//------------------------------//
// Summer Sun Altercation 
// Story: Blackacre 
// by Princess Woona 
//------------------------------//

21 June, Y.C. 970
Canterlot

Red in the morn, sheep should be shorn, or so the old saying went. Not that such sayings got much credence in the city. The little logical leap that a sheep should be shorn because rain was coming — and, subsequently, it would be harder and less pleasant to shave a soggy ruminant — might make sense in the country, but for Canterlot ponies the notion was quaint at best. They relied on the daily bulletins from Cloudsdale; much more sensible. Plus, the sayings didn’t exactly cover what a greyish morning meant.
In point of fact, this morning was indicative of a low pressure system, some short-term sun, and rain a few days out, but nopony here particularly cared.
The ponies assembled out in the main plaza would have been here rain or shine; if perchance there was a mid-June blizzard, they would grumble and complain at length, but none of them would miss this event. The Summer Sun Celebration came around once a year, and it was quite the event for the city ponies who attended yearly, to say nothing of the tourists who had come in for the day.
It, like the more intimate winter solstice celebration, usually moved around from city to city, spreading the magic of sunshine across Equestria, to say nothing of the revenues from hosting such an event. This year, Vanhoover was supposed to host. Nopony was surprised when it was quietly rescheduled for Canterlot. They all had a pretty good idea of what the Princess’ speech would cover, and nowhere would nationalist rhetoric seem right other than the steps of the capitol.
Canterlot had hosted hundreds of times before, so the city was well-equipped to handle the sudden influx of tourists, gawkers, and sight-seers. Vendors lined both sides of broad avenues, hawking their goods at anypony who would listen. The square was already standing room only; the naïve few ponies who had set up blankets on the grassy knolls just beyond the plaza were already packing up under the dirty looks of the latecomers.
The hands of the big clock tower slowly ticked forward, illuminated by the streetlights and the very slightest of glows from the eastern hills. The tower didn’t normally chime at a quarter past five, but today the bellpony made an exception to ring out a quick ten-minute marker. The bells only rang twice, but that was enough; the melodious sound filled every street in the city.
There would be a few ponies who complained about what was technically a noise violation. Every year they complained, and every year the Royal Guard turned them away with a shrug, saying that they hadn’t heard the early ring this time, but rest assured that if it happened again next year they would surely apprehend those miscreants responsible. The complainants would leave in a huff, and most everypony else would have a good laugh at their expense.
Not that there was much of a chance of the Royal Guard missing anything on a day like today. Guardsponies were stationed on every corner, keeping watchful eyes on the market stalls, making sure that bits that changed hooves got to the right hooves, rather than being swiped by the miscreants this sort of event naturally attracted.
Overhead, detachments from the Seventh “Wonderbolt” Air Wing flew a slow patrol. Far above them, the regularly-scheduled CAP cut by at high altitude, watching for unidentified flyers. A list that now, much to their displeasure, included griffons. Not that anything short of an invasion force could do any damage, given the sheer military presence in the area, but they would definitely put a dent in the city’s good cheer.
Near the grandstand, the Royal Band struck up a jaunty tune, starting the slow process of gathering everypony’s attention. Around the plaza and the greenery beyond, ponies started congregating, murmuring to themselves. And, perhaps most unpleasantly for the many, many vendors, they stopped buying things. After all, what sense was there in spending more bits on fripperies when the main event was about to start? A fresh pie was nice, but a good seat for the show was better.
It was definitely predawn; rays of pink poked through the light clouds to the east. At a cue, the band broke into a martial theme, a long form national march. Some of the younger ponies were confused, but most of the older ones remembered it; this was the score to the Summer Sun Celebration twenty-three years ago, then only a few days after the first scattered attack of the Skirmishes.
Just a minute to go, now. Cutting off on a coda, the band broke into a new tune, the crowd cheering as the Equestrian Anthem spilled out into Canterlot. The pinkish glow was shifting to orange, the orange was dangerously close to yellow; the moon was long gone and the last few stars were fading in the coming dawn. It was time!
The dais rotated slightly, opening a gap under the Sun Circle. All eyes were forward now, ponies eager with anticipation to see the rare event. The music swelled in a crescendo — and then there she was!
The crowd roared with thunderous applause. With three pumps of her majestic wings, the Princess was in the Sun Circle, hovering with wings out, horn aglow, spilling energy from every hair, every feather. Behind her, the sun crested the mountain, and for one beautiful moment Princess Celestia was backlit by the sparkling light of the Sun.
Nopony heard the soft thwock over the crowd, but everypony saw the thin black line slam into the Princess’ outstretched wing, spinning her to the ground.
For a moment, the city was silent.
In a flash, the Princess was on her hooves, fire in her eyes and a spear lodged halfway through her right wing. Injury or not, her wings pumped once and she was a hundred feet in the air. Her horn glowed slightly; the spear itself trembled and shattered into a thousand pieces, sending a spray of reddish wood to the ground below. She raised her horn, crystallizing a ball of energy; the light swept over the plaza before settling on one of the low green hills beyond.
Pegasi were generally pretty quick; it was a prerequisite for making Air Patrol. Pegasi who made the grade for the Seventh “Wonderbolt” Air Wing were themselves a cut above, natural talent honed by hundreds of hours of training. The moment the Princess had wavered from the Sun Circle, the CAP wings above had tucked into a steep dive. They were some of the fastest pegasi in the service, diving like peregrines with height, inertia, and every other advantage physics could conjure up in their favor.
From a standstill the Princess outpaced them all, a streak of gold like a lightning bolt cutting across the plaza to the knoll, where an ochre pony had been standing. Now the pony was on the ground, all four limbs pinned by twelve feet of enraged alicorn. Terror in her eyes, she started to say something; as the pegasi caught up to their Princess the pony’s words caught in her mouth as she writhed, scrambling to get free —
She stopped, a sneer on her lips and a curious look in her eye.
“We will be free,” she said in a low tone.
“Who are you?” demanded the Princess. “Who sent you?”
“Free,” repeated the ochre pony through clenched teeth, tongue working at something in her mouth.
“No!” roared Celestia, prying at the pony’s mouth, but it was too late, too late; foam flecked her muzzle as her eyes twitched.
“For…” she said through her own bloody form, “ever….”
The ochre pony shuddered and fell limp.
Slowly, Princess Celestia let the body to the ground, received by a half-dozen armored ponies of the Royal Guard. Behind them, other guardsponies were standing watch over confiscated equipment, wicked-looking tools camouflaged by greenish paint and bound strips of moss.
The plaza was silent, save for the quiet flapping of pegasus wings as hundreds of the ponies hung in the air, vigilant for any new threat.
The Princess rose, her head bowed, wings outstretched and tense. There was a crimson stain on her right one, but she paid it no heed. She simply stood there, eyes closed, incongruous with a body primed for action.
After a moment, she raised her head.
“My friends,” she started, voice quiet but perfectly audible to every last pony, “my faithful friends. Today, blood has been spilled.
“This is not the first time.” She turned to glance at the armored pegasi overhead, to the guardsponies all around her. “Many of our own brothers and sisters have given their hearts, their hooves, their lives in order to protect us all.
“Six months ago,” she declared, scanning the crowd, “six months ago today Canterlot was attacked. Two hundred and sixty-six ponies died on the EAS Mane, died simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, died because they stood with Equestria on what should have been a day of celebration.
“Since then, tens of thousands of ponies have died, died protecting themselves, protecting their brothers and sisters in arms, protecting Equestria from those who would rip it apart.”
The crowd gave silent nods. Everypony had been affected, some way or another. Some had been lucky enough to get off with an injury or two in the family. Some families just weren’t there any more.
“Strength through harmony,” she announced. “Harmony through faith. These are the principles that make Equestria great.
“Harmony. Each of us is different, each of us is special. Through our friendship and our magic, together we are strong. Whenever one pony stumbles, she knows that her sister will be there, right beside her, helping her up, helping her forward.
“We know this,” she said with a slow nod. “We have seen it, we have done it. But even when we have lost our way, we must have faith. Faith that together we can accomplish anything. We can bring this to an end. We can restore harmony to Equestria. This we believe because we have faith.
“This is not the first time blood has been spilled in Equestria,” she repeated, voice gaining strength. “We sacrifice everything to restore that harmony because we believe in it, and it is this belief itself which gives us the strength to carry on.
“It is not the first time,” she repeated again, voice booming out, “but it will be the last!”
The crowd broke its silence with a roar of approval.
“I will not stand idly by while those who would destroy our harmony strike at Canterlot itself!” she declared, taking a step forward on the knoll. “I will not do nothing while our brave mares and stallions give their lives to protect us!”
Another roar of approval, fading only slightly was the Princess raised a clenched hoof in a gesture of victory.
“Starting right now, I am ordering an immediate halt to all combat operations in and around Blackacre,” she said with a hint of a growl. “Those who have chosen to fight harmony have seven days to surrender themselves.
“Seven days!” she called again to quiet the crowd; by now she was hovering slightly above the ground and her radiant mane was trimmed with a distinct aura of gold. “Seven days of truce, seven days to look deep within themselves and ask whether this is the fate they want.
“Seven days — to surrender!” she roared over the crowd, eyes flashing with flame. “And on the eighth day, they will face the light of justice!”
The assembled ponies broke out in cheers; spirits buoyed by the glory of the Princess and the lightest magical block on untoward thoughts, there was no stopping them. The newsponies were beside themselves; they had expected something new out of the Summer Sun Speech, but nopony had thought it would herald a major policy change, and certainly not with such dramatic flair. Another attack on the Princess? This was too much.
All of Equestria backed her now. Seven days — and then everything would change. For the better.