“Very good,” she purred. “Stand up now and let us do away with the formalities.”
With that she took a seat at the head of the table and beckoned the lord to sit beside her, who slowly followed her while casting his eyes towards the ground.
“You’ve heard your lord.” A cruel smile sat out on her face. “You’re all my little ponies now. So go ahead, eat, be merry. You now belong to me and your livelihood is safe, isn’t that enough reason to celebrate?” she asked the room.
Yet, no one felt like touching the dishes.
“I appreciate the gesture, but it isn’t the food I came here for, so do not wait on me. Please, dig in.”
Still, the chamber remained motionless and silent. The Queen sighed theatrically.
“I shall forgive you this one time, because I only just accepted you into my service, but I see that you have misunderstood me.” Her face hardened into a harsh scowl and her words lost their playfulness. “My words weren’t an offer. They were an order. You will celebrate. I expect to feel your adoration.”
She looked over the crowd from left to right. No eyes dared to meet her challenge. A smirk crept on her lips.
“Nopony? Ah, what a sour crowd! Fine, I shall have what I want one way or the other. However, for now that can wait. First, you, petty lord” - she said, turning to Hill Climber - “my journey here was long and tiresome and I wish to be entertained. Call in your best bard!”
The door to the chamber opened and a pegasus of pale white mane and coat hobbled inside. His cataract-ridden eyes stared defiantly at the Queen. A lyre was clutched in his wings which he now took between his hooves.
“Lo, here is the bard who shall tell your tale,” he spoke and, as his feathers touched the strings, harsh tones reminiscent of rattling chains and dying gasps erupted from the gentle instrument.
”Weapons clash and our homes are ash,
Our Queen’s Sun sees us bleed.
The lands are dry, our hope’s gone by
Night’s mare, this is thy deed!
Ten thousand die beneath the sky,
Above our Queen’s Sun weeps.
And us, who live, will not forgive
Till your kind lies in heaps.”
Hill Climber sat frozen in his chair, his face clutched between his hooves. His heart agreed with every word, yet his mind was reeling. Finally he forced himself to look at the Queen, in hopes of lightening her wrath with an apology, however, she wasn’t looking towards him. She was intently eyeing the old stallion, before merely scoffing.
“Hm, onto the pyre with this one then,” she said in a disinterested tone, before turning back to the table. “His tone was a bit too harsh for my taste,” she continued as if she was merely describing a foul dish.
The moment these words left her mouth, two of her soldiers suddenly melded out of the shadows and before anyone could say or do anything, they grabbed the helpless pegasus and rushed outside.
“I’ll be clearer then, so that even you might understand.” The Queen’s voice turned unmistakably patronizing. “I wish for a softer song.”
The chamber door opened again and a young earth pony colt marched in with a harp on his back. His well-kept, lush mane and spotless uniform stood in stark contrast with everyone else in the room. He set his instrument on the ground and gave a curt bow to Hill Climber, before stepping to his harp and beginning to pluck at its strings. A gentle melody filled the room, followed by the bard’s low-baritone song:
”Oh, how soft the nightly breeze that oft
From our Queen’s wings blows.
It screams of pain, the woes of slain,
It echoes our deaths’ throes!
“Oh mare bear no livestock heir,
Oh mother rear no foal! -”
The Queen just nods, the colt is seized
Thus ended the poor fool.
The young pony hardly left the room when the door shone up in magenta light and slammed open for the third time. Unannounced and uncalled, a purple unicorn dashed into the chamber and skid to a halt in front of the table, brandishing a polished guitar in her magical grasp. As the spell’s currents struck the strings, a rousing chord sprang forth, accompanied by the mare’s fiery ballad:
”The best died to save our kind
So hear me Crescent Queen!
There is no such bard of mares
Who’d wash your soul clean!
“Your crimes will sing on guitar string.
Our bards will only tell
Of ruin and hate upon your name.
Ponykind will rebel!”
“Oh, we shall see about that!” shouted the Queen, this time with dropping all pretense of humor. She flared her wings in anger as she raised herself from the table. With a wave, two new soldiers appeared to subdue the singer, who struggled to tear the attackers off her body using her magic. But before she could fire off her spell, a firm punch connected with her horn and her body slumped, paralyzed from the pain. All she could do was to weakly look up at the table, unmoving, with only her eyes burning with the same pained determination as before.
“We shall see,” the Queen repeated in a low tone as she lowered her front leg. “You” - she turned to address Hill Climber and her words regained their strength - “will help me gather up all the bards in this land and let all who defy me meet their end.”
The lord raised his eyes to meet the Queen’s silently. He looked over to his knights. One by one, they agreed with nothing more than their glances. Finally, he caught a glimpse once more on the painting of his forefather. His expression, despite remaining the same, seemed far less colder to him this time. He slowly rose from his chair.
“No.”
The word was met with stunted silence by the Queen. Her starry mane burned with the rage of distant galaxies as her face contorted into a hateful glare.
“Know your place, worm!” she sneered, but Hill Climber was undeterred.
“I know my place and it is under the merciful wings of Her Radiance!” he shouted, drawing his sword using his magic. At the same time all the others too drew theirs, some leaping to help their lord, some to rescue the subdued bard.
That night Fort Hill Climber burned like the Sun.