Armor's Game

by OTCPony

Lyra's library

The door to Golden Oaks Royal Palace opened a crack. “Do you have any weapons of any kind on you?” growled an unfamiliar stallion’s voice.

“Uh, no?” said Scootaloo tentatively.

Summer Set threw the door open, looking annoyed. “Shame, I needed something to do. This town of yours is so dull.” He stuck out a warning hoof as the Cutie Mark Crusaders tried to walk through the door. “I will need a moment to disarm the fougasse.”

“The... the wha’?” demanded Apple Bloom. “The outgas, did ya say?”

“One can never be too careful!” snarled the Pegasus, working away at something behind one of the bookshelves closest to the door. “We must be prepared for any eventuality! For all I knew, you were a horde of heavily-armed Buffalo assassins sent after the Princess!”

“Summer, what in the wide wide world of Equestria are you doing now?” demanded Twilight, trotting down from her sleeping loft.

“Three fillies to see you, Your Highness!” snapped Summer Set. “Rest assured, I have made sure that they are not dangerous!”

“I doubt that very much,” muttered Twilight, as her bodyguard trotted off to the kitchen to perform his usual bomb check of the oven. She smiled at the Cutie Mark Crusaders. “How can I help you, my little ponies?”

“We’re looking for a book!” squeaked Sweetie Belle.

“An awesome book!” exclaimed Scootaloo.

“An’ it’s called The Origin!” drawled Apple Bloom.

“CUTIE MARK CRUSADER ORIGIN READERS YAY!” they thundered, shaking several books off their shelves and sending Owlowiscious tumbling from his perch.

Summer Set burst out of the kitchen, a bread knife in his hoof. “Were the fillies threatening you, Your Highness?! I will expunge them immediately!”

“Shut up, Summer!” snapped Twilight. It had been a stressful week for her. Celestia had barely won the Commons vote over appointing a new Heir to the Throne. She let the ringing in her ears subside before turning back to the Crusaders. “The Origin, you said? I’m sorry girls, but I gave my only copy to Rainbow Dash.”

The Cutie Mark Crusaders stared up miserably at Twilight. “But we really want to read this Origin-thingy!” said Sweetie Belle.

“Yeah, and if Rainbow Dash is reading it, then it must be awesome!” said Scootaloo, momentarily lifting off the ground as her wings fluttered in excitement.

Applejack had at last released Apple Bloom from being grounded, so now the Crusaders could begin their latest Crusade for their cutie marks. They weren’t entirely sure how, but Scootaloo was certain that reading The Origin would help them. In any case, she’d said Cheerilee had been happy that she was doing something that was at least slightly academic.

Starting had been harder than they’d thought, though. Neither Applejack, nor Big Mac, nor even Granny Smith had known what The Origin was when Apple Bloom had asked. Rarity hadn’t known anything either, beyond that it was something Rainbow was reading. And when Scootaloo had asked Cheerilee, she’d muttered “ask Twilight” before quickly changing the subject.

“Well, if you really want to read it,” said Twilight, grimly. It was her duty as Princess to make sure the fillies of the realm were well-read, of course. “I think Lyra Heartstrings has a copy. Probably several copies.”

“To Lyra’s, then!” squeaked Sweetie Belle. She and Apple Bloom raced out of the library and leapt into the cart at the back of Scootaloo’s scooter, while the Pegasus filly donned her helmet and took off. “Thanks Twilight!”

“There’s no need to...!” began Twilight, but it was too late. Scootaloo had taken off down the street, leaving a cloud of dust and devastation in her wake. Twilight sighed and turned around, watching Owlowiscious flutter around after the books that had tumbled down in the cacophony.

Leaving a trail of disoriented ponies choking on dust behind them, the Crusaders slid to a halt outside one of Ponyville’s cottages. It looked just like any other of the town’s half-timbered, sod-roofed dwellings.

Apple Bloom suddenly remembered something. “Uh, maybe this ain’t such a...”

Too late: Sweetie Belle leapt out of the cart and hammered on the oak door. It swung open to reveal a beige Earth Pony with a curling, blue-and-pink mane. Her face fell at the sight of them.

“Hi, Ms. Bon!” squeaked Sweetie Belle, oblivious.

“Oh, the Crusaders, is it?” said Bon Bon glumly. “If you want any cutie mark help, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Awww...” said the Crusaders together.

“But...” began Scootaloo.

“No thank you! Every time you begin one of your little schemes, half the town ends up in ruins! If I recall correctly, one of your number is responsible for my catching food poisoning from baked bads, and tried to frame me as an apple thief!”

Apple Bloom tried to hide behind Scootaloo.

“Bon, who are you shouting at?” came a mare’s voice. A mint-green Unicorn with a brilliant cyan mane appeared next to her. Her face fell as well. “Oh, it’s...”

Sweetie Belle seized her chance. “Hi, Ms. Heartstrings! We heard you’ve got a copy of The Origin!”

Lyra Heartstrings' eyes lit up. “The Origin?”

“Lyra...” said Bon Bon, warningly.

“But Bon! These fillies are clearly interested in our culture! Our history! How many foals can you say that of these days?!”

“If you were talking about proper culture and history I’d agree with you,” muttered Bon Bon.

Lyra snorted. “They want to read a book. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Bon Bon sighed, defeated. “Fine. But I don’t want them anywhere near the kitchen! I’ve got candy to make.” And with that, she swept off.

Lyra sighed. “Please forgive Bon, my little ponies. Now, The Origin, you said? Please follow me.”

The Crusaders followed Lyra into the house. She took them down the hall and through a door on the left. The three fillies stopped dead in their tracks. They were in a library that was so big that it rivalled Golden Oaks: it easily dominated half the ground floor of the house. It extended up to the house’s oak-beamed roof, and a spiral staircase led up to a brass-railed balcony that ringed the walls halfway up. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books whose titles the Crusaders had never even heard of. Some of them were in languages they could not read. A few of the shelves held not books but scrolls, some fairly new-looking, others looking so dog-eared that Apple Bloom thought it was dangerous to have them exposed to the air. More sheets of parchment littered the half-a-dozen tables that covered the floor, along with stacks of newspapers, magazines, and on one, a lump of white stone that, as the fillies looked closer, they saw were the remains of a carving.

“Like it?” asked Lyra, brightly. “We knocked out one of the downstairs walls and got rid of one of the bedrooms upstairs to make it. Well, I say that. What I mean is, I knocked out the walls and Bon Bon watched in horror.”

“Why...?” asked Scootaloo.

“I needed a place for my things,” said Lyra, as if it was obvious. “Besides, we only need one bedroom and we can eat in the kitchen, so we don’t need a dining room or lounge.”

“WHOA!” blurted Apple Bloom. She’d been casting her eyes around the library, still trying to take it all in, and she’d spotted a colossal statue standing against the wall. Easily as tall as three stallions standing on top of each other, it was made of battered, stained marble, and very superficially looked like a pony rearing.

“Is that...?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“That is a human,” said Lyra proudly. “I got him when I was on a gap year in Mareope. I call him Marshall.”

Apple Bloom stared closer at the statue of the human. It was heavily muscled, or she guessed so because the pattern on its trunk put her in mind of Bulk Biceps, that excessively-stallionly Pegasus on the weather team. At some point in the past it had lost its right arm, but its left was still there, clutching the rusted remains of a staff. The broken remains of a flowing robe were draped over its arm.

“Eww,” said Sweetie Belle, frowning at a point between the statue’s legs. “Is that...”

“So, The Origin!” said Lyra quickly. She reared on her back legs, and tottered, delicately over to one of the bookshelves.

The Crusaders exchanged glances as their host staggered precariously between the tables. “Uh, Ms. Heartstrings,” said Apple Bloom. “Can ah ask, what the hay are ya doin’?”

“This is how we anthropologists believe humans walked,” said Lyra, trying to keep herself balanced by flailing her forelegs. She suddenly tumbled over, hitting the carpet with a crash. The books in the shelf above her thundered down.

Lyra poked her head out from the pile of books. “I’ll admit, learning it is a bit of a struggle.”

She hunted through the pile for a moment before picking out one of the tomes. “Ah, the Reference translation. This’ll work for you, I think.”

She took the book in her magic and trotted over to one of the tables. “Please, girls, take a seat.”

The Crusaders sat down on pouffes around the table, tucking their forelegs in front of them. Lyra, however, eased herself on to a chair, throwing her back legs forwards, sitting in that same bizarre position they’d all come to associate with her.

“Ms. Heartstrings...” began Sweetie Belle.

“Lyra, please Sweetie.”

“Lyra, doesn’t that hurt?”

“Actually, it’s done remarkable things for the muscle tone in my back,” said Lyra happily. “Now,” she pushed the book across the table for them. “This translation should be nice and easy for you. Law Reference is far less verbose than Hallowed Halls or White Swan, I find.”

The Crusaders leaned closer and examined the cover. Printed below a picture that took up two-thirds of the cover were the words:

The Origin

The new Albatross edition, translated by Law Reference

“Nice and affordable, Albatross Publishing,” said Lyra.

Scootaloo examined the picture on the cover. “Hey! That’s the same as your carving thing, Lyra!”

“Well spotted, Scootaloo.” She waved her hoof at the carving. It seemed to show a bearded pony leading a host. “This is from a frieze from Trotaly. We think it shows Barbarossa, He Who Marches East, leading the ponies to what is now Manehattan, out of the chaos that wracked the world when the humans’ rule ended.”

“Manehattan...” said Sweetie Belle, struggling to remember a history lesson. “Ooh! That’s where Equestrian civilisation began! I remember it from Twilight’s history book!”

“You’re given that in school?” asked Lyra, surprised. “In my opinion she did pre-Equestrian history a terrible disservice.”

“But ah thought we didn’t know nothin’ about ancient history?” said Apple Bloom.

“Not until recently,” agreed Lyra. “But some archaeological discoveries in Mareope have challenged that belief. It’s nothing concrete, but some things, like the shape of bones that have been recovered, or the layers of ash that have been excavated beneath our major cities, have convinced many anthropologists that the basic story of The Origin is true: that humans once ruled Equus and lost it to the ponies in a catastrophic war.”

“Whoa,” whispered Scootaloo, staring at the book in amazement. “Just whoa.”

“Thank you,” said Lyra, but she didn’t sound happy. “But the past two years have been a worrying time for anthropologists, particularly given what’s been going on this week. I actually wondered if that was why you’d decided to read the book.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Turn to page three hundred and ninety four.”

Scootaloo riffled through the pages, turning to the end of the book. “‘The Shape of Things to Come’,” she said, reading the chapter heading. “You remembered the page number?”

“Comes in useful in academic debates. Read, please.”

Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom crowded in close. Scootaloo began to read.

“On the four-and-fiftieth year after the ponies descent into the Valley of the Protective Mother, Barbarossa of the fiery beard, He Who Marches East, last of the companions of Spartacus, died in his bed. And there was misery throughout the Valley, for who, it was asked, would guide them now? Who would now protect them from the horror beyond? From the snarling Dogs and the gryphons of the iron claws? For Barbarossa had taken a wife late, and his son was but a colt of nine years.

“Yet as he lay in state upon his pyre, Barbarossa’s wife, Adelheid, stood before the weeping mourners and cried; ‘Ponies! Weep not! Grieve not! Fear not! For Barbarossa died knowing his task was complete, that ponykind was safe in this valley. Did he not say that he would take no wife and father no foals until this task was done? Through his justice, duty, mercy, and valour, peace has been done!’

“And at this, the ponies cheered, and though with tears on their cheeks, they sung the final benediction of Barbarossa with joy in their hearts. And Adelheid herself set the torch to the funeral pyre, and thus passed the Hoofed Storm, the Unbowed Warrior, He Who Marches East. And the ponies left, sorrowful that they had lost their leader, but joyful knowing that they were safe.

“But then the Oracle of the white eyes did whisper in her last prophecy; ‘United and joyful now, we may be. But in time, the ponies will be rent asunder, for the Unicorns shall go to the mountains and the Pegasi to the sky, while the Earth Ponies remain on the green ground. And there shall be strife between those ponies. And they shall only be reconciled after a time of great sorrow.’

“And she spoke again, and said; ‘Thrice more the Chaos shall come, though each time weaker than the last, once to be banished by The Two Who Are Now Gone, once to be banished by The Six Who Will Be, and once to be redeemed by One of The Six.’

“And she spoke again, and said; ‘There shall come a time of fear and plague and famine and sorrow. And then shall come a time of strife and hate. And in that time, the sun shall at last rise without the magic of the Unicorns, and all that the ponies built will end and burn and fall, in blood and pitch and screaming fire. And in that time, the humans shall come again.’

“On this, a pale fear seized all those who heard, and Adelheid and her ministers were deeply troubled. They asked her; ‘When, Oracle? What must we do to stop this?’

“But the Oracle did not answer, and for three days was utterly silent before she died. And until they died, Adelheid, her heir and her ministers sought to preserve the peace Barbarossa had bought them and the freedom Spartacus had given them. And for many years there was peace in the Valley of the Protective Mother.

“Yet the words of the Oracle dwelt forever, darkly, in the hearts of Unicorn, Pegasi and Earth Ponies, and they are a seed that does not die and cannot be destroyed, and they will bear dark fruit even unto the latest days.

“Here endeth the Origin. It was of old the fate of this earth to pass from high and beautiful to dark and ruined and everfree. Try as ponies will to mend it, no prophecy tells of it being healed, and nor is it declared in the Sibylline Books.”

“As you can see,” said Lyra. “Those three prophecies are clearly applicable to both Equestrian history and to today. The first refers to the sundering of the tribes and their reunification at Hearth’s Warming. The second clearly refers to Discord, his reign of terror a thousand years ago, and his return last year. As to his redemption, well we can only speculate.”

The three fillies exchanged glances. What had happened earlier that year, in the weeks before Twilight’s coronation and when Princess Celestia had been seen visiting Ponyville, none could say for certain. As much as they’d pressed Applejack, Rarity and Rainbow Dash, the mares had said nothing of it.

“But wha’ about the last one, Lyra?” asked Apple Bloom.

“Ah yes.” Lyra leaned back in her chair. “That is perhaps the most controversial of all the prophecies, and dozens of ponies across Equestria’s history have claimed it about to be fulfilled. There are those of us who believe that now is the time it will be fulfilled.”

“How?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Well, the conditions are easily applicable to today,” said Lyra. “‘A time of fear and plague and famine and sorrow.’ We’ve had the fear of Nightmare Moon and Discord’s return, and the plague of Parasprites and the food shortages that followed, as well as the Changeling invasion. And if you’ve been reading the papers, now is undeniably ‘a time of strife and hate.’”

“Uh, right...” said Sweetie Belle sceptically.

“Wha’ does this here bit about the sun, mean?” asked Apple Bloom.

“The Origin tells us that at one point in the past, the sun didn’t need to be raised by the Unicorn magic now used by Princess Celestia,” said Lyra. “Aeons ago, the sun and moon moved every day and night of their own accord, just as the clouds over the Everfree Forest do today.”

The Crusaders looked positively horrified at this prospect. “Ya... ya mean, it jus’... moved?” stammered Apple Bloom.

“Without magic?!” squeaked Sweetie Belle.

“That’s just not right...” muttered Scootaloo.

“An’ if it ain’t bad enough, when it does happen again, everything we built’s gonna burn!” cried Apple Bloom. “Ya sure this is gonna happen, Lyra?!”

“Uh...” began Lyra, and she realised why Bon Bon had been so reluctant to let them in. It would be just like the Crusaders to take this opportunity to start preparing for the apocalypse and probably destroy half of Ponyville in the process.

“Well, you do have to remember that these prophecies are probably metaphorical,” she said slowly. “There’s a school of thought that suggests these are just a social commentary of what was happening when The Origin was written.”

“But you still think the humans are going to return?!” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Well, it doesn’t necessarily have to happen in blood and pitch and screaming fire!” squeaked Lyra. “I mean, I’m sure they’re quite reasonable beings!”

The door to the library suddenly swung open. The four of them looked around to see Bon Bon standing there, supporting a shaken-looking grey Pegasus.

“Derpy?” said Lyra, surprised, as Bon Bon gently lowered her into a chair. “What’s going on?”

“I... I’m sorry, Lyra,” said Derpy Hooves shakily. There was none of the usual happiness in those mismatched eyes, nor did she wear her endlessly cheerful smile. There was just worry and confusion on that face. “I... I just don’t know what happened.”

“Ms. Hooves?” asked Apple Bloom, padding over. “Wha’ do ya mean?”

“Oh, hi Apple Bloom,” the mailmare said, absent-mindedly. “Dinky’s mentioned you three a lot. Admires your commitment, I think.”

“Derpy, what’s wrong?” demanded Lyra, concern filling her voice. “Bon, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” said Bon Bon. “I heard her knock at the door, I answered it and she just fell over on to me! This was the closest place I could lay her down.”

Derpy sniffed. “I’m sorry, Bon,” she said thickly. “I just saw the papers and I guess it shocked me a bit.”

Lyra sighed. “But Derpy, you’ve already done your rounds for today, remember? You delivered our papers two hours ago and there was nothing shocking in it.”

“Unless she was looking at my page three...” muttered Bon Bon.

She shook her head and opened her saddlebag with a wing. “I’d just finished today’s run when I got back to the post office. Dinky was a bit worked up because a load of new newspapers had arrived while I was out. They were extras so I knew something big had happened. I... I guess seeing the headline was a bit of a shock, that’s all. I tried to start delivering them but... I don’t know what came over me.”

She took a newspaper in her teeth and pulled it from her saddlebag, looking ashamed. Frowning, Lyra took it in her magic as Bon Bon and the Crusaders gathered round to read the headline. It was an extra edition of The Manehattan Telegraph.

CHANGELINGS STRIKE LYNX TERRITORIES
ATTACK BEGAN AT DAWN: HUNDREDS THOUGHT DEAD IN A FEW HOURS
TEN VILLAGES KNOWN TO BE BURNING
RECALL OF PARLIAMENT LIKELY

Lyra stared at the page, unseeing. There was only one thing she could think about: Strife and hate. Blood and pitch. Screaming fire.

Comments

[Kauetheadventurer246]

It has begun....