//------------------------------//
// Loyalty 
// Story: Guardians of Harmony 
// by BunkerBuster 
//------------------------------//



Do not let loyalty and faithfulness forsake you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart.
-Proverbs 3:3



It was that feeling of a cold wind, the strange shiver that shot up and down the spine despite a thick cloak and warm fire, that made nights on the front line the worst. Even during the hundred degree days, the wind was ice on the fur. Clouds or not, the landscape was dark and shadowed. At night, it was the blackest cave even with a full moon beaming light. The fires from the camp shed little light, barely enough to see the pony in front of you. Cold, darkness, death. That was all the Griffon Lands held for him.
Or, perhaps, that was just in his mind.
Sleipnir, General of the Army, was pacing about during another sleepless night, wondering if perhaps he should even bother trying to sleep anymore. The fires of the camp burned through the night, too many soldiers having the same trouble he had for the past year. Those still awake snapped barely-passable salutes, eyes drooping. He nodded in greeting. He knew every name by now. Five years of war will do that to anypony. 
It was war nopony wanted, and he was given the worst seat for the show: front row. No, he knew exactly why the Council had appointed him: he was the only ranking general to truly see combat. The only one who had fought on the front lines with the rest of his stallions. It was something he forced himself to do; if the weakest grunt had to live in the trenches, why shouldn't he? It worked wonders for morale.
Morale that had long-since vanished. 
He spotted his tent off in the distance, a great red banner bearing the crossed wing-and-horn of the Republic. He spat at that thought. A Republic whose government was too busy arguing to make any move. His army waited at the very edge of the Griffon Lands, an arrow's flight away from Stormbringer, with their collective hooves rammed firmly in their plots while the politicians bickered. Even the Consuls couldn't do anything. It was absolutely-
"General!" a low-ranked soldier trotted up to him, saluting wearily. "The messenger has arrived."
Sleipnir tensed. He had sent word for supplies and reinforcements weeks ago. Only now the almighty politicians decided to respond? At least it was better than silence. "Speak," he thought for a moment; bright blonde mane, silver coat. "Golden Thrust."
Golden Thrust smiled weakly before quickly dashing the expression away. With what energy remained, he stood at attention. "My lord General," he spoke as if he was the Consul himself. "We regret to inform you that our resources are too scarce to resupply and reinforce your position. We will, however, send what we can with due haste." The soldier relaxed again, looking rather dejectedly at his commander.
Sleipnir released a deep sigh. Even after preparing for the obvious answer, hearing it was something entirely different. "I see. Allow the messenger to rest in one of the guest tents. Send him off in the morning. Dismissed." He turned back to his tent without another word as the soldier galloped away to his duties. The wind blew harder, causing the general to bring his long cloak tighter about his body. It was always so windy. Entering the tent brought little heat to his bones, despite the roaring fire. Beside the fire sat a sturdy stallion with a wispy white mane and a vibrant blue-green coat, his own cloak barely covering his form. The general huddled to the fire, smelling a sweet, delicate smell wafting up. Cervidaean rosegrass. A special treat he purchased too long ago.
"Insomnia?" The other stallion asked.
Sleipnir just shook his head. "I forgot when I last slept, my friend. Sometime last year, I think. And you?" His companion sighed, never looking away from the fire or the slowly roasting rosegrass. "The life of a soldier, Emerald."
Emerald took a deep sniff of the air, allowing a slight smile. "I much prefer the life of a general, Mist. You get special treats." He plucked one of the stems from the fire, offering it to his friend. He left his own on the fire just a moment longer before munching on the vaguely burnt leaves. "It's been a long time since Cervidae. Seventeen years? Nineteen? I forget. This war has gone on far too long."
The gentle crunching of the treat was all that filled the room, save the crackling of a barely-warm fire. Sleipnir looked around the sparse lodging he had: a simple cot, a desk with ink and quill and parchment, a fire pit, and a chest in the corner for his armor and sword. It was the lodging of a soldier ready to move, ready to go to war. These had never even twitched in five years. "Stormbringer sends his griffons in waves to mock us. We cannot move without orders. Our illustrious leaders cannot give orders without consensus," he scoffed. "I hear too often about when the Consuls had power. The Republic is barely a century old and already they speak of 'good-ole-days.'"
"They had power when we were in Cervidae."
"It was the Union back then. We fought on a united front with allies on all sides. Alcesians and Cervidaeans were a single people. Now they bicker and fight like-"
"The Republic?" Emerald offered, chuckling quietly.
Sleipnir allowed the slimmest of smiles, the muscles aching from such a workout, as he glanced over. "Like the Republic." He looked back to the fire. The flames danced in to a music only it could hear. "I miss Cervidae."
Emerald laughed heartily at that comment. "You miss the mares! What was her name? Emalind? Rosalind? Something like that anyway. You miss being Commander Misty Sky, the Maverick, the Savior, the Lover." He waggled his eyebrows, earning a punch in the shoulder. "Hey, they loved us earth ponies."
He couldn't deny it though. It was different before he was a general, before he was Sleipnir the Pale. Back when his loyalty to the Republic was all that mattered. Now though, there was barely a Republic to be loyal to. Corruption and greed held it back. How could he be loyal to that? It hardly mattered though. He would fight for his Republic, even if it had passed so long ago. A biting wind blew into the tent, ruffling their cloaks and jostling the fire, stirring him from his thoughts. 
"Perhaps the time has come to take matters into our own hooves," he said idly. Looking up to Emerald, he could see the little glint in his pale blue eyes, the glint that was nothing if not mischievous. "Would you follow me if I did something truly foolish?" His friend rolled his eyes. "If it meant disobeying the Republic?"
"Please," Emerald snorted. "when was the last time I ever said no to one of your schemes? They put you in charge for a reason, right?"
Sleipnir nodded slowly, the gears turning in his head. It was an insane idea, disobeying the Council, but staying to die in their forsaken camp was far more insane. "Well then, Commander, ready your stallions. Tomorrow night, we gallop to war." He locked eyes with a pumped Emerald. "It's time to show Stormbringer what ponies can do."

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The sun rose high into the sky before the attack hit. A wave of griffons crashed into the defenses of the camp, the spiked barriers impaling most of the first group. Those right behind were brought down, screeching, by the line of mages launching spells into the air. They didn't even have to aim: the griffons filled the air like so many gnats. Sleipnir watched from the higher hill that his tent was pitched on, flanked by Emerald and the unicorn mare Billow. Emerald, like his leader, wore the traditional officer uniform of golden plate across his chest and back, a long brown cloak resting over him. Billow had decided not to wear her magician robes saying something about stark white being too obvious on a battlefield. Sleipnir had long since forgone wearing the general's red cloak and crested helm, opting for a simple red hood. It protected little, but it didn't make him a target either.
"I told you so," Billow gloated, a self-satisfied smile firmly place on her muzzle.
"Probably a griffon spy," Emerald mumbled quietly, poking at his much lighter coin purse. 
Sleipnir watched kept his eye on the battle- massacre- against the griffon raiders. "And I remember a rule against gambling. Or was I the only one who payed attention in training?"
"I just copied off you anyway," Emerald replied, shooting a look at the mare who earned his ire. "It was her idea."
Billow just shrugged. Her mages had been placed right behind the defenses on a hunch; she thought the griffons would try a midday attack since the morning ones had so often failed. The griffons had magic too, but nothing like the power of a full century of unicorns. "It was a hunch. Misty knows all about my hunches."
The battle was dying down. Fewer griffons made for the camp, instead circling just outside the range of the spellcasters. The general half considered setting up the longbows for his archers to remove a few more of the pests, but they would be gone by the time the archers were ready. He began the slow walk to the battlefield closely followed by his two officers. 
"Your hunch was right yet again, Billow. If I hadn't known you for so long, I might think you were a griffon spy." He looked over to Emerald. "But we can't have him be right." The pony in question huffed to himself.
"Ah yes, I was assigned to you right after you refused to the Consulship. I still remember the Council's reactions."
"They seemed so upset that I didn't want to rule."
Billow chuckled. "They were upset because you told them where they could stick the position."
"Same thing."
The mages' spellslinging had stopped, watching the circling enemies closely for openings. It was impressive how the physically weaker unicorns could pack such a wallop in battle. He'd still bet on his earth pony veterans any day though.
"Sir," a earth pony snapped to attention as the trio passed.
Sleipnir stopped. "Ferrous Spear, how fare the defenses?" Ferrous Spear was an adequate soldier but a better magistrate. Leaving him in charge of supply and construction had been one of the general's better decisions.
"The buzzards haven't made a dent in the walls, my lord General," he said proudly. "And only one mage was injured in their attack. She is being healed as we speak."
The general nodded. Successful as usual. It was almost as if the griffons were running out of warriors worth using. But he knew better. Stormbringer was just biding his time. "What of the rest of the stallions? How go the preparations?"
"They shall be ready within the hour." The soldier's resolute look cracked, if only for a moment, long enough for his commander to catch. At a curious look, he relented. "There's a rumor running through the camp, sir. They worry about what the Republic will do when they find out we're breaking for Wyrmscrag."
Sleipnir placed a hoof on Ferrous' shoulder. "Any punishment will be mine. I will not let the Council harm any of my stallions. Tell the gossips that." After a salute and barely-hidden grin, he left the soldier to his duties. The mages ahead had started to disperse, only a couple remaining to watch for any more movement. The griffons still circled.
Another wind blew harshly over their hillside, rustling what few trees survived in the stony earth. In the sky, clouds gathered. A shadow descended over the camp, muffling what little noise there had already been. The wind bit savagely into the general's hide despite the padded armor, even tossing the hood back over his withers. His dull grey mane tossed about as well in the wind. Emerald even huddled ever so slightly closer to his friend and leader. There was a soft glow in Billow's horn as well. Something ached, an old wound perhaps.
Though, again, this could all be his imagination.
A loud call echoed over through the air. With it, the griffon raiders that had been circling like vultures fled back towards the far mountains. The clap of thunder rolled from a storm cloud in the distance.
"Ready yourselves," Sleipnir gruffly spoke. "We leave in two hours."

It wasn't the sudden storm that made the march terrible, nor was it the fear of ambush by the craven buzzards. It was the tight passes and low valleys of the Griffon Lands. Without the rain, seeing from one hilltop to another was simple. A scout could even spy on the Wyrmcrags from miles away. In the rain, the same scout could barely seen his hooves. Weather in the south was worse the farther you went. From the lush Republican forests to windy, wet hills to snow-covered mountains to arid desert. No pony explorer ventured past the mountains of the griffon tribes, not that any had wanted to, even if they could weather the storms.
Sleipnir brought up the very front of the march, as he always had. Emerald- and even Billow and a few other officers- offered to take his place, but the general refused to allow it. A good general leads from the front.Does a good general also die and leave his stallions shattered? he had been asked once. He cast a glance behind at the column steadily following. A beige pegasus, whose face was hidden behind wings, towing supplies was all he could see. He trudged forward, the cool steel of his prized blade bumped against his hip waiting to be drawn in battle. The name his army called it flashed into his mind, bringing a sour smile. His Other Four Legs was a bit too long for a name. 
It had been a long nine hour march. Even in the darkness of the storm, it was easy to tell just how much the daylight waned. They could not continue marching forever, but the bottom of a valley was hardly the place to make camp. A prodding at his hip brought garnered his attention. It was the captain of his scouts, Whispering Night.
The black-coated stallion looked as dour as ever. "To the east. There is a copse atop a large hill. It will do for the night, my lord General."
"Go speak with the other officers. Let them know where we are going." As silently as he had appeared, Whisper was gone. In an arching curve, Sleipnir turned his men toward the east, hoping to hit the copse sooner rather than later. 
The wind had slowed during the march, the rain had not. It was of little solace that the water was fit to drop on their heads rather than down their throats. Despite the screen of water, the general thought he could see the distant mountains of the Wyrmscrag looming over them in taunting arrogance. The valley steadily rose through the air then back down again into the muddy ground. Each dip was becoming more like a river than the last. the pegasus soldier slipped down the last bit of hillside and into his leader with a soft apology. Neither of them thought much of it. It was surprising enough that none had gone missing in the tumult. Somewhere from the column, somepony was singing a hearty marching tune, voice straining to get over the pounding of the rain. Whatever kept their hooves moving. It was a recognizable as something the old veterans once sang on campaign those years ago. He couldn't remember all the words though, and the singer's voice couldn't beat the rain.
In front of him, Sleipnir noticed shadows looming over the hill. As they drew closer, he could tell they were trees. With a burst of energy he didn't know he had, the general had bounded into the partial cover offered by the woods. Not even a moment later, the pegasus and remainder of the column burst through with happy cheers. Sometimes, it was the little things that mattered.

The fires that night were warm. Not just the kind of warm that keeps away cold, but the warmth that brings happiness and light despite any sorrow outside the fire's light. It was a revelry made unique after five years at war. The massive legion was not huddled around separate campfires, small groups huddled together, as they had been for so long. No, this was a single fire in amidst the thick tree cover that blocked the rain from coming down. The storm would keep the griffons away, that was certain. In the morning, the legion would begin marching towards them once again, renewed. 
Sleipnir, the stalwart general, however, was not enjoying himself nearly as fully as the rest. He stood outside the group, watching calmly, stoically almost, as the stallions he lead were back to their old selves. For him, it was a somber moment. His company did not see it as such.
"And why aren't you in there?" Billow asked.
"I am enjoying this moment in my own way."
"Misty wants to be all Mister Serious tonight. As usual," Emerald added, a mug filled with some sort of concoction he had created in his hooves. There was a redness to his cheeks, and he seemed to find sitting still difficult.
"I'm not being 'Mister Serious,'" the general replied sternly. "I just don't enjoy partying."
His unicorn companion cocked an eyebrow. Slowly, a knowing smile crossed her features and she gave him a bump on the shoulder. "Remembering an act of dalliance you regretted, eh?" she teased. "Perhaps sometime, oh, maybe twenty years ago with a mare twice your size and half your intelligence?"
Sleipnir scowled at her, but he couldn't bring the venom to his eyes. "The mares of Cervidae are not stupid." He paused, looking back at the celebrating soldiers. "And she was only one and a half times my size."
"They grow 'em big out there," Emerald chimed in, rather annoyed he was getting left out by his best friend and... the unicorn. 
They didn't talk for a moment, allowing their ears to be filled with the happy chatter of the others whose minds were more on tall tales of their exploits and laughing it up with the unicorn mares. According to a good half of them, it was quite easy to defeat a griffon bare-hooved and unarmored during a lightning storm. The others told half-remembered naughty limericks they had heard one time in the capitol from some Crystal Empire trader. 
"How many do you think will return home?" the general finally asked upon overhearing one of his stallions mention a large family.
The question sobered up Emerald. He looked to his friend, the cocky grin he so commonly had gone. "Not enough." He looked down into the mug before swigging the last of his concoction.
"We're walking right into them. The griffons will have every advantage. Surviving, let alone winning..." Billow trailed off, quietly mumbling something to herself.
"It'll be a massacre," Sleipnir finished for her. "And I am going to take them to it."
"There is one thing those buzzards won't have," Emerald chuckled.
"What's that?"
"You."
Sleipnir, for the second time in a long time, smiled. "Cheesy little shit."
The stallion slapped him across the back, probably harder than he intended. "That's what you keep me around for, iddnit? Now come on, I think one of those mages is making eyes at me." He trotted into the crowd and was swallowed up by it.
The general didn't move any closer to the party. They all looked so happy and care-free. They must know what danger they are walking into! Or was there something that kept the dark thoughts at bay? Did his army truly have that must trust in him? There was a pressure on his side and a sweet smelling mane tickling his chin.
"You think too much, you know that?"
"Part of the job. I have to remain alert. Always thinking about the next move."
Billow nuzzled his neck, sending a jolt up his spine. Unicorns... "Always so serious. I've known you for a decade, and I've only seen you smile, truly smile, four times." Her horn glowed softly, accented all the more by the roaring campfire that seemed more distant than ever. "You can't take your mind off the job for one minute." Another jolt of electricity. "One night."
Sleipnir was a stallion of iron will. He knew his limitations and how far those limits could be pushed. For some reason though, something about unicorns... "Perhaps one night of rest. Only one." He started walking towards a corner of the copse untouched by the light of the fire. An area that allowed just to tiniest glimpse at the moon up high through the canopy. Beside him, tails intertwined, was Billow. 
"Rest is the last thing on my mind."

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Four days of forced march through the hills had barely diminished the morale of The Pale Legion. Four hours of sleep for three nights hadn't even made a single soldier grumpy. Slim rations hadn't made a single stomach rumble. Stone looks of determination were carved into the faces of every one of the stallions and even in the faces of the mages. Finally, after five years, they were taking the war to Stormbringer. For all four days, not a feather was seen of the griffons. The only tell was the sharp calls and ticking of claws against stone as the army drew closer to their home base. They were being watched very closely. 
The general halted the march. Rising above the craggy hills and sparse, spiny trees were the Wyrmscrag mountains. Their peaks were covered in snow and piercing the clouds. At their feet were the deep valleys that had once been dangerous trading routes to the Dragons. In their recesses dwelt the scattered fledgling tribes of griffons, fearful and unused to war. Only those peaks remained the same. 
"Spitting distance," he said quietly, snarling despite himself. It was a feeling both of anger and joy that filled him. The thought of finally being able to put a stop to the Storm's Talon once and for all. No more united griffons killing innocents. No more watching his stallions die from the deep gashes razor talons raked. Stormbringer would die by his hoof. And he was only an arrow's flight away.
"Griffons!" the call rose up from within the ranks, ponies sending their supplies to he ground and grabbing whatever weapon they found first. In the air, not to far away, a mass of wings and feathers was making its way towards them at breakneck speeds. Finally, the war was back on.
"Mages, hold them back! Archers, set-up the bows! Aim high! Lancers, pike square!" The general rattled off ordered into the chaos. Of course, he didn't need too. This was The Pale Legion, his legion. Everypony knew exactly what to do. He stepped into the center of the forming square of spears. While this tactic was designed for defense against charges, tightening the square and turning the last few rows of spears inward made it excellent against aerial attacks as well.
But the charge of griffons never came. Instead, they formed a line just outside arrow range. Sleipnir tried looking through the spear but to no avail. He stepped out of the square. Something was truly different about the griffon army. They always operated in raids, unorganized groups trying their weight into the target. They had destroyed three legions that way. These were organized, which meant they were dangerous. And there was one other thing that made them different than the normal griffon raider.
Armor.
A massive griffon decked out in black and gold came out of the army, head held high above his soldiers in a regal way. He didn't even have to introduce himself. Otto Stormbringer. "You have come! I have been waiting for a long time to meet you, general." He swung a claw out over this army. "We were getting rather bored. Entertainment is in such short supply." The army laughed a sharp, cawing laugh. "How did you like the Razorbeak clan? You know, their chief is not happy that you killed so many of his griffons."
Sleipnir ground his teeth together. It was Stormbringer, without a question. He spat his reformation orders to his troops while the griffon leader spoke. The legion moved into normal battle formation: lancers in front, archer right behind, mages in the rear, pegasus outriders on the wings. Emerald dashed up to join his commander.
"Billow has the mages ready. Whatever she's planning, I wouldn't want to be in its way."
"Good. I want to take him out quickly. Whatever it is, aim it at Stormbringer." Emerald snapped a salute and disappeared back into the legion. The soldiers were shuffling nervously.
"I thought it was time though, general, for you to meet my pride: the Lightningtalon clan, my clan." The griffon army whooped and cheered. "It was only fair. After all, you should know who it is who will gut you."
Now it was Sleipnir's turn. With a wicked look, he knew only one thing he had to say. "Fire."
It was silent, eerily silent, when the giant ball of glowing death fell from the sky. Even after it had hit, there was no noise. It was as if the entire world had been muted in awe of the magical power they held. Suddenly it was impossibly bright on the other side of the field. A miniature sun had fallen on the enemy. The clouds seemed to flow into the magical attack, as if it were a funnel. When it finally exploded, all the sound and light came rushing back in an instant. The general covered his eyes but didn't cower from the blast, letting the heat wash over him.
However, Stormbringer still stood on the other side of the battlefield, warhammer held high above his head. Around him, his griffons, singed though alive, howled at their enemy. Even though the distance was great, Sleipnir thought he could see the rage in the griffon leader's eagle eyes. Otto thrust his hammer forward and let out a piercing cry. The griffon army charged.
"It's never that easy." Sleipnir drew his blade, the silver metal reflecting some unseen light. His truest friend. "Lancers, charge!" There was barely a moment's hesitation before all around him, the gallop of heavy hooves made the earth tremble. The sky filled with arrows and magic blasts. The pegasus outriders could be seen zipping through the air, sparks of lightning dancing around their bodies.
It was day one.

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"Come one then! Don't hold back!" Emerald was a sight behold, weaving through the bolts of lightning sent out by the griffon soldiers. His dancing was as beautiful as it was deadly. The four griffons never stood a chance. He closed, still avoided their attacks like a leaf on the wind. When he was close enough, there was a flash. One of the griffons had a spear through its chest. 
The others backed away, still zapping their lightning whenever they could. It was obvious just how tired they were. Even the unicorns' magic was beginning to wane. No matter how strong the griffons were, they could never beat the magic of a unicorn. Or the dance of Emerald. Another flash, another dead griffon. The two remaining didn't waste time with more bolts. Moving as quickly as their magic, they dove at their prey, talons extended like blades. It was deadly, efficient, impossible to dodge.
Two flashes of steel, two dead griffons.
Emerald was panting lightly at the exertion. Even with all his training and ability, the years were beginning to weigh him down. There was a time something like that wouldn't have even made him sweat. Now he felt winded after ten hours. Getting old was never fun. He looked around the battlefield at the littered bodies of both pony and griffon. Nearby, a young pegasus lay, his body mostly burnt black by griffon lightning. Only his cutie mark could be seen: a winged lance. War Glider. He was only nineteen.
He looked away, knowing that the time for mourning the dead would be later. Around him, the battle raged on as it had. Slowly, very slowly, the griffons were gaining the upper hand. How long could they keep fighting? A pony lancer dodged away from a talon sweep before jamming his spear into the griffon's heart. Three pegasi dive-bombed a battered griffon warrior, jamming him into the ground. A fireball flew in a wide arc over the field before finding its mark somewhere near Stormbringer. The scream from a magical death was always the worst.
The captain shook his head clear of those sounds and images. His mind had to be on the battle. Though he couldn't help but wonder, as he raced to rally a group of weary soldiers, if the messenger would get to the Republic in time. Or if the Republic would even send aid for a defiant legion.
It was day four.

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After days of near constant warfare, even the strongest magic user tires. Despite her power, Billow could feel her magic control ebb and flow, slowly dwindling to nothing. Around her, her fellow unicorns panted heavily, sweat dripping off their bodies despite the cool air of the hills. One was collapsed on the ground, her crying subdued as the magic in her horn fizzled and spat. It couldn't be long before every magic user was the same way. Billow steeled herself. There was no way she would let the griffons win this. Razor winds cut and tore at a group of the creatures circling a cadre of wounded soldiers.
She had to smile at that. Even when they are broken and bleeding, the ponies fight on. Stupid earth ponies.
"Captain!" a mare to behind her called out. She was crouched over her comrade who was still crying in pain. "we can't continue this. We'll all burn out!" Fear edged its way into her voice. Fear that was all too understandable.
"You have to keep trying. Without us, they'll die out there," Billow calmly replied. As if to punctuate that, a crack of thunder grabbed their attention. A massive griffon carrying a war hammer crackled with lightning; before him, the bodies of burnt, writhing ponies barely holding on, some not at all. She looked back at the terrified mare. "We must."
The mare didn't move for awhile, but, in the end, she nodded her assent. The look of determination was forced, but it was enough. 
Billow once again focused on the battle. Magic lashed out at any foolish griffon that came close. A dozen died, twisted into grizzly shapes or sliced clean through. One almost got close. There was nothing clean or decent about war though. For a mage so used to life in the capitol or at the magic academies- most of those in her charge- this was something completely new.
There was an old saying about why so few mages chose the path of War.
Focus was already slipping. Spells that had been so easy the day before became difficult and labored. Magic reserves were running low, perhaps even gone. They were all running on fumes now. Another mare dropped down in a yelp of pain, her face twisted in agony as her horn sparked and cracked on its own. Magic exhaustion was never easy.
Misty, end this soon. Please.
It was day seven.

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A break. After ten days of fighting, finally the armies broke apart. Pegasi barely hovered in the air, their wings as heavy as stone. Unicorns were carried on the backs of what few uninjured earth soldiers there were, some crying, some screaming, the lucky unconscious from pain. The griffons fared no better: most barely flew. Those that did hugged the ground, paws hanging like dead weight. From either side, their respective generals held long, tired stares, as if daring the other to pull back or surrender. Neither moved until nightfall was long past.
Sleipnir limped to a bedroll, favoring his left side. A particularly sneaky griffon had managed to cut a new scar for him. It felt like Hearth's Warming joy. He laid himself down gingerly on the thin cloth. Around him, he saw those who were far worse off. A soldier, Titan Grip, was bandaged around his middle, breathing quick, shallow breaths. A pegasi, Blue Streak, far from the fire was holding back his tears as a medic cleaned the gore from where one of his wings used to be. Another soldier, Destrier, glared daggers at flames, not looking at the covered body lying beside him.
Not even an eighth of his force was killed, but nearly all were injured. It had been a long time since he'd seen total war. If it never happened again, it would be too soon. The closest fire was dwindling, nopony seeming too inclined to stoke the embers, so he got up and poked at it himself. The soldiers look up in a daze. Their eyes barely gleamed in the firelight and the bags below were all too visible. Still they offered smiles of gratitude. Each was a knife in the general's heart.
When he got back to his bedroll, he found it no longer empty. Atop it was a dull maroon unicorn mare. "Billow, is there a reason you can't use your own bedroll?" he asked, too tired to deal with much.
She lazily opened an eye, adjusting her head to see him. "It's cold," was the response. She closed her eye again.
Sleipnir rolled his own eyes before settling down beside her. The flimsy cloth bedding was not built for two. Luckily, he kept his injured side opposite her. Sleep was washing over him steadily, like a rolling tide, when a horn-bearing head nestled itself under his chin.
"Much warmer."
"You know, this isn't sending a good message to the troops," Sleipnir groaned.
"Don't care." Billow nuzzled against him. It was actually warmer next to her.
It wasn't worth the fight, so he just shook his head and laid it down over her withers. Her soft coat was matted with blood and dirt, yet it was more comfortable than anything. Like a stone dropped from the sky, he drifted off to sleep.
More literally, a pegasus messenger crashed into camp, taking down three medical tents and eight soldiers. The general and his captain were on their hooves in seconds.
"G-general Sleipnir," the pegasus croaked out, extricating himself from the tattered cloth and pile of groaning warriors. How he was uninjured... "I bring word from the Council." He retrieved a scroll from within a cloth bag draped over his neck. Unfurling the scroll, he read: "Legate Misty Sky, despite your actions to undermine the Republic's authority, We are fully prepared to assist in your undertaking. Two legions are to be placed under your direct command and shall arrive approximately one week from today. We wish you luck, Legate." He finished the letter, replacing it in the bag.
Sleipnir was at a loss for words. The Republic was sending fresh troops. If he could hold for one week- one week!- they could finally drive back the griffons to their mountains. The war was almost over; he could taste it in the wind. Beside him, his unicorn companion leaned heavily into his side, almost as if comforting him. That's when he felt the wetness brimming his eyes. The general chuckled quietly. "Thank you, messenger. Your news could not have come at a better time." Turning to the stallions who had crowded around to see the newcomer, he spoke. "The Republic is sending reinforcements in one week's time! We shall drive the griffons back to their mountains, limping and dead! Let us destroy the griffon army before the legions arrive and show them the might of the Pale Legion! For the Republic!"
His speech was met with a mighty cheer from all around camp. Even the more injured soldiers elated. For the first time in five years, there was hope in the end of the war. 

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The week passed slowly. The two armies came back together and clashed, spells flying and weapons singing. Blood, sweat, and tears were all shed equally, but still neither army refused to back down. Even as another grievous wound was inflicted on his body, Sleipnir did not turn back nor hide away behind the lines. Beside him, his stallions fought hoof and wing against a larger foe. Even when he tried to pull them back, not one fell behind. 
Battle after battle was fought, leaving both sides barely standing at sunrise of the next day. Emerald joined his commander at the front, using his lightning-fast spears in tandem with Sleipnir's own sword strikes. Beside them both, Billow repulsed any foolish enough to try to come from the sky. Along the pony battle line, the warriors cheered in the fight. There was a fire in their bellies no enemy could quench. 
When the reinforcements came, it was not a meeting of equal legions, but of warriors and soldiers. The new arrivals looked at the grim warriors of the Pale Legion and saw war. The Pale Legion saw greenhorns who couldn't survive a day. War was the finest crucible. And so it was with great surprise when Sleipnir met the one who led them to him.
"Ah, Legate Misty Sky, we meet again," the cool voice of Belle called to him, her breath fogging in the early morning air.
"Councillor Belle, how pleasant it is to see you again," he replied nonplussed. Recovering, he added, "I mean no disrespect, but why are you here? Shouldn't you be in the capitol?"
She scoffed, ruffling her wings slightly. She was never good at hiding her emotions. The irony was not lost on anypony who met her. "I expect more gratitude from you, Legate. It was my order to bring you these troops." The soldiers flanking her shifted uncomfortably. "And after your... faux pas when you turned down the Consulship, I might even demand it."
At his side, Sleipnir felt both Emerald and Billow draw closer to him. The weeks of constant fighting were not wearing well. He cleared his throat. "Yes, Councillor. I did not mean to offend. The constant battle has worn me- and my soldiers- rather thin." So much so, it was with great difficulty that he kept a growl from his voice. 
Belle relaxed and nodded solemnly. "Then you would do well to address me properly: it is Dictator Belle, Legate." When she saw the muted looks of surprised from both the general and his companions, she smiled. "As I said, it was my order to bring these legions to you."
Sleipnir might not have been able to keep from being shocked, but he wasn't going to let her get the upper hoof. No matter how honest the politician, they would still take every advantage. "I apologize again, milady. I had not heard."
"I didn't expect you to. Now then, we are in the middle of a war, yes? It is time to dispense with talk." She strode right past him, escorted by two large unicorn stallions both in the gold and black armor of Council Guards. They headed straight for the command tent, the only tent still standing after a week of battle. The general, along with both his captains, followed closely behind under the watchful eyes of three legions.

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All it took was that final push of the Pale Legion and its reinforcements to send the griffons back to their mountains. Sleipnir led the charge of his stallions against the final defense of the griffon army as they retreated. Stormbringer met the pony general on the battlefield, war hammer held high and lightning zapping from the weapon. They met in a clash of steel and magic as the griffon drove the hammer down at his target. Sleipnir didn't wait for it to get close. The hammer came down on the stony hillside while the pony's blade was set tightly against the griffon's neck.
"It's over," Sleipnir growled into his enemy's ear. Stormbringer released his hammer and forfeited himself to fate. It was only when the cold steel of the blade retracted that he spoke.
"And yet you do not kill me."
"It is done. You have lost."
"Then end it properly."
"No," the general replied. "You will go back to your mountains and never come north again." Sleipnir came very close to the griffon warlord, the general's hot breath moving the feathers on his crest. "You will die the next time you try." With that, the pony general sheathed his sword and turned back to his army. The legions cried out in celebration at victory.
"I don't like you, General," Stormbringer said, a cold smile coming across his beak. "but I must respect you." The griffon took flight back into the mountains amidst the retreat of what was left of his army.
Sleipnir rejoined his stallions, hailed as hero.

That night, he stumbled into his tent, asleep on his hooves. All that he wanted was the nice, warm bedroll lying in the corner. Even an empty bed is better than the cold ground. A scrawny unicorn stallion with a long, white beard stood in his way. 
"It had better be important," he snarled.
The unicorn was wearing a cheeky smile almost as annoying as his starry, bell-covered hat that jangled with every minute movement. "Of the utmost, actually. Please, come, sit." The unicorn patted a spot next to him by a fire the general just noticed was burning. Slowly, he sat beside the strange unicorn, wary. "Oh please, no need to be nervous. You must know who I am! Stop giving me that look- you don't know me? Well that's strange. I could have sworn- well no matter; I need you anyway." 
Sleipnir just looked on, well aware of his surroundings. There was a faint magical field in the air. He had felt it many times around the unicorns of his company, but this aura was different. It was... powerful. Impossibly powerful. He furrowed his brow unconsciously.
The unicorn hopped happily. "You noticed it, yes? Wonderful, absolutely wonderful! Oh you are far better than I expected, yes much better. But where are my manners, talking your ear off and you don't even know my name. Ha! Well, I am Starswirl, and you, my dear Sleipnir, are more important than you can imagine."
The general didn't have time to formulate a response before the strange unicorn, Starswirl, resumed speaking. 
"Well obviously you're important, you just saved the Republic from destruction! Maybe they'll name a city after you. Some third largest city in a far off territory probably, but such is the way of time. No, you are more important than that." With that, his whole presentation changed. One moment, he was the lunatic unicorn; the next... Standing, he made his way towards the entrance flap of the tent. "Come with me, Sleipnir. I must show you something."
The weary general followed.