“Where’s Quicksilver, Grit?” Twilight asked me as I galloped towards her.
“He wanted to stay, and I couldn’t convince him ta come with us.” I sighed, leading my boys back to the APC as fast as I could.
I could faintly hear the blast doors of the garage the kid and I had occupied a moment ago closing. We reached the carrier. Turning back, we all waited, hoping to see the gray colt follow us out, preferably without a tank at his heels.
“Hey, Grit. Isn’t that building turnin’ red?” Foaler asked me, pointing to the garage. My eyes widened as, with a loud crash, that same building collapsed into a heap of superheated metal.
I lowered my head, understanding what had happened. “Get in the car.”
“What’s wrong, Grit? Where’s Quicksilver?” Beerwarmer inquired of me.
“He gave his life to collapse that building, burying Bryant.” I began weeping openly now, anger burning inside me at nothing in particular. “NOW GET IN THE BUCKING CAR!”
I hopped into the drivers side seat, watching through the mirror as everypony piled in. We drove through mud as heavy rain began to fall, imitating our mood perfectly.
***
Over the next week, we traveled from town to town, carrying food and supplies, assisting the reconstruction effort however we could. There was to be a celebration of our victory in Castle Canterlot, but my heart wasn’t in it. Barley kept telling me to come with them; that’d it’d be a good distraction.
Her being the fox that she was, I couldn’t resist. Finally, the night of the celebratory ball came. We piled out of the APC, taking the V.I.P. parking space closest to the keep. Huddling close, my boys and I strode into the ballroom. A full orchestra was playing. General Octavia led the strings section.
Sprightly tunes wafted into the banquet hall as we took our seats, marveling at the delicious spread.
The banquet hall was amazing. The ceiling rose 20 feet tall. The hall was adorned with gold streamers and banners extolling our work.
“Enjoy, heroes. You certainly deserve it.” The Princess Celestia announced to us, emerging from a back room, taking a spot at the head of the table.
I chuckled to myself at the irony, we’re not heroes, we left one of our own there to die.
She waved us off when we attempted to bow. “No need. We are friends tonight, no?”
We all nodded nervously. Beerwarmer, no invitation needed, swiped a marrow off one of the larger platters with a gusto that was surprising even to us.
Speaking with his mouth full, he said, “Ah hafen’ eatin’ proper in dayshe!”
The others laughed nervously. I heaved a frustrated sigh. The kid just wouldn’t leave my head.
Excusing myself, I walked out of the banquet hall towards the bar in the corner of the ballroom. I spent the next 2 hours with my muzzle in an ever-filling pint, depressed. After a time, Harvest Barley excused herself and joined me at the bar. She sat in silence, watching the amber liquid of Buck Daniels slide down my throat. She ran her hoof over the glossy countertop, contemplating.
She opened her muzzle to speak. “Grit, after all these years, you’ve never gotten drunk. Why start now?”
“Barley, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me, I’m 10 years your senior.”
I sighed, looking away. “I… left one of my men at the lab. Not just anyone though, as if that wasn’t bad enough. I left the kid. The closest thing I’ve ever had to a son. I left him there to get ripped apart by a tank.”
She nodded slowly. “Grit. A wise pony once told me that time, for the most part is changeable. But there are some moments that just HAVE to happen. I firmly believe that this is one of them. Brutus was destined to die at that lab on that day. The only question now is, are you going to praise him for his work or mope about what could’ve been different?”
By this time the banquet had concluded, and ponies were filing in to dance. Suddenly, the strings section went silent as equine throughout the room milled about in confusion. A gentle hoof rested on my shoulder. There was Octavia, her slate gray pelt towering over me as she stood on her back legs. She had her cello in a case.
She was holding a guitar in her forelegs, smiling softly. “I heard you play, Grit. I composed a little something for you.”
She passed the instrument to me, unstrapping her own.
In a louder voice, she addressed the crowd. “We have come here to celebrate a victory today, but we have also lost many. Tonight, I would like to honor a true hero, Quicksilver. During the battle of Gelderland Hill, I had been in command of the Guard. My careless actions earned me this.”
She indicated a furless spot on her abdomen, just above her ribs. “A sniper had managed to shoot me in the gut. I could no longer lead. I assigned the command to our Lieutenant Red Sun, but he was no more capable of command than I was. I had him contact the mysterious militia that’d risen from nowhere to assist. He was to see if they could direct a section of the guard for him. Their commander, one Quicksilver, quickly took the reins, leading our troops with a skill unmatched by anypony who has ever lived. He risked his own life to assist the Guards.”
Somepony in the crowd managed to shout, “Where’s Quicksilver now? We must give him a toast!”
The mob shouted their agreement, glasses raised.
Octavia continued sorrowfully, “Unfortunately, he was slain in the final battle. He gave his life to save his friends from what our spies’ reports call a ‘metal daemon’.”
The crowd quieted, heads all around lowering.
Overcome with emotion, I picked up the guitar, strumming my feelings. The pianist and woodwind sections both joined in soon after. Dulcet tones wafted from the strings as a gentle pattering of rain fell on the roof, splattering the windows.
After I had finished, the room echoed with silence.
The diarchy, that is, the Princesses, sat beside me.
Celestia was the first to speak. “I could erase your memory of him. You’d never have to know he ever existed.”
Luna nodded in agreement, clapping my shoulder. It was appealing, I’ll admit.
I finally gathered the nerve to reply. “No. Brutus will have wanted us ta remember all the good times we had with him. He had a short life, but it was a fulfilling one. Erasin’ his memory would be doin’ him a disservice.”
I got up, slinging the guitar across my back, trotting out from the room through the massive front doors.
I whispered, softly, the drizzle tapping on my hide,
“I love you too, son.”
-Fin