Moonset
By Jaysteeny
The sun rose upon a battlefield, bringing an end to the constant onslaught of the enemy Nightmare Moon’s elite warriors: the nocturne. The Solar mages praised the sun as it gently kissed the tattered banner of Celestia, billowing slowly in the light breeze of early morning. A bugle sounded somewhere in the trenches, soon answered by more; they were going over the top. Soldiers with the good fortune to have slept through the night were roused, and shoved to the front.
One such soldier was Wild Boulder, an Earth Pony of great wisdom and greater strength; though in these dark times, where even the sun and moon battled across the sky, the loss of a great mind seemed of little consequence. His legs shook, struggling to bear his load, even with his improbable strength. The soldiers marched onwards, coughing and cursing the mud beneath their hooves, churned by weeks of incessant stomping in the endless effort. The torches of their leaders, raised high to rally the stallions and reveal the bat-winged monsters they fought, did little to inspire him as he marched on to whatever place they could find to be held. Some who had been at the front all night were weary and walked with dead eyes. Many had lost their blood-soaked horse-shoes, but limped on, nevertheless. For the good of their country, they marched on. They wobbled from fatigue, deaf even to the constant crack of catapult fire upon the earth.
A shout abruptly went up: “Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!” An enemy unicorn had cast some spell that covered the ground in a sickly green smoke. The warriors struggled; lifting their helmets and placing them upon their faces with their hooves; fixing them in place just as the wave of noxious air blew across them. Boulder heard a stallion still crying out; not quick enough, falling over in his panic to escape; running in all directions, screaming as if he were ablaze or in lime. Through the eye-pieces of his mask, Wild Boulder watched with horror as he drowned in the smoky sea. Not even in his worst nightmare had he witnessed anything so terrifying as this, as the soldier lunged, a unicorn, not much more than a colt; choking, sputtering as he drowned in the very air he was trying so desperately to breathe. Boulder knew that, should he get the chance to sleep ever again, he would pace behind the wagonload of the dead, looking once again at that face, eyes white and writhing; skin hanging in a manner that could make even creatures in the pits of Tartarus sick; blood spurting forth at every jolt from his froth filled lungs, tinted green as the cud; weeping sores upon the tongues which hang limply from the mouths of the dead; vile, incurable.
Without warning, the moon rose from its supposed rest, its light granting strength to these monsters of shadow; all were stricken with fear as the opposing ranks rose up, pushing back, trying to gain a foothold against the might of the armies of Celestia, princess of the day; striking fear into the hearts of even the veteran warriors with their harsh, shrieking calls. Boulder brought his spear to bear, as others around him did the same. A flag-bearer hoisted the standard high, before plunging it into the ground; daring the advancing, mindless hordes to attempt to travel past it. He then called to the warriors around him, a cry that spoke of victories to come; of lands vast and fair; of their mighty nation Equestria.
“Dulce et Decorum est, pro Patria Mori!” All who heard the call echoed it, and soon the lines upon lines of infantry were a chanting cacophony, striking intimidation into the black hearts of their enemies. The vile, fanged abominations faltered in their charge, golden eyes widening as they saw this display of indomitable morale. And yet, through fear of their masters or stupidity, they charged on, unfazed by the bristling spears of the enemy; impaling themselves upon spear and sword as they tried desperately, flailing their wings and hooves; snapping their bloodstained, foaming jaws at the defenders.
Soon, more patriotic calls joined the cacophony; cries for the glory of her Shining Immortal majesty, Princess Celestia; cries for the head of the night-witch, Nightmare Moon; even cries that were mere insults, pouring salt upon the wounds of the survivors, who watched from the shadows at the far end of the battlefield with glowing, golden, serpentine eyes. The standard of the solar princess was raised; rushing forwards with the lines, bringing with their fury the light of day, or so it seemed.
The clouds above, without warning, burst open, revealing a beam of rainbow emanating from a golden orb of light, swiftly spiralling towards the moon, which still hung in the sky. All upon the battlefield halted and looked up: perhaps the gods had finally ended their battle? The rainbow, like all rainbows, faded, and it was seen that the moon had developed the likeness of a unicorn’s face upon its surface. Slowly, it sank below the horizon, and the sun moved to its apex in the centre of the sky. Princess Celestia descended from on high, still wearing her battle regalia and the yoke containing her secret weapon – the elements of harmony – and all her armies bowed before her. The leaders of the fallen Nightmare Moon’s army were brought forth, so that she might decide their fate.
She looked down upon them with a stern, unreadable expression; they looked up towards this beautiful and terrible creature fearfully, truly cowed, waiting for her judgement, praying to the all-mother Faust that she would make their executions swift. She continued staring down upon them for a moment longer, her horn still aglow with residual magic, several feathers in her wings limp from exhaustion. Slowly, her stern face gave way to a maternal smile.
Turning away, she announced to her troops: “All these ponies shall be pardoned for any crimes committed during the reign of Nightmare Moon. Soon, the corruption that gripped their hearts and bodies shall fade, and they can resume normal roles in our society.” She felt a tugging at her ethereal mane, and looked down to find a small unicorn colt, eyes clouded over by some unknown disease, or so it seemed. His lips were moving, trying to form words. The ancient, alabaster alicorn gave a gentle smile and leaned down to him, so he might speak easily.
“On the longest day of the thousandth year, the stars shall aid in her escape,” he whispered feebly. Shocked, she turned to him, and understood: he was the last in his bloodline; the only remaining member of a family who had long been her personal seers. The mists left his eyes, and he looked up to his princess fearfully. When Celestia smiled and placed a hoof upon his shoulder to try to console him, it was altogether unlikely she expected what came next: His eyes rolled back and he fell, revealing he had an arrow stuck in his side. All around gasped, some called for a medic; though the immortal princess knew it was already too late: He had spent the last of his strength doing his duty; informing her that one day she would see her sister once again. She looked up to the sky, and knew that on that day, she could finally be at peace.