was severely injured by the incident.  Considering as well that he couldn’t show up to any hospitals or doctor’s offices, there was a considerable chance that he hadn’t been able to swiftly get the attention he needed for the magnitude of his wound.  Perhaps, even, if luck was on their side, he hadn’t been able to receive the treatment he needed.  Perhaps, the Blue Knight was no longer the Hero of Canterlot, but was the Hero of Canterlot.
There was a moment of euphoric relief at the thought of the dreadful ending to the stallion, but the white unicorn quickly remembered himself, stiffening up.  He would not rely on presumptions, not until he was able to come to a firm resolution of proof to his hypotheses.  Until that time, he would continue to act as if the Blue Knight were alive and judge his fortune as such.  With a deep breath, he picked himself up from where he had been standing in front of the doorway, moving swiftly across the small space on the bottom floor and to the stairwell.  Something about being on the ground level was haunting to him, as if the eyes of the trees were able to look down on him and see him through the windows.  At least in his room on the second floor they would be level with one another. 
The door banged open briefly as he began his ascent, a gust of wind heralding the arrival of Scarlet, who was brushing a few leaves from her fur.  The mare closed the door behind her, silently catching his gaze for a moment and holding it, an expression of mixed emotions in her eyes.  On the one hoof, she was almost completely indifferent to the stallion, but on the other, the true horror and reality of what she had thrown herself into by agreeing to work for and with them.  He could tell as well the fear she held him in as both the one to oversee that she kept her promise and the stallion that potentially killed a hero.
The stallion gave her a subtle, stinted smile before turning and continuing back up the stairs.  He needed to allow her to think freely, to be allowed to judge her choices and calculate her actions, to decide for herself the correct path.  He wouldn’t live forever, and especially with the Blue Knight out there, knowing his face and knowing his power, there was no running forever.  One day, be it in a week, year, or decade, he would be caught and either be imprisoned, or die resisting the champion of the Princesses.  One day, be it in a week, year, or decade, somepony would need to replace him, a fresh, younger mind that knew the truth, had self-actualized the world, and could be the difference.  
Opening the door to his room, he went immediately to the desk, pulling out the drawers for a quill, ink, and several dozen sheets of paper, minding the sudden zap that reverberated through his rib cage.  As soon as he was seated, the quill touched the paper and he began writing.  He wrote several paragraphs on the first sheet, describing in full the occurrences that had led up to the fateful night before, as far back as the jailbreak.  Then, on several more sheets, he carefully described last night, finding the stallions, his companions broken and battered, barely living.  He spent an entire page depicting his healing of Thorn, a majority of it calculating the potential amount of power he had used in the process as well as how much he must have had left for what came next.  Breathlessly, he described the arcanic blast he had unleashed on the force of constables, the way they had become ragdolls before his unmatchable power, the lightning that filled his breast and left him elated.
Then, very somberly, he began to describe the ultimate loss of the night, the moment he had sensed the Blue Knight’s presence, the moment he had made the mistake of choosing violence.  Humbly, he recalled how he had struggled to match the stallion’s quick comebacks and agility, both physically and archaically, the way he seemed to flow with magic.  Scornful of his past self, he reminisced in the moment he had nearly been consumed by his own magic, the moment the pain had coursed through his body and his hold broke.  Then, with sincerity of thought, he wrote down what he believed his last thought would be: “Am I to become the Icarus that flew too close to the sun?”
With a haste he did not realize he had, he relived being rescued, the hate he felt as the pain receded and his vision was restored, revealing the featureless masked face of the Blue Knight, his savior.  He recalled immediately the words exchanged between them, a memory as fresh and sharp as the smell of the dead body produced by the consequences of his next actions.  A mixture of hate for himself and the stallion filled him as he described in detail the shocking turn of the stallion from an unstoppable arcane master to a god of destruction. For the first time, he found himself having to halt, to breath between words as the painful memory of defeat sapped his vigor.  Then, with a deep, pained breath, he wrote down the imagery in his head, the eternally powerful destruction released by the Blue Knight, and the gleam of death that shone from him as he became the epitome of magic. 
Finding he couldn’t fit the thoughts on the few pages he had left, he briefly unpacked more paper, paper meant to be used in bound books, and continued writing.  His quill flourished, his ink half gone now, as he described the beautiful white and gold of the beam as it turned houses into rubble and reduced everything to golden flames.  The haunting vision of Thorn becoming completely consumed by the beam, reduced to char before his very eyes was put onto the paper, as well as the sudden emotions of fear and panic that filled him for the first time in years.  Even as he wrote, he felt the chill of goosebumps rising under his fur as he remembered the horrific night’s incident, the true fear of death that filled him as he watched the beam direct itself towards him.  For the few seconds it overtook him and his failing shield, he saw death, stared at the beautiful beam head on, and had known fear.
He had stopped writing.  
With a quiet sigh, he turned over his shoulder, glancing to the mare that stood in the doorway.  She had to have been standing there for quite a while, silently observing him as he contemplated the night and the Knight.  There was concern clearly drawn on her face, a silent plea for him to explain himself, if he could.  Softly, he set his quill down, noticing how large the pile of papers had grown, almost forty pages of writing and thoughts produced.  The moon was shining directly into his room now, meaning it was nearing morning.  Had she been awake for that long, watching him, waiting for his reaction?
“You’ve been writing for hours,” she stated quietly.  
“I’ve written for days,” he dismissively pointed out, though she probably didn’t know such.  “What do you want?”
The mare seemed to hesitate for a moment before drawing in a deep breath, asking, “Is this what you do when one of your friends dies?  When they are murdered while trying to complete your dream?”
“Yes, it is what I will do every time one of my followers and friends perishes for our cause,” he muttered, once again dismissing her slightly aggressive tone.  “I record their last moments, the moment they went from enthusiast to martyr, and by that standard, I keep their memory alive.  This is the first time I’ve had to write such an obituary, and though I wish it would never occur again, I cannot promise that it will be the last time.  I intended to continue writing until morning, giving the stallion who woefully died in my place the respect and remembrance he deserved, but perhaps it would be more meaningful to teach you the principles he died for.”
Without saying a word, he stood, approaching the fiery mare silently.  Scarlet eyed him with slight apprehension, but he quickly dismissed it by walking right past her.  She turned and followed him down the hall, to where a singular window was, the mountain that Canterlot resided on dominating the view.  Stopping in front of it, he pushed it open, allowing the chilling air of the autumn night to seep into the warm cabin.  He stared dutifully past the large tree branches to where, distantly, he could see the soft glow emitted by the city, even during the witching hours.  Frowning, he found himself struggling slightly to find the correct words for the message he wanted to share.
Revelation, though, came when the mare accidentally bumped against him while she moved to stand beside him.  The soft contact opened up a mostly unused part of his brain as sympathy sank through his philosophical shield of indifference.  “You see, up there, and all around us, Equestria is an innocent place, a place where ponies live and die with barely any sorrow,” he whispered.  “But then there are ponies like you and I, ponies that were, by chance, born disadvantaged of such privileges, forced to hide ourselves in the society that welcomes all races.  You see, even though this country is unified with the bonds of all three equine races, there is almost no tolerance for any ideology besides that of unique friendship and peace.  Perhaps it’s why we are the most successful and prosperous race.  Perhaps it’s why we’re the most vulnerable as well.”
“What do you mean,” Scarlet asked inquisitively.
Sticking his hoof out the window and pointing away from the mountain, to the south, he questioned rhetorically, “What would happen, per se, if the dragons of the south ceased to raid small villages, and instead unified and launched a full-scale invasion of Equestria?  You see, in spite of having a perfect mentality, we don’t have a perfect reality, as is obvious by our many neighbors.  One day their waning virtue will dissipate and their urge to prove their dominance in strength will overtake them, and on that day, Equestria will go to war.  That same day, it will end.”
“Because ponies can’t fight back,” the mare soberly finished.  She was looking down now, a small frown on her young face.  Seeing the expression, the one he wore so frequently, he felt a twinge of guilt.  Raising a hoof to her face, he lifted it lightly so they could be eye level. 
“Don’t frown,” he softly urged her.  “It’s not good for your health.”  Retracting his hoof, he gave her a small smile, knowing it would be her first time seeing him with the expression.  “You see, as a species, ponykind is in the right place, but is too weak to stay there.  I don’t know exactly why Princess Celestia removed the ability to fight and kill from the equine disposition, but it was clearly a mistake.  We bloodied have the strength to carry our nation and populace beyond the prosperity it holds to utter glory, an unstoppable force of both violent and peaceful.  I haven’t ever told you or anypony else about my true plan, the one that seems to be more of a dream than a goal.”
The stallion paused, letting himself relax and focus on his words beyond the running of his mouth.  He wasn’t sure if he was quite ready to share his dream with anypony, but there was a strange thing about the mare, a bond he felt with her that made him feel young.  It wasn’t love, not in the romantic way, at the very least, but it was something just as powerful.  Perhaps it was because he saw some of himself in her, or perhaps it was simply because of the way she almost perfectly represented his dream, but either way, he couldn’t deny that the mare forced his disclosed mind open.
“In the future, when Celestia and Luna no longer harbor and control the attention and affection of the ponies, when common ponies dedicate themselves to the service of others and run the country, there will be need for protection,” the white unicorn explained.  “Admittedly, Celestia- and now Luna -are the only reason we haven’t been invaded already, the power they hold and represent as alicorns the only thing that enemies have to fear.  However, in the future, there could be ponies- unicorns, pegasi, and earth ponies -that could do the job just as well, and better.  In the future, we bloodied would be a necessity to survive, an elite selection of ponykind that would protect our brothers and sisters.”
“Are you saying that you want to take anypony who is a bloodied and use them to overthrow the Princesses, then,” the mare inquired, her brow setting.  “You want to stage an armed coup against the Princesses to establish this utopia of yours?”
“Of course not,” the stallion almost scoffed.  “I may be eccentric about providing a better future, but I would never dream of attempting to militaristically overthrow the Princesses.  You see, they haven’t truly committed any crime, especially Luna.  After all, they do view us as their ‘little ponies’, and act motherly around everypony.  They do have an honest and pure care for us, but much like an overprotective pet owner, they treat us kindly, but not rightly.  I believe that it is time for ponykind to take wings and fly out of the nest that the Princesses provided for them the past millennia.  I simply want to remind the ponies of Equestria that they have the wings, the liberties to reject their overlording mothers and move on to better places.”
The mare’s eyes lit up as she finally understood what the stallion was proposing, the endgame that their movement envisioned.  “You want to dethrone the Princesses and establish the ponies,” Scarlet exclaimed, looking almost pleased at the idea.  “You want to let the ponies fend for themselves and take the nation the Princesses have provided and better it.”
“Precisely,” the stallion confirmed, smiling brightly as he saw the scarlet pegasus do the same.  “And at the head of it all, the bloodied, the unspoken, battered underbelly of equinity will stand for this movement.  That’s what Thorn died for.  That’s the reason that I want to continue to write the history of that stallion, a commemoration to our first martyr.”