//------------------------------//
// The Tale of the Last King 
// Story: Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam 
// by Daniel-Gleebits 
//------------------------------//

Return to Equestria: The Rise of Roam

Sonata Dusk


Sonata was genuinely surprised when she awoke to find that sleeping on grass had not been as uncomfortable as she’d feared it would be. Her pony body didn’t seem to mind the hard, unfeeling earth as much as her human body had once done, and she rose to a pleasant, pale sunrise that illuminated the dewy grass all around into a field of glistening white diamonds.
Perhaps her pony body couldn’t take all the credit for her restful night however. Sunset’s proximity, and her warm, soft, golden coat admittedly helped a great deal as well. It had only been at the point of nodding off that Sonata had realised, once they’d comfortably snuggled themselves under an old and grand looking red maple tree, that the two of them were sleeping together entirely naked. She’d been glad that Sunset was already fast asleep at that point, for she rather thought that the idea showed on her face.
“Well, you look well rested,” Sunset said.
Sonata gave her a radiant smile. “I feel it too. Weird, huh?”
“Weird how?” Sunset asked, stretching before leaning in for a kiss.
“Well you know, with everything that’s gone on.”
“Yeah,” Sunset said, glancing to the side. “It really has gone just... so wrong. Nothing is like I expected it to be. I just wanted to come and help Twilight with whatever problem she had. Not jump headfirst into some huge quest or something.”
“To be honest,” Sonata said, blowing out her cheeks. “I was always surprised when we managed to scrape through our problems back home. Finding Adagio and Aria, dealing with Hoity. And... um...” she blinked and looked away.
“Fleur,” Sunset said flatly.
Sonata smiled despite herself. “And now you have mind reading powers too. How am I supposed to deal with all of this?”
“It’s not mind reading, dear,” Sunset said, nuzzling her cheek. “I just know you.”
“Oh!” Sonata said excitedly. “Okay, let me try you.” She put a hoof to her temple and screwed up her face. “Err... you’re thinking... that, um...” She bit her lip and made a loud “Hngh!” noise that made Sunset chuckle. “You’re thinking that you want to kick Script awake!” she finished dramatically, making to aim a nonexistent finger-gun with her hoof. “Wow,” she said, observing her foot. “That really doesn’t work without hands, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Sunset agreed. “But you are right. I do want to kick Script awake.”
Sonata had been joking of course, but it soon became apparent that Sunset wasn’t. Script had chosen a loftier place to sleep, up by the edge of the waterfall. Sonata couldn’t see how he slept with all of the noise the waterfall was making, but there he lay, curled like a cat, the cloth around his neck spread across him like a blanket. Like them, he’d chosen to sleep under a tree, a youngish fir-tree overhanging a steep incline of the grass that smoothed out eventually the further down one went. He’d chosen to sleep somewhere high up, where ponies wouldn’t be able to see him easily, he’d told them last night, and which would be the most difficult place to get to. Indeed, the incline did stymie them a little bit as they ascended the slope.
“You’re not really going to kick him, are you?” Sonata asked.
“I sure am,” Sunset muttered, barely repressing a smirk. “I won’t do it hard,” she amended, as she noticed the look Sonata was giving her. “Why do you stick up for him?”
“I told you why,” Sonata said. “He’s lonely. And he’s awkward.”
“And tried to kill you.”
“But he didn’t,” Sonata pointed out.
“Yeah, I’mma kick him now.”
Before Sonata could get out more than “Sunset, just wait a—“, the air was suddenly rent apart by an ear-splitting noise. It was something between the kind of harsh, claxon noise of trumpets, and the snarling, screechy roar of a dragon. Sonata’s mind was immediately filled with an image of herself as the serpent, trying desperately to sing along with a fully stocked military brass band whilst she suffered from chronic dry-mouth. It wasn’t a pretty picture.
Script immediately leapt up as though he hadn’t been sleeping at all before diving behind the tree. His head emerged, horn sparking, until he saw who had awoken him.
“Oh,” he said dismissively, his magic extinguishing. “It’s just you.”
Sunset and Sonata glared at him. Sunset, who’d leapt backwards and would have fallen right down the slope had she not crashed into Sonata, pulled Sonata back upright as she teetered off balance.
“I suppose I should have told you I put an alarm spell up,” Script said, yawning. “Oh well. What’s for breakfast?”
“What’s for breakfast?” Sunset repeated, disbelievingly. “You nearly sent us rolling down the hill!”
“Well, why were you sneaking up on me?” Script asked, frowning.
“We were coming to wake you up, you paranoid moron!”
“Sure,” Script sneered. “And nothing else? You had no other motive?” Sonata saw the trap, but Sunset, caught off guard, hesitated. Script swooped upon her non-answer with glee. “You were going to do something,” he chortled. “And suddenly my guilt is gone.”
Sunset made an impatient noise and spun around. “Stupid old stallion,” she muttered, just loud enough for Script to hear. He blinked.
“I’m twenty two!” he called after her. “That’s not old! I’m not old!”
Sunset ignored him as she descended the hill, Sonata trotting behind her. Sonata looked back at him semi-apologetically as he descended the hill after them, trying to wrap the cloth back around his neck.
“Is that a scarf?” she asked him, nodding at the cloth.
“What’s a scarf?” Script asked, raising an eyebrow. “This is a toga.”
“Oh,” Sonata said. Then after a pause, she continued “I feel like I should know what that is.”
“History class,” Sunset prompted. 
“Oh!” Sonata said. “Romans. Hah! That was a thing way back when.”
“What are you two babbling about?” Script asked, puzzled.
“In the world we used to live, Roam was called Rome, and was an empire about two thousand years ago, and disappeared about five hundred years ago,” Sunset explained.
“That sounds awful,” Script said slowly, his expression souring. “How did it end?”
“Oh, a lot of reasons,” Sunset replied, thinking about it a little. “Foreign invasion, deterioration of the army, economic problems, corruption in the government; lots of things at once to put it simply.”
“Where’s Loyal Stride?” Sonata asked, trying to take Script’s mind off what Sunset was saying. Unfortunately her words seemed to have the opposite effect. His expression turned from one of slight nausea to one of stony withdrawal.
“He’s over there,” he said quietly, nodding downhill.
When Sonata looked, she at first thought that Script had indicated the wrong way. But then she noticed something that looked as though it didn’t belong. Next to the edge of the canyon was an outcrop of rock, like a small, standalone cave or grotto. It was hardly taller than a grown pony, and wasn’t deep enough to shield anypony from the rain. In front of it, his trappings and armour on the grass next to him, sat Loyal Stride.
“Um... hello?” Sunset asked, slowly, keeping her distance a little. He didn’t reply verbally, but nodded without looking at them.
“Are you alright?” Sonata asked with concern. Looking at him, she noticed shadows beneath the dark rims of his eyes, and the eyes themselves were red and bloodshot. “Didn’t you sleep?” she asked.
“No, he didn’t,” Script said, quite unlike his usual tone.
“What have you been doing?” Sonata asked, stepping cautiously over to him.
“Making sure they rest properly,” Loyal Stride said simply.
Sonata peered inside the rock structure. On little stone pegs were small token-like objects, fashioned it seemed out of orangey clay, and inscribed with letters, the meanings of which Sonata couldn’t determine. Each was held up by small lengths of tightly woven grass so that they clacked against each other a little in the light morning breeze. Inscribed into the rock above were more words that Sonata couldn’t make out.
“It says,” Script began, as Sonata leaned in to squint. “On this battlefield, eight noble ponies lost their lives. Let their service and dedication be preserved with them among the spirits.”
“The ponies in the helicopter,” Sunset guessed, sounding uneasy. “I’m... sorry about—“
“Don’t be,” Loyal Stride said hoarsely. “It wasn’t your place to be. They were my ponies. I was their commander. I was their friend. It’s my responsibility.”
“They were my friends too,” Script muttered in the most soothing tone Sonata had ever heard from him. “Once.”
“I already thanked you for raising the monument,” Loyal Stride said sharply, his voice rising a little. “You relinquished their friendships when you ran away.”
Script’s mouth worked like he wanted to argue, but perhaps because of the gravity of the situation, he simply turned and walked away.
“I’m not old,” he said to Sunset as he made his way towards a nearby line of trees.
“I get the feeling you two know each other,” Sonata said, her voice full of hollow cheer. It was a pretty feeble attempt to break the glacier-sized wall of ice between them, and Sonata was frankly unsurprised that it didn’t really work. What she was surprised to see was the fact that Loyal Stride’s already stern and downcast face could become any more stoically brooding; it seemed that it could. Sonata rather expected Loyal Stride to burst into a rant about how Script had murdered his grandmother by the look on his face, but Loyal Stride said nothing at all.
In due time, Script returned levitating a number of apples, nuts, and berries, along with a small handful of dark brown mushrooms.
“You’re not going to eat those are you?” Sunset asked, grimacing at the sight of the shrivelled looking fungi. “Please don—And of course you’re eating them.”
“What?” Script asked between chews, his teeth squeaking on the rubbery mushrooms. “They’re good. Try one.”
Sonata had nothing against mushrooms, and so tried one. It wasn’t... bad? The taste was rather bitter and not at all likeable, but she liked the rubbery texture. She’d always had a fondness for strange experiences.
“I think I’ll just stick with apples,” Sunset mumbled, levitating one towards her.
They all dug in for a moment, Sonata scarfing down what she could – having just realised how hungry she was after vomiting her companions back up – whilst trying not to seem greedy. After a short pause filled by the sounds of chewing, Script spoke up. 
“So, the road to Last Light it is? As the oldest extant Princess in Equestria, Princess Luna would be the most ideal pony to ask about—“
“Last Light?” Loyal Stride interrupted. 
“Hey, hey,” Script said, waving a hoof to get Loyal Stride’s attention. “Don’t interrupt me.”
“You’re not going to Last Light,” Loyal Stride said, in the resounding tones of a stern parent informing their fifteen year old daughter that she is never to see the twenty-five year old boyfriend she just informed them about whilst on the way to an illegal street race.
“I don’t know about you,” Sunset said after swallowing a mouthful of apple. “But we certainly are.” She bumped Sonata’s shoulder. “And I guess he’s coming too,” she added grudgingly, shooting Script a heavy-lidded side-glance. 
“No, he’s not,” Loyal Stride said even more firmly than before, rather as though the parents of the fifteen year old had previously learned that her boyfriend was a known conman who duped old people out of their money for questionable insurance. 
“But he has to,” Sonata protested. “He has to help get this off.” She nudged the pendant so that it caught Loyal Stride’s eye.
“He knows too much,” Loyal Stride went on, undaunted. “I can’t risk him revealing military secrets.”
“Incidentally,” Sunset said, sounding suddenly suspicious. “You do know that this is a cursed necklace, right?”
“I gathered as much,” Loyal Stride said, nodding. 
“Well...” Sunset said slowly. “Script tried to murder Sonata when he saw it. Any particular reason you’re not trying to?”
“Well first,” Loyal Stride said, taking a sharp intake of breath. “She saved my life. I can’t kill her after that, at least until my debt is repaid.”
“Oh. Yay.” Sonata said quietly, taking note of the caveat.
“And secondly, the extermination of all cursed individuals is Roaman law. We’re not in Roam, so it doesn’t apply.”
“All cursed individuals are to be exterminated?” Sonata asked no pony in particular, feeling queasy.
“It’s a case-by-case basis these days. The law is very old, dating back to the birth of the Republic.”
“Dating back to the last king,” Script agreed.
“I remember reading that Roam used to have a monarchy,” Sunset said, sounding mildly interested. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did Roam become a republic? The histories were never clear in Equestria.”
“Oh, well—“ Loyal Stride began.
“I’ll be happy to tell you,” Script interrupted. “History is my profession after all.” Loyal Stride said nothing to this, but seemed to be trying not to roll his eyes. Script cleared his throat fussily, and Sonata at least felt a trickle of unease run down into her stomach. She had the distinct feeling that Script was about to erupt into a massive explanatory rant, and sure enough...
“Over a thousand years ago,” he said dramatically, raising a hoof above his head as though to block out the rays of an intense light.
“Why does everything seem to happen a thousand years ago?” Sunset commented. 
“I know, right?” Sonata added. “That’s when Aria, Dagi, and me were banished to the human world.”
“And when Princess Luna became Nightmare Moon,” Sunset went on.
“And I’m pretty sure that Sombra guy vanished the Crystal Empire then too.”
“A-hem,” Script coughed loudly. 
“Sorry,” Sonata said quietly. 
“Get on with it then,” Sunset sighed, gesturing lazily.
Script narrowed his eyes at Sunset resentfully, and then drew himself back up to his dramatic pose. 
“Oh, and didn’t Tirek and his brother, Scorpan show up around that ti—“ Sunset started, grinning wickedly.
“Over a thousand years ago,” Script announced loudly over the interruption. “Roam was but a small, humble town on a small river bank, ruled over by a line of privileged, magical, albeit competent and benign unicorn kings.” He paused as Loyal Stride gave a small disparaging sound. “No, no, please, do interrupt. Everypony else is doing it.”
“Competent and benign,” Loyal Stride repeated, looking sceptical. “Trust a unicorn to revise the history he’s telling.”
“Au contraire,” Script said swiftly. “I’ve told you all along that the current view of history is the revisionist one. Whitewashed by the upper class to make out unicorns to be—“
“What have you guys got against having magic and a monarchy anyway?” Sunset asked irritably. “You keep going on about it, but you never say why.”
“I’m trying to get to that, if I could?” Script snapped. He looked around at them all. Sunset and Sonata sat down as meekly as their personalities would allow, whilst Loyal Stride relaxed into a dignified repose with his eyes shut. “Ruled over,” Script began again, glaring around, “by a line of unicorn kings. For many centuries this dynasty ruled over Roam, setting it up as a major player in the geo-political machinations of the peninsular. However, this line ended rather suddenly with the birth of... The Last King.” He paused for dramatic effect. Oddly enough, a cloud passed by overhead at just that moment, momentarily blocking the weak morning sun so that everything was cast in dull greys and darkened colours. Sonata listened carefully for a thunderbolt to crack overhead, but to her disappointment none came.
“Get on with it,” Sunset huffed as the silence dragged on.
“Stemming from what we now think to be a large war going on at the time, the vast majority of the royal family’s main branch were killed, including the king’s own two sons and only daughter, thus leaving the king the sole remaining legitimate heir to the throne. Surviving records tell us that there was a great concern in the court that when the king died, Roam would collapse into civil war over which of his more distant relatives would succeed him.”
“It’s sad that his children died,” Sonata said, imagining the king sitting on his throne alone and miserable as somepony told him the terrible news. The ideal king, who resembled Loyal Stride, sat alone in a grand hall, filled only with the echoing sounds of his own weeping. “But couldn’t he have had more children?”
“Those learned in history believe not,” Script said, importantly. “Marriage in Roam is a strict business. As a political tool it is a precarious business. The Queen at the time almost certainly died as well, apparently from heartbreak if certain records are to be believed. The family that she belonged to was particularly powerful and influential, but had no other daughters to marry to the king. It’s thought that the court didn’t dare marry any of their daughters to him in case they offended the Queen’s family. Thus, the king would die, childless and heirless.”
“So what did he do?” Sonata asked, looking intently at Script.
“Sonata,” Sunset complained. “You’re going to make him even more obnoxious than usual.”
“Mm,” Loyal Stride grunted in agreement. 
“An excellent question,” Script persisted, pretending not to hear Sunset and Loyal Stride’s comments. “The king loved his city and its ponies, and knew that if civil war broke out, other kingdoms would rise to take advantage. Therefore, he set about to discover what he imagined to be the one thing that might save his city.” He paused again and stared around impressively. Then he raised both hoofs and whispered, in a creepy, oddly chilling tone, the single word: “Immortality.”
“Oooh,” Sonata cooed, wide eyed.
“And how was the king supposed to do that?” Sunset demanded.
“I’m getting to it!” Script barked. “So impatient!” He cleared his throat again. “Well, many years went by, and the king awaited word of a means of becoming immortal. An elixir of eternal youth and vitality was sought after but never created. Stones of Impression, the mystical apotheostones were searched for in every corner of the world, but to no avail. And then, in the waning days of the king’s life, he heard tell of a legend from the land of Fleece. There, it was said, dwelt powerful spirits who commune openly with the inhabitants. The spirits do not eat earthly food, but only ambrosia, the nectar of the spirits. The ambrosia, it was said, could grant immortality, and everlasting youth.”
“So the king got some?” Sonata asked, raptly attentive.
“According to legend,” Script said, smirking. “Yes, he did. He sent some of his bravest ponies to retrieve it, who of course promptly ignored the warning associated with the consumption of ambrosia by mortals.”
“Oh no,” Sonata muttered, seized by a sense of foreboding. “Oh no. Oh no, Oh no!”
“For it is said that should a mortal being eat ambrosia not freely given by the spirits,” Script said, his voice becoming deeper and more resounding. “They shall be cursed, for all time!” He let out a maniacal laugh, standing on his hind legs and raising his hooves out wide as though to hug the sky.
“Oh for Celestia’s sake,” Sunset snapped, pushing him over.
“Hey!” he protested, landing on his back.
“Just get on with it!” Sunset snarled.
Script grumbled for a little as he righted himself. “Fine, whatever. Now where was I...? Ah yes. Well, the king, not aware of this warning, ate the ambrosia, and as he had hoped, became youthful and eternal.”
“What?” Sunset exclaimed. “You’re not serious.”
“What?” Script demanded, annoyed.
“The king got immortality?” Sunset asked.
“Yes. Or so it’s said.”
“And ruled the kingdom from then on?”
“For a while.”
“Alright, go on.”
“You ponies are awful listeners,” Script grumped. “Except you, cursed siren-thing.”
“Aww, thanks,” Sonata beamed.
“So yes, the king ruled, for a while anyway. However, his later years were marred by what we can only assume to be a surge in paranoia. According to written accounts, he developed a strong sense that certain individuals and their families were out to steal the throne. Punishments were lenient at first, with affirmations of loyalty and public humiliations starting it off. But before long there came banishments, whole families being forced out of Roam. And then the imprisonments and the enslaving, and eventually the executions.”
“Executions?” Sonata squeaked.
“Executions!” Script repeated. “Horrible, horrible things, like throwing them off cliffs, and boiling them in vats of oil! Legend even has it that he had several ponies tied to stakes in his garden and burned alive.”
Sonata cringed away from the mad glint in Script’s eye, huddling up to Sunset. Sunset however, merely looked contemptuous. 
“That was the curse, I suppose,” Sunset ventured.
“That’s what we think,” Script said, returning abruptly to a casual tone, waving an airy hoof. “The King’s paranoia became so strong that he progressively took more and more powers away from the nobility. Assassination attempts against him failed, and attempts to unseat him were met with harsh reprisals. The royal bloodline was known for possessing vast magical power, and any sign of dissent was met with nothing short of obliteration. It’s said that the entirety of Roam were made slaves to the King’s whim so that he could keep them all eternally under his eye. The thirst for power and domination, and the continuous failures to remove him from power overcame his fear. He became extremely arrogant and dispassionate, taking joy only in oppressing his subjects. All lands around were to afraid to oppose him, but he brought a worse fate upon his city than that which he had wanted to stop.”
“That’s horrible,” Sonata sniffed, tearfully.
“So what happened?” Sunset asked, sounding genuinely interested. “If he was immortal and powerful, how come he isn’t still around?”
“Ahh,” Script said, as though this was the very thing he’d wanted to be asked. “Most ponies skip this part of the story, or alter it a little. The Last King was stopped by the Vestal Virgins.”
“Who?” Sunset asked.
“Despite the hatred for magic in Roam, most Roamans have a healthy respect for, and fear of, the spirits. Therefore, since the very founding of Roam, there’s been a shrine erected near to the forum, overseen by a sisterhood of unicorns who relate the spirit’s will. Through them, the spirits toppled the king and banished him from Roam, supposedly imprisoning him in the spirit world across the Mare Vasteum. What you would call the Vasty Ocean between the Equestrian continent, and our own.”
“So wait, the spirits beat the king?” Sonata asked.
“No, the Vestal Virgins beat the king using the spirit’s magic. That’s the part most ponies in Roam don’t like to admit to, otherwise they’d have to admit that not all magic is horrible and needs to be shunned, and that not all unicorns are to be mistrusted.”
“Oh my goodness,” Loyal Stride groaned, apparently unable to stop himself.
“You know it’s true!” Script erupted instantly. 
“I admit that there’s some discrimination against unicorns,” Loyal Stride said loudly. “But for goodness sake, you never stop going on about it.”
“Oh!” Script cried, flinging his front legs in the air. “Yes, excuse me. I’d hate to inconvenience anypony by informing them how their bigotry and prejudice is stifling my ability to live the way I want to. Please, don’t let my plight and the plights of every other unicorn in Roam ruin your day. Spirits forbid you earth ponies have to actually acknowledge any uncomfortable truths!”
Loyal Stride, who’d been visibly turning redder and redder with Script’s increasing volume, leapt to his feet and shoved Script back with his shoulder. “You never did know when to shut it!” he barked.
“Typical earth pony solution,” Script jeered, regaining his footing. “You don’t like something, you smash it. Bunch of caveponies, the whole lot of you.”
“Whoa, whoa!” Sonata cried, standing between them. “Guys, come on.”
“Whereas everything a unicorn does has to be words and magic,” Loyal Stride snarled, leaning around Sonata. “Never facing anything head on like a real pony.”
“Because that’s all fighting is, isn’t it?” Script retorted. “Head on collisions. No strategy, no tactics. Just brute force all the way, huh?”
“I never said that!”
Script fixed Loyal Stride with a cold, mocking stare. “What does Pen Stroke say about it, hm?” he asked, a contemptuous curl of his lip pulling his mouth into a leer. “What do you tell my sister when you’re mounting her? Do you tell her that she’s in her rightful place? Does it get you off to have a unicorn firmly pinned beneath you?”
Sonata barely had time to register the significance of this taunt when she was roughly bowled aside. Bellowing like an enraged minotaur, Loyal Stride shoved by her and launched himself at Script. Script let out a roar of his own; his horn blazed with sky-blue light, and in seconds Loyal Stride was being blown backwards down the grassy incline. He leapt up, spitting grass from his mouth, and charged again. 
“Stop it!” Sonata shrieked.
“Hang on!” Sunset yelled. Their surroundings were suddenly ablaze in dazzling green light. Loyal Stride’s leap forward met with comedic disaster as he face-planted into an invisible wall. With a sickening thud, he crumpled to the ground. Script’s second blast arced forward, struck the same barrier, and deflected back at him, blowing him backwards into the grass.
“Stop it, both of you!” Sunset ordered, glaring at the two of them. 
Loyal Stride recovered first. Standing up, he fixed Script with a murderous eye, and then struck the barrier petulantly before turning abruptly away.
“Yeah, that’s right!” Script shouted after him. “That’s right! Turn away like you always do! Never look at the uncomfortable truth, never try to see passed—“ He got no further. With a sharp sound that cut through the peaceful landscape, Sonata smacked him hard across the muzzle. 
After blinking hard for a few moments, he looked back at her, utterly nonplussed. “W-What was that for?”
“Just stop it!” Sonata demanded, blinking hard herself as she felt her eyes sting. “Just stop! Just because you feel alone doesn’t mean you have to take it out on everypony else!”
This seemed to stymie Script good and proper. He gaped at her, making inarticulate gurgling noises as she stamped away.
“Um... Sonata?” Sunset asked tentatively, watching her marefriend storm by her. Sonata turned her head away from her so that Sunset couldn’t see her expression. “Sonata, are you...?”
“Going. We’re going, right?” Sonata asked, trying to contain the tremble in her voice.
She had no inkling of where she was going right then. All she knew was that she needed to move, just keep moving. For the thoughts that Script kept raising inside of her, the terrible feelings that were so upsettingly nostalgic, were threatening to catch up with her. And she couldn’t deal with that, not with everything else.
“I’ll be...” she said as Sunset trotted after her. “Over here.”
“Sonata, do you want to—“
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sonata interrupted. “I just... I just need a minute.”
Sunset didn’t push her company. Not at that moment anyway. She watched Sonata head for a small clearing in between a small cluster of trees; it was within sight of their camp, and so Sunset decided it was probably better to let her vent whatever steam it was boiling in Sonata’s brain. So she instead turned her lecturing beams firmly upon the idiots who had the audacity to make her marefriend cry.


- To be Continued