//------------------------------// // Of An Heiress Deemed Worthy // Story: Of Time Before The Stars // by JinxTJL //------------------------------// It was dark, now. It hadn't even been a line since her father had left her with the box, but the changing of the light made the span seem that much longer. Made it seem that much quieter. It certainly made her feel better. She was sat with her back pressed comfortably against her training pole; the rubbed wood soft and nearly silky against her fur. She didn't like the feeling all that much, to be honest, but there was where she sat, regardless. Holding the box. She broke her stare at the dark, covered sky to look down at it, then. The glossy, nearly black wood that her hoof continually rubbed over. So obviously smooth to the touch, just as much as she would imagine looking at it. She was fairly sure she'd read or dreamed that it was called 'lacquer' or something. "Lac-ker..." she murmured, as her hoof explored the sleek top of it. Even out of her inexperienced mouth, the word sounded as smooth as what it described. It made her feel smooth. Her eyes scanned the surface: pristine and matte. It was, all in all, a fairly large-ish box; so much so that it had seemed large even in her father's hooves, as he'd presented it to her. 'This gift has been a long time coming.' It had been a surprise, of course. Still sort of was. Their parents weren't in the habit of giving many gifts besides books; especially not anything individual. She'd almost expected him to end any sentence with 'and be sure to share with your sister.' She chuckled quietly at the notion, as her hoof sightlessly sought out the broad latch on the box's side. This was not a gift that her sister could share in even if she were so inclined. Which she wasn't. Celestia could lay her grubby hooves on this box the very instant that Luna died. No sooner. The latch clicked open, and her eyes narrowed to slits as, for the second time, the contents were revealed to her. Inside, held in a generous lining of the most beautiful black cloth she'd ever seen, were two, shining silver blades. 'These belonged to my mother, and they are her legacy.' She had listened with sudden reverence as her father had explained it all to her, running his hoof along the edge of one blade, then the other in turn. Drawing her eye to wherever he stopped, as her mind ran wild with every new word. Too hard to stay mad when she was confronted with such majesty. His voice as he'd spoken to her was as soft as it always was, but oddly warm in a way she'd never heard from him. Not his usual aggravating warmth like a scratchy, downy blanket, but as a hearty, crackling fire. For the first time as she'd heard in her life, her father had sounded strong. 'In times long past, my mother had served in a great army, as she'd told it to me. The most feared yet fearless army in the world: the vast and venerated Pegasi Legion. An army to never fall, for the boundless strength and courage of its warriors.' 'She'd served all her life, and she was bound by oath to serve until her death. And then, when her death-bound service came to an end, and she was left to live what life she could with my father, these are the blades on which she swore a new oath.' Her eye was drawn first to the longer of the blades; while her hoof gently touched upon the cool edge of the steel. She could still remember so vividly, as if the feeling had never faded, how warm it had felt when her father had taken her hoof and guided her to rest there as he'd spoken. 'These are the specialty arms of an elite pegasus commander recognized by the Counseled Imperium themselves, and they carry with them a long and storied history. A history that we may never know, but that you now carry with you.' 'Do you understand?' "Yes, I do," she murmured softly, as she had then. Her hoof slid longingly down the blade of the first weapon, and came to rest on its decorated guard. An intricately designed half circle, eminently shaped to the apparent design of two curved wings that rose to meet and close at their ends. Lovingly crafted to the finest detail, such that she could hardly see the crease to the silvered lines on each and every silver feather. 'Do you see this design?' he'd asked, as he'd ran his own hoof over it. 'Each blade was individually crafted for her rank by the greatest smiths in their kingdom. Perfectly weighted to a soldier, and with luck, to their line.' 'Maybe a bit on the nose, but she had a way of making them look good.' He'd laughed then; creased eyes somehow crinkling with humor as he'd run his hoof up the blade. She hadn't shared the amusement, then, and knowing now what he told her next, she still wasn't sure where it had come from. He'd never even held the blade. She was confused, then, and even now, she could feel a curious tilt to her brow as she considered his words. Still so confounding; to have owned such beautiful weapons all his life, yet refrained entirely from so little as simply holding them... He didn't want to disrespect the memory of his mother, he'd said. He never thought it would be 'right,' he said: 'to profane such beautiful weapons.' Because he wasn't a pegasus. 'These blades were made for the hooves of a pegasus,' he'd insisted. 'They were designed for the speed and finesse that only their trained warriors could command. To be certain, I could wield them with even decent proficiency, but...' "It wouldn't be right," she whispered; closing her eyes a moment later and sighing deeply through her nose. Maddening. He'd told her then of the incredible joy he'd felt when she was born. Of the wonderful, endless times he would spend by her cradle's side, dreaming that this moment might ever come to pass. That the blade may finally, after a lifetime, see its use again. To finally have an heir. He'd said it so openly, but his voice had laid thick with low emotion. And... the thought still sat like a hot stone in her head. He'd always intended to gift these to her, all her life. From her birth, it had been a fact that her hooves would one day hold these weapons. As her... grandmare had held them, and as her father had never. And then, he'd taken his hoof off the blade, and urged her to pick it up. She still didn't expect, hefting it into her grasp, just how light it was. Holding it reverently in one hoof, laid carefully across her other: it barely felt as though she were holding anything at all. Nothing like she'd expected cold steel to be. She could then, perhaps, be excused for her initial reaction. It was intentional, as he'd told her the moment she'd held it aloft and looked at him incredulously. The Pegasi Legion had been mired in fame and infamy for the predominant speed of its soldiers. Even a single infantry unit could move with absolutely beautiful dexterity; such that a moving pegasus on the battlefield was rather uncommonly compared to a grand dance. A swift and brutal dance of death, but a dance regardless. The blade, then, was meant to hinder them as little as possible while they ducked and turned and twisted about. To that end: each weapon was itself a grave specialty; a pegasus trained to use these weapons may as well be one with them. Any other pony, in their sinful attempt to use them, may very well find themselves horribly off-balance. An undeniable marking of ownership and an effective countermeasure to theft, all in one. It was all certainly a very intoxicating image. If Luna could learn to use these weapons right, she'd likely be one of the few in the land that even could. There would be so few left with the necessary knowledge; to normal ponies, they may as well just be ordinary weapons. Assuming, of course, that the great Pegasi Legion had indeed fallen. 'Do you see its edge?' he'd asked, as she'd carelessly swept the blade through the air. 'It's a thicker blade than is usual for a thrusting weapon, and its edge is made broader to more easily cut. It was designed to taper to provide as sharp of a stabbing point as possible, while also allowing its wielder to slash.' She could see, now, what he'd been talking about, as she lightly ran her hoof along its bottom edge. The blade was a bit more narrow than the typical depictions of swords she'd seen- like a thrusting weapon- but still noticeably wider than typical thrusting weapons. It seemed effective enough for both, if its make was as sturdy as it seemed. 'An odd quirk of design that, as my mother thought, was made simply for its aesthetic. It works quite well, though; maybe its edge is tempered by its cool factor?' It had taken her father's laugh to realize he'd made a joke. She turned the sword over in her hoof, and her quick inspection of its blade ended. It wasn't a very long blade, perhaps only thrice or so longer than one of her knives. The sword was really more of a dagger, itself. Another odd quirk, as the sword seemed only made of them. She'd noticed then, too, and she'd asked her father why the blade was so small. He'd told her, with yet another laugh, that it was because the sword was only a companion piece. It was only as effective as its other half. And then he'd offered her to take the other weapon. The sword- Her sword found itself put gently back into its place- where it didn't belong- as she instead moved her hoof to touch upon the other weapon in the case. The smaller weapon. This weapon, unlike the other, was familiar. It was a dagger. 'The sword is effective enough on its own, but it is only complete when you hold this dagger alongside it.' Then, she had held them both: but for now she held the dagger alone. It was very similar, especially when held so close, to the sword. It was, in many ways, its seeming compliment. They were both made of a gleaming silver, and their guards were both large, ornate, and exquisitely themed. But she'd never seen a dagger with such a large guard, even in her dreams. The four beautifully crafted wings extended in solid pairs almost obscenely from both sides of its hilt; maybe half as large as the blade itself. She'd asked why, as she'd taken a break from swinging it around. Her father had, in turn, explained the concept of a parrying dagger to her. It was essentially the same function as she already used a second dagger for. While the sword was used offensively, to press and poke and slash at every advantage and opening, the dagger held about the body was meant to facilitate the advance. If a move was made on either side to put her in danger, the dagger could be used as leverage. To block and deflect attacks, and more importantly: to create potential openings. This dagger was made for that, as opposed to her pretending her little stone daggers could serve the same purpose. 'The dagger itself is not the most effective weapon, but then, it wasn't exactly made to be. On any normal inspection, a pony may mistake it for a uselessly ornate thing. Do my old mother a favor, and prove them wrong.' Her father had laughed then, and she had joined him. An off feeling, as she couldn't remember the last time they'd shared a laugh. And then he'd looked at her warmly, and she hadn't thought immediately to shy away. 'Its point is still quite lethal, though. I'd tell you to be careful if I didn't know you were more than capable.' When he'd praised her, before, she'd felt only shame. She felt as though it would be easier if he'd berated her instead, for how highly she held his words. That he might as well be mocking her, for how commonplace the compliments were. But then, as he'd confidently impressed upon her of her competence, she'd felt... warm. She'd felt deserving. She'd felt competent. Luna sighed, as the blade seemed to grow heavier in her hooves. Still barely heavy enough to notice, but symbolic weight often seemed heavier to her. Her sister, at least, never seemed so swayed by ails of the mind. Can you be so sure? Luna groaned softly; putting a hoof to her head as she grimaced. "Why have you been so talkative lately?" she muttered, before she replaced her hoof, and gently lowered the dagger to rest in its cloth. Safely stored as a good weapon shouldn't be, next to its sister. Brother? "Sister," she decided out loud, nodding as they now laid side by side. There was nothing in particular that swayed her towards the feminine, except perhaps her own sway. Or lack thereof. She chuckled to herself as she sought out the latch on the side again, letting the top close with a solid 'thunk.' With a 'click,' the contents were once more secure, and something approaching peace warmed in her breast. It was... something to continually stare at the two blades. A kind of interesting responsibility that she wasn't sure she'd ever felt before. A solid feeling of knowing, as she held them aloft, that somepony else had held them before her. Her grandmare... A mare she'd never even met, that she was only just hearing about for the first time. Who had served in an army... She'd held these weapons. Held them, and fought with them. Maybe even killed with them. Luna could only stare at the top of the box, wondering whether she could justify opening it again. Just to see them. Just so she might touch where she had touched, and ask whether they had been blooded. It was a heavy thing to consider, considering even so that it had, again, been less than a line since her father had left her. 'I understand that you're likely eager to test them for yourself, after all I've spoken of them,' he'd said, as Luna eagerly looked to her training pole. Already imagining the sweet sound of real steel whispering through the air, to impact so solidly to wood masquerading as flesh. 'But,' he'd chided her; guiding her away with a firm hoof. '-I think you also understand how precious these weapons are, and how they should be to you.' It had been a disappointment, in the moment. Even now Luna still felt a little dejected, to have the most beautiful things she'd ever beheld so close but frustratingly out of reach... "You deserve reverence," she whispered, as she slowly stroked along the top of the closed box. The next pot, her father had said: he would begin to first teach her of the ways of maintenance. To ensure the right of their weapon was the highest responsibility of a warrior, only second to their vows. Once he was sure that their legacy would come to no harm in her possession, he would teach her to fashion stone blades as closely weighted and sculpted to the real make as they could make them. Even just for training, he'd said, it would be far too irreverent to use them in anything but real battle, or real sparring. She hoped her father would spar with her sometime soon. Luna's eyes slowly drifted close, and her head came to a steady rest against the pole behind her. She sighed; a sigh that trailed into a slight gape as her throat suddenly clenched awkwardly. A strange... compulsion was beginning to overtake her, and it oddly wasn't a compulsion to cough. An off need deep in her throat: coming faster and more powerfully with each passing moment. Growing and spreading and warming across her face. Her jaw itching for words she could not imagine, as her ears were quickly growing numb to all but her own breathing. The world was spinning away. The smells of the woods were growing tame. This had happened before. Her breath broke shallow for one take, and then, as everything grew glassy, she began to speak. "May these blades never hunger but for flesh and blood, for that is their sole design. May they never want for battle, for I may never fail to provide in their name. May those who stood before me never feel shame in their passing, as I could never dishonor them. May those who see their end at these blades suffer no injustice, for there could never be one to stand against the many." Another breath: too shallow to fill her chest. She didn't feel as though she'd taken it, and more empty, toneless words rushed from her heavily hanging head to fill the space unoccupied. "This and more never spoken are the words and vows taken for we, the ones who serve. In reverence and fealty, in life and in death, to the army that could never fall. As they are the many, and are we: so together stands the Legion." Her mouth was left gaping for yet more spiel, but the trance seemed to have ended for now. Her wild impulse to speak despite the solid sheet of her mind was fading quickly, and the world around her was regaining its color. Each breath was gaining tract against what had compelled her, and soon enough: the entire deep feeling was... just a memory. A memory... that she needed to address. Luna sighed; a full-body motion that cushioned her gently as she slid down the side of the pole. Her face made contact with the dusty ground somewhat less than gently, though her only tell of the pain was to hug the box as close to her chest as she could. She moodily scanned the even flooring, a grumble catching in her throat as she spotted a creeping glow of light slithering across the clearing towards her. The light had changed again, and it now made its way to her eyes as she groaned in discomfort; shutting them tightly to the unwelcome glow. Now her nice, cool fur was warming up... That sun. Why couldn't it just... be more like the moon?! Luna blearily opened her eyes, and rested her chin onto the side of the box as her thoughts turned to her shaded tree. "Maybe it's time for a nap," she mumbled, as she rolled onto her back. Staring up at the covered sky, showing no signs of white. For many reasons.