//------------------------------// // XLIII. Celestia, Interlude: Lower Still // Story: The Night is Passing // by Cynewulf //------------------------------// CELESTIA Dear Twilight, Jannah is in the distance. Perhaps the next letter I write you shall be from the heights? You would have loved Jannah, Twilight. It was a city to put Canterlot’s bustling to shame with ease. The streets hummed with life. I have a thousand memories of Jannah, lit up at night like an ocean of light. Warm, concupiscent, boundless. And now? I take great comfort as I prepare for my own excursion that you shall never have to enter Jannah. Foolish, I know, but I take solace that our works have made a journey here pointless for you. There will be no quest for your friends to aid you with that brings you within the shadow of the hideous strength, for no longer can it go freely along the earth and it is trapped. Jannah is a tomb. Not a cage, as Luna has said it, but a tomb. Because the Shadow is dead. It is as dead as such a thing can be… except I know that is not true anymore. If it were ever true, it is not longer. Because I felt the Hideous Strength on the Veldt, and that should have been impossible. Then what? Then our wards have cracked. Frightening, but by no means incurable. I shall simply shore up the weakness. The powers of a dozen alicorns bound the evil of Jannah in place, and I have little doubt that even with the long neglect, enough of the wards remain. I have regained much of my confidence. Night brought only dreams, no nightmares. I have shielded my dreams from Luna’s touch, however. She will recognize and respect the boundary. I do not trust my mind not to reveal the Hideous Strength’s workings to her, and I would not have her touched by it at all if I can help it. I can do this myself. I think I should do this myself. I have been thinking about machines. Technology. As I’ve written--and said before, with every shade of feeling from sardonic to awe--it is the dawn of a brave new world. I truly think that when my sister returned, the world shifted. Not because she was back, though my own personal world shifted because of this new fact, but because Luna brought with her fuel for a fire that had been burning low. You know we have had electricity in our cities for some time now, widespread if not seen as vital. Why should my little ponies think of it as vital? Magic lights homes just as well, and with warmer hues. Electricity runs their manufactories, but magic could do it in a pinch. We have airships, have had them since I gently reintroduced the technology into Equestria a few hundred years after the Schism. Yet for most of Equestrian history they have been nothing more than a mere convenience. Pegasi can fly the mail faster, deliver parcels with more ease and more easily attainable fuel, and the chariots they pull move ponies with more speed and a touch of adventure. Yet Luna was of another time, and with her she brought knowledge of the time before our Schism, and in her wake, the scholars and the mechanics and the inventors of Equestria began to dream once again of the glories of an age of technology, now merged perhaps with our mature thaumaturgy. Where the Equestria of Luna’s past had fielded slow, ponderous airships, they begin to dream of great birds of steel and fire that might take a pony from Las Pegasus to the Crystal Empire in a matter of hours. They saw the oil lamps they had taken for granted and wondered if oil might have other uses. They dream and dream, and what comes from such dreams? Even I do not know. They revitalized the sleepy airships of Equestria, and now the slim, light craft carry great weights and move twice as fast. The first black-paved roads appear in the south. They move many things, many wonderful things. The nickleodeons, the tricks of light of the last generation are giving way to genuine moving pictures. More books! Oh, you aren’t the only one excited. For so long, a book was such a precious, rare thing. And now they produce them a few thousand in a day! I insisted on touring the improved presses personally and was delighted. And yet. And yet, ponies who are not meant to be changeless are even less meant to be on too shaky ground. I dream with my dreaming subjects and fear the fear they will engender in others. Dreams may become nightmares. I know this better than anypony alive, my sister perhaps excepted. From the forges that built new printing presses and projectors may yet be reborn firearms beyond the crude shootsticks that I carefully restricted. The laboratories that shall aid magic in curing disease might also recreate the new ones. I fear the alienation of the pony from his work and from his neighbor, shut up in lonely cells of steel. I dream of the opposite, of stopping in to have tea with a friend in Manehattan and sleeping at home that night in Las Pegasus. And between my little ponies and the dream that might be? Between is a unseeable interim. What chaos shall come? I hope that the cautious will be cautious all the while, but find joy all the same, but I’m too old to hope too much for that. Science, magic, knowledge--often, our power over the world is really power over each other. Luna, Cadance, Iridia… and you, Twilight, we shall all be talking much in the coming years, I hope. To dream and work before the promise of our power rots on the branch. CANTERLOT Lords Iron, Dawn, Epona, and Blood smiled at each other with a mixture of grimness and glee. There was a curious taste in the air. It was not quite like blood, but it was close enough--everything was coming up Blood and Iron, as it were. A map had been laid out, and after consultation with his generals, Lord Iron and Lord Blood had presented the situation to their co-conspirators. More accurately, to their pawns. For only Dawn and Epona thought of themselves as equals to the other two. The Good Stallion and the Manichean knew the reality of things. Lord Blood took a sip of brandy and sighed. “The funeral, then.” “Yes. It is the most efficient time.” Iron said around his cigar. A bit of celebration, but only a bit. “Strike while her defenses are lowered. She is in mourning, or at least trying her damnedest to appear that way. We will be able to spin it as being for her own good as well as the city’s. The hoi polloi are all, ah, aflutter. The taking of the terrestial tier was rather dramatic.” “Not as dramatic as we’d hoped,” Blood said sourly. “Not as dramatic as you’d hoped?” Epona broke in. “Lyrae, Cold Blood, what did you expect? I’m rather pleased with the guard, myself. With the obstructionist herself out of the way, we might have ourselves a fine beginnings of a civic guard.” Cold Blood stared at him for a moment, blinking slowly. “Oh. Yes, them.” He shrugged. “Regardless, that is not what is important. I am still concerned about the venue you’ve chosen, Iron. Funerals tend to get ponies all emotional. The last thing we need is a breakdown in rationality.” Dawn tried to worm his way into the counsels. “It could be framed as the drake’s death being abused for political reasons, perhaps.” “Too difficult, he was in her pockets, as they say,” Iron said without even looking at him. “I’ve no doubt that those present will no doubt see us as monsters. You mistake me as somepony who cares, Lords. The, ah, ‘Good Stallion’ is a pony for the masses, is he not?” He flashed them all a brilliant, easy smile. “Surely disrupting such wasteful proceedings for only one dead, among such loss… I guarantee you that the common resentment will play to our aims.” “Perhaps. I don’t rightly care either way about them,” Cold Blood said. “And the Manichean is quiet as well, so I am doubly silent. Luna must go, and she must go soon. She’s holding the whole world hostage, keeping that damn sun down. Keeping us confined and restrained. Celestia did the same, but Luna is weaker. Kill the gods and the heavens are free, I say. And so are we,” he added. “Yes, and with Fillydelphia under the spectre of the Good Stallion, my agents will deliver us another city,” Iron said with a smile. “So let us do it quickly, let us not delay. We, ah, seem to have everything settled all ready.” Cold Blood despised every pony in this room. Iron was the sort who became too enamored of his own ideas. Epona was a traitor with no spine. Dawn was a worm with hooves. He cared even less, in the end, for their coup. Their revolution. He had called their army together--his army, really--and sent it marching. He had done his master’s bidding while keeping these fools happy at the same time. He had become a tiny, focused point. Everything else in him had withered away, broken down, and then condensed. All that remained was his master’s purpose and a warm and bitter hatred. The fools talked, bickering or planning what they would do in their make believe empire, whichever. He and Iron locked eyes. Iron, of course, smiled. Where Cold Blood was a knife, had been shaped and hardened by his consort with his master, Lord Iron had betrayed his name and withered. He lost his spine bit by bit. It would be impossible to pin him to any plan or opinion soon, for he would be utterly without opinion or preference until the moment he pushed you into the canal. His insistence on the funeral was odd, but the more Cold Blood thought of it, the more it made sense. All of the nobility, high and low, would be gathered for that drake’s procession. The funeral oration would provide an excellent dramatic moment, and really wasn’t it efficient? They wouldn’t have to go and secure the lower houses, they would all be right there. Cold Blood appreciated efficiency. He liked best when one clean blow won the whole game. LUNA Luna was a million miles away. Her body sat in a gilded carriage, wreathed in a black mourning dress that would have stunned Rarity, had she been there. When she had put it on, her only thought was that Rarity would like it, and that she was glad Rarity was not here to see it. Twilight was going to tell Rarity and the others. Her eyes stared ahead, unfocused. It didn’t help that she was exhausted. She was an alicorn, yes, but even alicorns require sleep. She had gotten little rest the night before. She touched her lips softly and thought of Twilight with the scarcest touch, as if the memories were tender wounds, for they were. Luna had spent the entire night with Twilight. Page Turner was quiet. He sat across from her, watching but not staring in a way that would offend. They had not spoken since Spike’s death. Luna had said very few words in the waking world since then. Outside, it was raining. It had snowed the day before, and rained the day before that. The air was cold, and to Luna it felt like a slap in the face that continued. Canterlot’s winters were often unpleasant, but never in the years from her return had Canterlot had such a thoroughly miserable time of it. If she looked outside, she would see the the streets filled with melting snow and shining ice, the dirt brought in by fleeing refugees flowing freely through the cracks. She would have seen ponies huddled in doorways, hoods over their heads, watching her slow carriage and the long procession. She would have seen the small crowd that gathered at every crossroads or fountain, or the stragglers with hoods and umbrellas following behind. She would have, had she looked, seen the day guard saluting as it passed on the way to the wall. She did not see any of these things except as suggestion on the edge of her sight. But she did see her aide, and the inside of the carriage, and the lair of shadow that she inhabited. The city had grown more quiet. Spike had died and the lower city had been lost three days ago. In that time, the fighting had settled back into stalemate--the gate was the weakest part of the wall, and it was legendary. Ironically, the attacks on the gate itself had managed to damage the only vulnerable part: the gears. The door wouldn’t open now even if Luna wanted it to. With a smaller wall, the combined guard and levies of most of the houses concentrated their forces far more densely. They could lay down withering fire on anything that poked its head out of any door in the upper neighborhoods. In response, the Manichean army had withdrawn to the ruins of the great gate and set up camp. There had not been a raid today at all--Luna wasn’t sure what to think of that. But she had left the defense of Canterlot to General Magnolia today, and if that mare couldn’t keep the walls clean, nopony could. The funeral was a rather involved affair--a state funeral was by default. The morning wake had been followed by the traditional Canterlot deathfeast, which Page Turner had seen to for her. And now they moved slowly down to the Celestial Square of the middle city with the wide, long casket and the honor guard, and she would see if anypony even showed up to attend the oration. And then the Sparkle’s catacomb, she guessed. She had made sure there was room. What would she say? It was a good question. Most of the city did not know much about Spike. They knew of Twilight Sparkle, Princess Celestia’s Most Gifted Student and Element of Harmony. But what did they know of her little assistant? Or for that matter, her friends? Precious little that mattered. They knew Rainbow Dash was fast and that Applejack was strong and that Rarity was beautiful. Luna found herself missing all of them. Rarity and Twilight she had been closest with, but Fluttershy had been a great comfort during the tumultuous time. She missed Pinkie’s long campaign to steal a laugh out from under the regent of the night. She missed Applejack’s firm honesty, her levelheaded and stoic air. She felt very alone. And then, strangely, Page Turner spoke. “Have you thought of what you will say?” She looked up at him, confusion painted across her features. “What?” “The Oration. It is traditional, Princess.” “Oh. Oh! Right. Yes, I had thought about it,” Luna said, eyes turning to languidly rest on the quiet unicorn. “I do not look forward to it.” Page Turner nodded. “It’s not a pleasant duty. I wouldn’t want to do it. But I know you can.” “Perhaps. Thank you, Turner. For covering my failures.” “It isn’t a failure to mourn, Princess. But thank you.” They grew silent again, and outside the city waited. Little by little, the procession grew. The city began to march. RARITY She grinned at Rainbow, and Rainbow grinned back. Their delight was wholely devious. There was almost the air of mischief about it. The patrol of flier that had found the manichean caravan had already been rewarded--Rarity thought she might just thank them in person after seeing the sheer volume of precious material present among the loot. “We could arm the rest of the levy,” Rarity said. “We might actually stand a chance with this windfall, dear. I can hardly believe it.” “They’ve even got pegasus barding,” Rainbow Dash replied, digging some out from a pile. “I mean, like, the real thing--not some hackjob. Damn, its even well made.” “No losses acquiring it all, either,” Rarity said. She could not quite admire the haul--rifles, barding, food and medicine--but she could appreciate it. “Our Legata was of the opinion this might increase the levy’s effective strength threefold.” Rainbow put the barding back and sighed. “She’s probably right, but you know that’s kind of deceptive.” She chuckled. “Usually I’m the one who is all ‘don’t tell me the odds!’ but, we’re still pretty weak as a fighting force. I’ve got the pegasi we brought with us more or less used to flying in formation. But most of them did military drills in school in Neighvarro or Cloudsdale or something. Most of the groundpounders are really sorta clueless. Battle isn’t like fighting on the street.” “I know it well,” Rarity said. She was about to say something else when a messenger poked his head into the tent. “Lady Rarity, Lady Dash, the Legate wishes to see you. She says that it’s urgent.” Rainbow Dash and Rarity shared a look, and then Rarity nodded. “Go ahead, quickly, and tell her I am on my way.” The messenger dissappeared. Rarity counted. 3, 2, 1… “Lady Dash? You have got to be friggin’ kidding me.” Rarity, despite everything, chortled. “Come, Rainbow, let’s not delay. But it fits you well, you know.” “It sounds stupid as hell,” Dash grumbled as they left the supply tent. It was late afternoon. The skies were overcast, but the storm was rather far off. It wouldn’t hit her cobbled together crusade for another day, in all likelihood. But it would be over Canterlot presently, drowning it. All around her, the army was starting to set up camp. She would have preferred to go on another hour at least, but Opal was cautious--this was enemy territory. As much as she hated to admit it, the Legate of the Ninth was right. Recent days had shown that. Consultation with Luna and the reports of her own scouts had painted a better picture of the situation, and it had answered some rather old questions. Some of the cities that had lost contact with Canterlot made sense--Twilight’s account of Vanhoover and Tall Tale made the situation there clear. Manehattan was a ghost of itself after the brief but violent Griffon population; there hadn’t been much of an official heirarchy to stay in touch with the Princess. Los Pegasus and the South had been dealing with food shortages, and the bandits had made travel almost impossible. Magic communication was rare, these days, though Rarity thought that after all this that would change. But Fillydelphia and Baltimare had always been mysterious. So had Cloudsdale, Neighvarro, and the other smaller pegasus enclaves. Fillydelphia was in the hands of a pony they called the Good Stallion. Nopony had see him in person, or at least, not without a cowl over his face and from a bit of a distance. Yet he was indisputably in control. As he gained influence, the news from Fillyfelphia grew more seldom and the messengers more tightlipped until with a sweeping coup he had taken the city in a night, only three dead. Baltimare was under his control as well. The legion spies had reported a city that felt like a fever dream. Ponies delivered declamations of a bright new future where none need fear a thing to crowds who watched their backs for who might be there, making sure they attended. Ponies joined the Manichean guard only to vanish, their wages given to their families as promised. Few seemed truly happy, and yet they were safe and dry and decently fed. There was music in the taverns, but the smiles on the performers’ faces were nervous. Foals played in the streets and parks, but they did so with flat eyes, or skittishly, abandoning balls and jump ropes as soon as an adult approached. Strangers were anathema--a pony you didn’t know could easily be a watchpony for the Good Stallion. Every moment was a test. The army of Fillydelphia held the coast and the railroad leading to Canterlot. They patrolled the edges of the eastern forests, but had left the rougher terrain alone. It was this that Rarity’s army traversed, keeping one step ahead of any combat patrols and thus masking her force’s size and purpose. It had been a harrowing business, really. They had encountered and fought two Manichean patrols in the process of foraging, and managed to destroy both just barely. A single escaped pony would be a disaster. The only prisoners they had taken had committed suicide almost instantly with cyanide, and the two that hadn’t were like husks instead of ponies. They did not talk, or react much to stimuli at all unless they sensed a chance at freedom, and then they fought until rendered unconscious. Legionary spies had no answers on that. Rumors ran wild. Magic. Psychology. Possession. Rarity had her own ideas. They found the command tent and entered. Opal was there, risen from her cot as best she could, in heated discussion with a smallish mare in a scout’s barding. Rarity marveled how she managed to fill the room with the aura of her personality and command, even diminished and unable to stand or express herself quite as forcibly as she once had. But then she reminded herself that Opal was not, in fact, diminished so much as she was changed. This was still the Legate of the Ninth Legion. Rarity had no doubt she could still lead ponies into the jaws of hell with a lover’s enthusiasm. Opal shook her head. “We need the celeres in place. It is not optional, Flora.” “I understand, my Legeta, and you know that I would not refuse any order you gave. I will do this. I only wish you to be aware of the potential for ruin,” replied Flora, her wings not quite flaring. Her little voice seemed strained. Both stopped and turned to face the new comers. Flora bowed. Opal nodded. “Good, you’re here. We have something to discuss.” “I would be happy to discuss it,” Rarity replied. “Am I to guess that it has something to do with this conversation?” “In part.” Opal looked back to Flora. “I understand, Flora. I’m simply not sure that we have another viable choice.” “Some context?” Rainbow Dash said. “If I may, Legata,” Flora said. She cleared her throat, and then began. “We have a few problems. The first is that my fliers have discovered a significant encampment of the enemy that we must deal with, lest they be at our flanks. Secondly, we encountered Equestrian partisans engaged with Manichean forces along the intended route and were fired upon, which raises the issue of identifying ourselves to Equestrians. Finally... “ She sighed. “The Legata is looking forward to our attack on the besieging force at the capitol, and she has found numerous hurdles.” “Not the least of which is our relative lack of artillery,” Opal groused. “I have a few old field guns that were going obsolete when Sombra was alive. From outside the walls? Useless. They won’t be able to lob shells over the walls very well.” “Ah, over the… what?” Rainbow broke in. “Whoa, what are you talking about?” “The enemy has taken the lower city,” Flora replied softly. “I confirmed it myself. I’ve only been back to the Legion in the last hour. The lower wall has a massive breach and much of the lower city is destroyed. The Manicheans seem to have set up a camp near the breach with primitive fortifications.” “Now, we could turn those guns on the breach from the outside, but we’ll be shooting at a force that can move just out of range with ease. If I were them, I would move anything valuable out of that camp into the city and let an attacker waste time on those fortifications while I dig in right outside of the range of those guns. They’ll draw us closer…” “And then engulf us, no doubt,” Rarity said. “We know they aren’t all in one place. If there is one camp on the way, there may very well be others, and any one of those could be called up if we are delayed long enough.” “So what, then? I’m not hearing any plans here,” Rainbow said. “I have yet to make them known to you,” Opal answered with a smile. “You’ll quite like this plan, I believe. The truth of the matter is that we’ll have to risk a full assault of the lower city. We can’t starve them out. I have to assume they have access to abandoned food supplies, and the longer we wait, the more likely they are to break through the second wall and make the whole thing a moot point. No, we need to break them quickly.” “You want to coordinate, don’t you? But you need a way to do it,” Rarity guessed. “Yes. Good! But that’s basic enough, and it’s not the most important thing. I can trust them not to be blind. Once we attack, they’ll know to push out from their wall. But even with both of us on the attack, we’ll need more. We can’t afford to fail. Your new levy is fragile, my Lady.” “They aren’t soldiers in the way your legionaries are, Legate. I know that very well. I am also concerned with morale.” “And I don’t have the resources for a long, drawn out fight. This victory must be decisive and quick.” “Okay, okay. We get it. How?” Rainbow asked. Rarity repressed a smile. Opal smiled. “We don’t start the assault from outside. We start it from inside. I have four long chariots and one small one, all of them made for pegasi and enchanted. I can move three field guns and a small number of ponies into the city, set up my artillery on the wall, and rain down unholy terror on those whoresons until they have nothing left to hide behind, and then we will shove our bayonets down their throats. But I need fast, dependable fliers. Flora’s concern is warranted: even with the enchantments, moving those field guns is going to be difficult. On top of that, I’ll need pegasi to run interference. I lost a lot of my pegasi to the Mitou. And I need my fastest to run the blockade around the defenders and deliver my plan to the Princess.” “You’re right. I like it a lot.” Rarity turned. “Rainbow, you can’t be--” “If you know a pony who is better suited, Rares, than I won’t. I promise.” Rarity tried to object. Others could do it. The legion had fast fliers. You didn’t get into the Crystal Empire’s legion as a auxiliary flier without speed and stamina. There was almost certainly another pony who might could do it. “I’ll take your message, and I’ll distract them on the way, if you want. I’m the fastest pony with wings in Equestria.” Opal raised an eyebrow. “Truly.” Rarity coughed. “It’s, ah, well… The thing is, Legate, that while Rainbow does like to brag… she’s quite serious. She used to have the documents. I suppose their in Ponyville somewhere, now.” “I may not be as maneuverable as Spitfire or as long-lasting as Soarin’, but I’m faster than they are in their dreams,” Rainbow Dash said, her chest puffed out. She laughed. “Okay, I’m bein’ a jerk, but I’m serious. I can do a sonic rainbow right over those asshats and be crashing through Luna’s window in no time.” Opal barked a laugh. “I might say the same myself, ‘twere it not for the world.” She looked at her broken body and grimaced. “I like the spirit.” “Do try not to crash into any windows, dear,” Rarity said faintly. Her stomach churned and she felt suddenly cold. Rainbow would be all alone… just a single target, with nothing else to shoot at. It would take her time to build up speed… “Then it is yours, if Lady Rarity agrees,” Opal said, looking to her. Rarity knew it was probably some sort of test, but she didn’t care. “I agree.” LUNA The casket was huge. It was expenisve, carved with precision and the utmost care by a small team of magic artisans, protected from the elements and time itself by strong thaumic seals. It was sturdy, to endure earthquake and disaster. It was cold to the touch, and lifeless to the eye’s kenning. It was, essentially, everything a warm and living body was not. Luna was not ignorant of the crowd around her. She had not been ignorant of its beginnings, as the ponies on the street had fallen in line behind her carriage. Even in the freezing rain, they had followed, a great herd of umbrellas. How many? Hundreds, at least. A few thousand. Now, in the Solar Square, she saw a veritable ocean of ponykind. Just above the sight of Spike’s casket she might see high nobility standing beside the flat-faced craftspony. Silk-wrapped merchant’s wives tried not to get to close to refugees with wide, blank stares. Guards and levies, a few pious Celestialist and Supernalist clergy who had no quarrel now, only waiting to give the final blessing, thieves and victims, all of them shivering and waiting and watching. All of them watching her. The rain continued, though not as furiously as it had before. The city was soaked and miserable, and perhaps that was fitting. For herself, Luna was safe underneath a waterproof tarp, atop a small stage that Turner had set the Solar Guard to building that morning. She was flanked on either side by Solars with ornate spears and stony faces, and below, a mixed guard waited on Spike. A few Lunar guards were sprinkled on the edge of the crowd, none of them looking very alert. She had not wasted valuable fighting force. But she had assigned Solars from Morningvale. They deserved to see their savior to his last. She looked briefly over the assembled faces and saw a few she knew. Soarin’, with Spitfire holding an umbrella in her mouth over his head as he tried to compose himself. She saw Applejack’s family, quiet and waiting, Apple Bloom looking slightly below the casket and slightly above her own hooves. The High Lords. The new Lord Rowan-Oak, still with a shell-shocked look on his face. Twilight’s parents, standing close to one another. Solemn Ice Storm and a sad Amaranth, the mare he saved in Morningvale. Levies who seemed uncomfortable. Luna found her voice. With solemn slowness, she enchanted it so that she might carry her words to the edges of the crowd. “I wish to thank you all,” she began, “as both your Princess, and as simply another pony. Thank you for coming here, in this dying tempest, to say goodbye to my friend. “I have thought long and hard how best to talk about Spike of Ponyville. Where does the duty of a eulogist lie? To the one who has left, or the one who remains? Is she meant to enshrine the dead or edify the living? I do not know, really. But they are not mutually exclusive in the person of Spike, for in talking of one I talk of the other--Spike was caught up in the good of the many. “He was my friend and confidant, but more than this he was a Companion, the first of a long dead order. He was a drake in a land of ponies, raised by Twilight Sparkle. You know some of his life. But how much is hidden from you? Did you know that he worried over how widely he smiled, for he did not wish to worry you? Did you see him on the day after Twilight left on her great search? Had you heard him joke? How much do any of us think of another until they are burned off the mortal coil? “Spike died before our walls. As the lower city burned, as the barbarians advanced, Spike was there. He held the gate against their assaults for hours. He harassed their every step with fire and rifle and sword. Tirelessly, he kept raiders and marauders from our subjects. His body was a shield to the weak and the infirm. When the levies of the houses were absent, when the guard was beaten back or bogged down, Spike moved freely and the number that live now because of him is impossible to estimate.” Luna’s eyes caught many things: the tears of Twilight Velvet, the whispering Amaranth, the slowly moving levies of House Iron. The pony in a white cloak. “I received Spike into my service when Twilight, his caretaker in childhood, left for the West. Though Spike was no longer a child, he was still young by the measures of his kind, and so Twilight was still the one who held authority over him. Yet, in leaving, she both… entrusted him to me and freed him. He was on his own, but he was not alone. He fought by the side of friends. Some of those who fought with him are here, guards of my sister’s legion, who were at Morningvale--here is Spike, here is the dragon who flew out of the sun, the one who drove back the raider and the manticore. “My little ponies, my dear subjects: we are besieged. I need not tell you this. You know it well! The barbarous invader waits just outside of the wall, in the ruins of homes and businesses, skulking in our streets and defiling our sacred places. You may say to yourselves that we are surrounded, and you would be right. But do not think that this is a conquered city. For Spike died not on accident, not by chance, but by an act of will. When he found the gate about to be overrun and its gears sabatoged, Spike stood in the gap. A single individual, a solitary and determined individual! My sister told me once that great heart will not be denied.” A few pegasi landed on rooftops. She saw the guns they barely tried to hide beneath cloaks. The dragoons of the house levy are in place, and she knows it--the plan falls right in front of her fully formed, as if born out of the ground awake and speaking. Luna saw the levies radiating tension as they move through the crowd towards her own light honor guard, towards nobles, towards the richer sorts. Some fanned out, ready to prod or restrain the unwashed and desperate. Luna’s heart was in her throat. It was the orator’s knot, the one she feels when the words are out, or they are about to be out, dancing on her tongue, and she is not sure what they mean or if they will reach their intended. “Great heart will not be denied!” She said again. “And I did not believe her then, but I believe her now! I think my sister knew the truth. I think you also know the truth, ponies of Canterlot! One has stood for you and fallen, and what cause brings you to mourn for him? You mourn for yourselves, and so you should! For I tell you the truth, even now you are dead! You are dry bones! You are nothing that could be hoped in!” They disarmed and incapacitated two guards at the back of the crowd silently. The gunners began to scan the crowd. Several look at her. Amaranth, shrouded below, has noticed already and her eyes burn into Luna’s. What would you have me do? Luna would have her dance in their blood. “Do nothing,” she mouths. She pulls her mouth into a sneer, and with a sweeping gesture she hides the signal she sends to her devoted--but they all see the hoof raised towards the sky. Do not resist. More accurately, Wait and I will do what I must. “Where are my little ponies? Where are the Equestrians my sister loved? I tell you they are gone! They have all died, and in their places only ghosts! Insects. Do you know what seperates a pony from ash? From insect? From the dust from which he made his living?” The crowd seemed shocked. They looked to each other--they ignored the traitors all around them, as Luna had hoped they might. She did not need them panicking. She would have no one hurt here. “You have hidden and cursed the day and the darkness evenly. Yet Spike went from the wall and wrestled with the darkness. You have turned upon one another, but Spike wished only that the ponies of Canterlot would be as one. You have whimpered and prepared yourself to do violence against your neighbor, but Spike regretted when even the vile fell by his hand! Where is your heart? If great heart is not denied, then your utter lack is shut out! “Even now, the claws of despair are in you, digging through your minds and hearts. Even now, confusion and panic gnaw on your souls. They do this because you allow them! Twilight Sparkle once told me that ponies make their own meanings. I did not understand, but now I do--I saw then as if through a fogged mirror, but now I see it face to face! I have created myself. You must create yourselves. You must find this truth, this one and singular truth for which you also might live or die as Spike both lived and died: you must find yourselves.” One by one, silently, her guards gave up their liberty and arms to the usurpers. The trap was sprung. Luna stood outside the trap, because it was not for her. It had been made to catch and alicorn, but it would catch something else. The crowd grumbled now, it was restless. Some began to notice that something was dreadfully wrong. Others knew exactly what was happening, and knew that in all likelihood, they were already too enthralled in the trap to be extricated. Still others slowly tried to slip away. Most of them found that stone-faced House Blood and Iron levies waited for them at the edge of the crowd. “Do not conform to the pattern of the world around you! Do not bend to entropy, going quiet and awful into the long darkness of the final night!” Traitors made it to Amaranth, and she allowed them to rather forcefully subdue her. Ice Storm tried to fight. It caused quite a stir. She knew he had been warned, but no stallion lets men work harm to one he cares for passively and likes it. “Do not simply bear your toil and your sin and your sorrow! Do not simply go silent when the world most desperately needs your song! Ponies, Griffons, Zebra--all races and tribes and creeds, do not sleep now, at the most dire and important hour! Do not betray each other. No,” She shook her head. Levies moved from the crowd. She shook her head and said this to the crowd as much as to the guards of the casket. “No! Do not betray yourselves! The song gave you minds and hearts! The song that spun me out spun you also, and gave you yourselves! You are a gift that is given to itself! Do not throw it away. This is the last test, the last cold plunge! Friends,” and as she said this, Luna reached for her veil and tore it away. She tore the crown from her head and it hit the stage. The crowd--the traitors--the guards--everypony flinched and a general gasp went up. “Lower still! I will not let you do this to yourselves! For my sister’s sake, for Spike’s sake. For Spike died that you might live! He died not that you might wait to die! Traitors, come, approach me! I have seen you coming a long way off. Ponies,” and at last, her voice began to break. “The hour of your salvation is near at hoof. You have grumbled of me and I have not known how best to lead you, but do not go into the dark just yet. Put off these works of darkness. The night is spent.” “That’s quite enough!” Lord Iron emerged from the crowd. He grinned in a lazy sort of way. “Well said, well said! You truly have a gift, princess.” He was unarmed. She counted fifty in the square at least. He would have some in plain clothes. There. Maybe? The dragoons, the pegasi who now openly brandished their slim carbines. Repeaters, faster and lighter than her army’s battle rifle. They would pick off ponies with ease. “Sharp Iron,” Luna said. “You flatter me. You have a gift for everything vile. I salute you in light of that.” He chuckled. “You may say what you like. You’ve been outflanked, Your Highness. Outmaneuvered! Ah, surrounded, one might even say.” “And you have words for me, I believe,” Luna said. “Say them. Do be quick about it.” She saw the levies move onto the stage to truly surround her. And within her, Luna felt something like ice. They would do this here and now, as Spike lay mouldering in his grave. “Princess Luna, regent of Canterlot and Equestria--were it still standing!--by order of the newly constituted Noble’s Emergency Council, I am hereby removing you from your office and declaring the Principality dissolved. You will stand down. You are charged with corruption, graft, dabbling in unlawful arcane subjects, conspiracy to murder, conspiracy to commit arson, and treason. You have refused the thrice offered surrender conditions--each better than the last!--of the Fillydelphia Liberation Army which you yourself brought here by the threat of violence against them. Submit! You will do no more harm to this city!” What a farce. What a tired, tried play. Luna felt every single moment of her long years all at once. “No one believes you,” she said flatly. “Because you do not believe yourself. Which one are you? Or do you know them? The ponies behind the white cloaks and the hiding. The Manichean and his Good Stallion, the sharp point and the guileful haze. Ah, but I see it.” Luna sighed. “You. You are the second, the Good Stallion. Is it true? If it is not, then it is of no consequence. It won’t matter.” The smile froze. “Hm.” Luna turned to one of the approaching traitors. She advanced and the stallion froze in place. Her eyes bored into his. “Well? Strike me down. Come and do what it is that you came to do.” He stepped back. Her eyes kept him from outright fleeing as she continued, ignoring the confused Iron below. “Well? Do you think I fear your hoofblades, child? Tell me, how old do you think I am?” “I… I d-don’t--stay back! Hey!” She was right in front of him, staring down at him. “I am thousands of years old. I have slain thousands. I have led armies. I have crushed more armies than Equestria has ever fought. I bore my dear friend’s body to its rest and then I told all his family in the world that he was gone and that I could not stop it, and I bore her anger and her hurt. Tell me, child, look into my eyes, and see that you could not threaten me with cannons. So, after my friend has died, you came to me with weapons to take me by force. At his funeral.” “Your H-- Luna! No more titles. You bitch, you will answer these charges!” Iron yelped like a dog and Luna ignored him. “Tell me, do you think of me as simply a tall pony? I’m flattered. If only. I am a mass of loss and reflexes. I have lost ten thousand friends and lovers and mentors. My body is a soft machine of war and death.” The traitor sank down, his body shaking. Luna knew that her natural magic was beginning to show. She didn’t stop it at all. The trap was closing, after all. “I WENT TO THE PONY I LOVED MOST OF ALL THE LIVING, TO THE ONE I LOVED DEARLY--” “Rifles, attention! Luna, if you will not submit, I will fire on the cr--” “AND DELIVERED TO HER THE NEWS OF HER SON, HER BROTHER, HER FRIEND’S DEATH--” “Oh, stars, please spare me I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die--” She gripped his barding and held him up. He started to sob. “AND YOU POINT YOUR GUNS ON MY PONIES AND AT MYSELF, AFTER THAT? AFTER EVERYTHING? AFTER MILLENIA, YOU THINK YOU CAN FRIGHTEN ME INTO SURRENDER? YOU MAY KILL ME, FOR I NO LONGER THINK I CARE, BUT DO NOT THINK THAT MEANS YOU COULD SCARE ME.” And with that, she took the traitor levy in her magic, deposited him on the stage, and with a fluid motion she grabbed the roaring Lord Blood and brought him to her. His eyes were wide. Only now did he remember the fatal problem of killing an alicorn. Oh, its very possible. But you’ll have to be either fast or good, and Lord Blood was neither. “I do not fear you in the slightest. I fear liars the least of all,” Luna said, and she dropped him. She looked to the crowd and the confused and frightened levies. “Lay down your arms! I will harm nopony who does not force my hand. You will be spared.” Perhaps they assumed that she had guards waiting in hiding. Perhaps they had realized their error. Perhaps they were simply terrified of the Luna before them, her natural glory radiating from her almost blindingly. What did Luna look like in those moments? Nopony later would describe it. They only grew silent when the question was pressed. And they would weep when again she showed her true glory. But where Iron was, Blood followed. Luna knew he would be there--lo, he arrived on time, from behind her. Another followed at a distance, looking panicked, trying to keep him back. Blueblood, Luna remembered faintly. She met him and they stared each other down. “This is over,” Luna said. “So it is. Not what I expected.” He grimaced. “How indecent. All of this is just unacceptable. Great heart will not be denied--you and I understand the truth of that, I think.” “What?” Luna’s aura dimmed with surprise. “What are you talking about?” “You were right, by the way. He’s the Good Stallion. I was the Manichean. Foolish names. You’ve touched it already--I feel it on you. The coiling one, the shadow that is darker than night, the great promise! You’ve touched it, I smell it on you. Death itself.” Coldblood, old as he was, seemed to blaze with new energy. “Father, please! This has gone on too far.” Blueblood pleaded from behind his father, trying to pull him away. “Your Highness, please! Spare my father! I should have prevented this farce! I--” “Off of me, you miserable boy!” Coldblood roared. He called up his magic and pushed with such strength that Blueblood fell off the back of the stage with a loud cry. Coldblood turned back towards Luna. “You too know what it is like to just continue! Damn you! Damn you, you should be helping it! You should be its weapon! Don’t you know what it is like to hate? Don’t you want it to end? It speaks to me in dreams--” “You’re mad,” Luna said softly. “No, I am aware and awake!” Coldblood said, his body shaking. “I want out! I want this awful play to end! Your pet is dead and you think you’re sad? You think you’re hurt? You’ll live forever! You can start again!” Luna wanted to kill him. And, as if the universe had heard her, the old stallion lost his words. “Then I will do it myself! Destroy me, then, if you will not destroy anything else! I will not bow like that fat bastard!” With his magic, Coldblood seized the lance of the casket honor guard. Luna was reminded at last of a thing she had almost forgotten. Even rage is lawful. Fury has its place. She realized now that this was its place as the pieces finally fell into their allotted positions on the game board. The rebels. The raiders. The nobles. Separate problems with seperate answers. Except they were all the same problem. The spear levitated, and Luna took it from him without a single ounce of effort. “Do it!” he said. “Go to hell,” Luna replied, soft as a feather. The spear went all the way through. He was like a bug sprawling on a pin. But outside, the army still waited and watched. CELESTIA Twilight, I feel more and more that I write with something approaching desperation. We must diminish. Luna, Cadance, Iridia… myself… Oh, Song’s breath, there are so few of us left. We must diminish. Lower still. They do not need figureheads. They need friends. Don’t you understand? I’ll show everyone. Our ponies need us to be their friends. It’s so childish. It is so very simple. Lower still. Lower still. Twilight, I have said many times that Great Heart Will Not Be Denied. I am trying to hold onto those words now, for I write you within the confines of Jannah. I will not--I cannot express to you what that means. Oh, Song, oh the love that holds all things together I pray so fervently and unceasingly for you, that you never come to this place, that nothing I fear comes to pass. I must go up. Further up and Further in. I must go see Kyrie, and then perhaps, onwards. But not, this time, up. Downwards. Down into the well at the end of the world, if Kyrie’s offers no way to get in. I think that I will try to hide the truth from her. No, I can’t. She will know. But she will destroy whatever she learns… I do not know. My mind is not reliable here. Twilight Sparkle, please, live well. Luna, I love you and I am sorry. I am so sorry. Please, take care. Take care, take care, take care. Twilight, I couldn’t. I have to go on. It hurt so badly, Twilight. I want to go home, but it is far too late now. Nopony will ever forgive me for what I do. It is all my fault. Or it was alway going to happen. Answers. I don’t have any answers. I only have I only have questions Twilight Its hard to see and it is dark Tomorrow the wetlands than the edge and then the garden and the seas of mountains So tired. Weary but not yet time to sleep