Friendship is Grievous

by Snake Staff


The Battle of Canterlot (V)

Princess Celestia could see that her opponent’s limited energy withering away under the strain of trying to hold up a simultaneous magic and lightsaber duel, and she moved to exploit his weakness. Taking in a large gulp of air and opening her mouth wide, the solar alicorn breathed out a truly prodigious amount of orange and gold fire. Dooku, still taking steps backwards, raised his hand to deflect it again, but the attack was not aimed at him. Instead, the raging inferno flowed smoothly around and behind the count, shaping itself into a towering sheet wall almost ten meters high, cutting off his line of retreat.

As Celestia breathed heavily with the sheer effort required to cast such a spell, Obi Wan flung out his left hand, sending a stream of rubble soaring at the count. As before, Dooku deflected it with a wave of his own free hand. He looked up at the white alicorn, and his fingers curled into a fist. There was suddenly a great pressure about Celestia’s throat, as if some massive invisible vice had been affixed to it. Her golden neck armor began to crumple inward slightly.

But then Kenobi made another flying Ataru-style leaping attack on the count, and then the sensation was gone as quickly as it had come as Dooku diverted his concentration to deal with the Jedi. Blue and red blades once again clashed in blurry whirls of light as Makashi pitted itself against Soresu. Celestia simply hovered in place for a few seconds, gulping down frantic mouthfuls of air and trying to slow the wild beating of her ancient heart. And then Dooku made another two-fingered gesture with his left hand, and Master Kenobi was sent flying backwards a ways, landing on his back.

The old man instantly refocused himself, sending another round of lethal blue lightning skywards at the alicorn. Celestia simply vanished from the spot, allowing the dark side energy to fly uselessly away. She reappeared on the ground and bashed it with her hooves. More towering spikes shot from the earth at Dooku, who leaped again to avoid them. While he was in midair Celestia followed up with another stream of fire, which clipped the edges of his fine cape, blackening the armorweave fabric. Dooku landed to be immediately attacked again by Kenobi, two hands pressing down against the old man’s one in an overhand power blow. Dooku matched his strength for a moment before taking a quick step back and forfeiting that contest, allowing the blue lightsaber blade to push his own down and scrape against the ruined cobblestones.

Count Dooku backed quickly away from the Jedi and alicorn, now openly panting. Sweat poured down his face from the heat of the fires or the effort he was exerting, or both. As an un-augmented human in his late eighties, the nobleman was transparently finding the effort required to keep up the fast pace taxing. His lightsaber rising to catch yet another beam of golden magic before it could strike his face while simultaneously sending a thrown hunk of rubble spinning away, Dooku snarled openly.

Both of the count’s hands shot forward quite suddenly, generating a powerful Force wave that sent dust and debris flying in all directions as well as bowling over both Kenobi and Celestia. Turning quickly, Dooku put two fingers from each hand together, then tore them apart. Celestia’s wall of flames was torn briefly into two near the top. Without hesitation, Dooku leaped up and flipped through this gap before it could close.

Scrambling quickly back to her feet, Celestia dismissed the spell with a brief flick of her horn. The flames died away, revealing Count Dooku darting down the Canterlot street with surprising speed for one of his age. He turned his waist just a fraction, enough to aim both his hands and face backwards before letting loose another lightning storm. Celestia caught it on a conjured shield, Kenobi on his lightsaber, but it gave the old man a few additional seconds to put distance between them.

The two took off immediately in pursuit, Celestia flying in the air, Kenobi dashing along the ground with Force-enhanced speed. From her lofty vantage point, the alicorn could see through the smoke and haze to recognize that Dooku was headed for one of the city’s edges, near the cliff side. She smiled. The old man was going to trap himself.

Count Dooku rounded a corner and was concealed from her sight by columns of smoke rising from what were once mansions of Canterlot’s nobility. The princess and Jedi swiftly rounded it in pursuit, only to be confronted with a score of super battle droids, which promptly opened fire. Between the two Kenobi and Celestia quickly scrapped the heavy machines, though to Celestia’s dismay she saw that they had already finished dragging the ponies that had been taking shelter in the homes of this neighborhood and executed them. Bodies of those too young or too old to fight littered the street, holes burned through their skulls. It was heartbreaking. A lump rose in her throat and her vision went momentarily blurry.

It was with great difficulty that the alicorn swallowed her grief a moment later, her rational mind reminding her that she still had an enemy to chase down. It also made the morbid suggestion that Dooku had chosen this route specifically because it would be so discomfiting for her. Such cold-blooded heartlessness was difficult for her to contemplate, even after all that had already happened.

“This way,” Kenobi beckoned, a sad look on his own face. “Dooku is going this way.”

The princess didn’t bother with asking how he knew, only chasing after the Jedi Master from the air. She strove to regain sight of the old man, but with the sky so choked with smoke and ash it was difficult to make out any one shape at much distance. Obi Wan seemed to know where the Sith was headed, though, so the princess simply followed him. They encountered super battle droids twice more in the next minute. Distressingly, the machines weren’t even rushing to the fighting anymore, simply hunting down stragglers and burning buildings. Some cold-blooded calculation informed them that they weren’t needed to purge the last isolated bastions of resistance and that they would be more useful performing demolitions and executions.

Canterlot, the ancient capital of Equestria had, for all intents and purposes, fallen.

Celestia wasn’t sure how to take that. In all her years of rule, never had she met an enemy so cruel, so ruthless, and so murderous as this Confederacy of Independent Systems or its General Grievous. Now they had sacked her city, burned her nation, and slaughtered her people. She should be in despair, or consumed with rage. Instead she felt… curiously numb, as though her emotional center was shutting down in response to overstress. The one thing she did feel was an overwhelming urge to catch the human behind all of this.

The pursuit of Count Dooku lasted for perhaps three minutes, the old man showing an incredible amount of stamina in keeping up his Force-assisted sprint the whole way. He maintained his direction towards the city’s western wall and the cliff on the other side of it. Several more groups of droids emerged to oppose his pursuers on their way. Blaster bolts dented and scorched Celestia’s armor and even set a part of her rainbow mane on fire at one point. None of the machines could stand before the two, but they forced them to halt their chase to deal with them.

At last, they caught up with the count standing over the battlements of the western wall. He had his back to them, and appeared to be looking down at the shimmering pink bubble still enveloping the city and the ground far below it.

“Ah,” The old man turned to regard the two. Dooku’s pleasant tone had returned, as had his smile. “Master Kenobi. Princess Celestia. While it has been exhilarating, I am afraid I no longer have the time to entertain you today. Perhaps on another occasion,” he took a step backwards and up onto the battlements themselves. “But what kind of a guest would I be if I didn’t leave my hosts a small… gift?” He spread his hands out widely.

On cue, a full dozen commando droids leaped up from the other side of the wall, blaster rifles in hand. Super battle droids emerged from the smoke of burning buildings, their grey metal armor stained black with smoke and ash. Behind the two another squad of B-X droids took up positions, completing the encirclement.

“Kill them,” Dooku said, then stepped backwards off of the wall.


General Grievous lay still on the scorched ground where he had fallen. Once a fertile grassland, the field at the bottom of Canterlot’s mountain was now an ash-choked ruin thanks to the wildfires that had spread out of control after his orbital bombardment. With his own armor charred to blackness by Princess Luna’s flames, the cyborg general blended in well with his surroundings. Which was perhaps fortunate, considering that he could barely move.

The beating and fall that Grievous had endured was easily enough to kill an un-augmented organic, or even most varieties of droid. Still, his body had been rebuilt and modified at his own insistence with the possibility of an explosion followed by a shuttle crash explicitly in mind. The cybernetics had done their job: they had preserved the life of the Kaleesh within.

That was not to say that he had endured the experience without damage. Taking thousands of volts of supernatural electricity at point-blank range, followed immediately by a several hundred-foot drop onto bare, hard soil had exacted a serious toil on him. Neither of his legs were working at all, and both his left arms had been crushed into uselessness by the rest of his body landing on them. Even the hardened systems of his right arms had been hard-pressed to deal with such overwhelming surges of power as had coursed through him, and so both responded to his mental promptings only intermittently. Finally, his neck joint had ceased to function altogether, keeping his head locked at one awkward angle with one eye able to see little more than black dirt. Had it not been for his emergency redundant life support systems, he would probably have stopped breathing.

What was far worse in the cyborg’s mind than the physical trauma and pain was the sheer humiliation of his position. On the brink of deeply personal and satisfying victory, he had been defeated. By a lowly pony, no less. After he had already crippled her. It didn’t make any sense – the horned creatures were powerless to tap into the Force without their horns, everything he’d learned, read, and experienced during his time on this wretched planet indicated as much. How had the princess done it, then? Surely, if the equines could just pull bolts of lightning from nowhere without their horns, that whelp Shining Armor would have tried it at some point, wouldn’t he? And if Luna could have done it at any time, why had she waited until he had already hacked her horn from her body? Too many questions, not enough answers.

If Grievous could have shaken his head, he would have.

Regardless, the fact of the matter was that the proud warrior had been within an inch of personally killing a hated foe when he had suddenly and inexplicably been defeated and cast down in shame. And it had been partially his fault, for taking his time to make her suffer rather than immediately beheading her. The knowledge burned at Grievous’ soul, but there was nothing he could do. It was a minor consolation to know that the mostly-complete conquest of Canterlot would be finished without him, that his betrayer would be slain by his machines irrespective of her personal triumph. Even idiotic droids could handle a simple mop-up operation. And of course, Count Dooku was there to seal the deal.

Grievous’ shame multiplied tenfold as he remembered Count Dooku’s presence. He had been humiliated in front of his lord, cast screaming and broken to the earth by a lowly primitive equine witch. He would need to be rescued for the second time in a very short period, once again left unable to free himself or return to Separatist forces. The fact that he had led his forces to victory was only a slight balm on the wound – a victory over some primitives and a small Republic contingent was simply not that impressive a victory.

Grievous lay there in the fire-blackened dirt for some time, seething with the shame and indignity of it all, wishing for something to happen. His feelings of helplessness further magnified his overwhelming sensation of burning rage.

It was some time before the cyborg’s damaged audial sensors picked up on the sound of a ship’s engines. Grievous’ yellow eyes flicked upwards as best they were able. He knew the sound of those engines very well, even if he couldn’t make anything out through the haze and his forced perspective. He listened as the sound grew closer, before eventually giving way to the familiar sounds of landing gear deploying and soft boots hitting the ground.

“General,” came the bass voice of his lord. “I see you’ve taken quite a fall.”

“My lord,” answered Grievous, wishing he had teeth to grit. “I’m afraid I require assistance to get up.”

“So I see,” Dooku’s tone was one of neutrality.

Grievous found himself rising from the ground with nothing underneath him. As he rotated in mid-air, the cyborg got a good view of his lord. Dooku looked like he had been sweating, his impeccably-groomed white hair was mussed, his cape’s edge singed, and he sported a small patch of red on his upper lip. Still, his eyes had the same energy they always did, and his ability with the Force was still enough to move the heavy cyborg up through the entrance to his solar sailer and prop him on one of the passenger’s seats.

Dooku climbed in after Grievous, and immediately the pilot droid in the cockpit fired up the engines. As the ship rose, the cyborg quickly noticed that it had gone well beyond the height of the equines’ city, and indeed appeared to be breaking for the atmosphere.

“My lord,” Grievous asked, his yellow eyes flicking to meet the count’s blue. “Are we not headed to rejoin the battle?”

“You are in no condition to do so even if we were,” the human pointed out. “But no, we are not. Our role there has come to an end.”

“It’s over, then?” the cyborg inquired, just to be sure. “We’ve won? The equine city is annihilated?”

“Yes, general, it is over, though the fighting may continue for some time yet. It will not be long before Republic ships retake the skies over the city. The ground must inevitably follow.”

Grievous blinked. “Then… we’ve lost?” The shame of that would be almost unbearable.

Dooku smiled tightly. “No, Grievous, we have not. The equines’ defense of their home has cost them everything. Their military forces are gutted, their capital and much of their nation razed to the ground. They will play no role in this war, I promise you. The Jedi will not be able to make use of those that remain before it is too late.”

“But that means some survived. Lord Sidious’ command…” Grievous objected, though only half-heartedly. He quite honestly did not want to be right in this matter.

“Leave Lord Sidious to me, general. I assure you that he will be most pleased with the results you have obtained.”

“Our fleet in orbit… our armies on the planet… decimated.”

Dooku’s smile became beneficent. “Acceptable losses, general,” he sounded approving. “You have done well.”

All was silence for a time in the small ship as Grievous processed this unexpected praise. He had though that the Sith Lord would reprimand him, especially after he had learned that some of the equines had survived his attack. Instead, he was being told that he had succeeded, and that Darth Sidious would approve. Doubtless Dooku meant what he said – the old man was a harsh teacher and never hesitant to point out flaws or berate failure. After a while, he determined to ask the question that was eating away at his mind.

“Does the betrayer bitch Luna still live?” the cyborg asked.

“I do not know, though I did not sense her death.”

Grievous let out a strangled snarl of outrage, though in truth his feelings on that matter were mixed. As much as he wanted to kill her himself, the idea that she would live to boast of her personal victory over him gnawed at his pride. On the other hand, simply hearing the news that mindless droids had killed one’s enemy was far less satisfying than doing it with one’s own hands.

“We will return, yes?” he queried. “To finish this job?”

“In time, general, in time. The war will be over soon, and then you may return and finalize your vengeance. In the meantime, however, we will be avoiding this place. There are other operations that must be your priority in the days ahead.” Noting the downcast look in Grievous’ eyes, Dooku continued. “More Jedi to be killed.”

Count Dooku, Grievous reflected as the small ship soared up to dock with the Invisible Hand, always knew just how to cheer him up.


Obi Wan Kenobi sliced through super battle droids two or three at a time as they swarmed him, their crude programming identifying the Jedi Master as their priority target. Soresu, as always, was the answer to the clumsy and random blaster technology the mindless machines employed. Red blaster bolts bounced from his blue lightsaber blade and back into the crowd of droids that had fired them, downing more than a few.

Above him, Princess Celestia continued to fight on. The commando droids were targeting her in preference to Kenobi, their accurate blaster fire reflecting off of her shield. She was sending streams of fire back at them, but casting both spells simultaneously was clearly a strain on her tired body, and many of the nimble black machines were simply dodging around the flames. And then, without warning, one red blaster bolt slipped through her magical defense and scored a direct hit in the center of her majestic left wing.

The alicorn screamed out her agony as she plummeted to the hard road below, landing with a painful-sounding crunch. The B-Xs immediately shifted their aim, peppering her prone form with more blaster bolts. Most exploded into sparks against her armor, but more burned further black holes through her beautiful and exposed white wings, their finely-preened feathers no defense against the alien guns.

Obi Wan leaped through the air to land at the princess’ side, cutting down a commando droid that had rushed forward with a vibro-knife to finish her off. The machines shifted their guns to target the Jedi Master instead, adding the weight of their fire to that of the super battle droids’. The air around Celestia’s crumpled form filled with dozens of fast-moving laser shots. So many were there that only Kenobi’s mastery of Form III and the limited precognition granted by the light side enabled him to avoid joining her on the ground.

As the circle of droids slowly advanced on the two from all angles, Obi Wan was uncomfortably reminded of a certain arena on Geonosis the day the Clone Wars began.

“I’m sorry, Master Kenobi,” Celestia’s voice was hoarse and weak, barely audible above the din of battle. “I’ve failed. It seems we’re both to die here.”

For a few seconds, Obi Wan didn’t answer, his thoughts entirely focused on the task of deflecting blaster bolts, his unconscious mind seeking shelter in the harmony of the light side of the Force. Everything seemed to slow down around the Jedi Master as the strength of the Force flowed through him, guiding his limbs to catch lethal bolts of red energy on his saber before they could touch him, sending them back the way they had come. More important, though, was a half-conscious thought that seemed to simply pop into his mind from nowhere, perhaps instinct, perhaps another gift of the light.

Obi Wan Kenobi trusted both.

“Lower the shield,” he said without looking at the princess.

Celestia raised her head weakly. “What?”

“Lower the shield around the city,” Kenobi reiterated.

“That will expose us to-”

“Your highness, do you really think it’s doing anything to protect us now?” Kenobi’s voice was strained from the effort. “Lower it.”

There was something in his tone that brooked no dissent. Besides, Celestia reasoned, it wasn’t as though they or Canterlot could get much more doomed.

The alicorn’s horn glowed with golden magic as Celestia scraped together the last of her strength to undo the very defenses that she, Luna, and Discord had woven. She knew the spell intimately, knew precisely what matrices to cut to get rid of the pink orb with minimal effort. As the world around her became an increasing small field of droids and blaster bolts and pain, the solar alicorn unmade the pink dome above their heads. Without ceremony or flashy effect, it dissolved into nothing under her ethereal touch.

“Alright… Master Kenobi…” she breathed heavily. “It is… done… Now what?”

“We wait,” said the Jedi Master, dodging the attempt of a commando droid to stab him with an enormous knife, beheading the droid in turn. A red blaster bolt grazed his left shoulder and he winced.

The droids around the two advanced closer and closer, having no fear of their own destruction, desiring only to fulfil the command of Count Dooku. Another blaster bolt caught Obi Wan’s armored ankle, exploding in a shower of sparks. The Jedi sent three into the face of a super battle droid, which collapsed. The others ignored it, pressing forwards to eliminate their prey.

Then the world exploded around them.

Kenobi’s mundane senses were blinded by powerful explosions that seemed to ring the road around him, his eyes picking up mere flashes of color, his ears filled with wild ringing. He collapsed to the ground at last as his energy finally failed. With the last of his strength, Obi Wan put his own body over Celestia’s and covered his head with his hands. And then he waited. And waited. And waited. Shrapnel sliced through his robes and cut into his flesh, forming small but stinging injuries and drawing blood. But still, Kenobi did not move.

At last, when the tremendous noises had stopped, when his eyes were no longer seeing solely random flashes of vivid color in all directions, Obi Wan lifted his head to look around again. The droids, along with a considerable portion of the road and neighborhood around them, were gone, replaced with scorched craters of varying depth. The Jedi blinked in surprise, his rational mind telling him that explosions at such close range should have pummeled his body into a paste as easily as they had the droids, the buildings, and the wall.

And then Kenobi spotted the slight golden glow fading away from the alicorn princess’ horn, and he understood.

Getting slowly to his feet and looking upwards, the Jedi made out through the smoke and haze the zooming forms of Republic Y-wing bombers performing diving runs on various parts of devastated Canterlot. Further explosions blossomed out beneath them, sending fresh columns of smoke skyward. Further into the air but getting closer all the time Obi Wan saw the vague outlines of incoming LAAT gunships.

The Jedi Master allowed himself a small sigh of relief as he slumped back to the ground in exhaustion. It was over. It was finally over.

A moment later, his wrist comlink beeped loudly. Slowly, Kenobi brought it up closer to his face and activated the receiver. A very familiar voice issued out.

“This is Admiral Wilhuff Tarkin to General Obi Wan Kenobi, do you copy?”

“I copy,” Obi Wan managed.

“Confirming that Separatist forces are in full retreat across the board,” Tarkin sounded pleased with himself. “It’s over, general. We’ve won.”