3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 6. The Alicorns' Lament
3. In the Shadow of Giants: Part 6. The Alicorns' Lament
As I write this, the race of the Alicorns lives at present within the borders of Equestria. It is prudent to remember we hailed from someplace else. I am likely the sole remaining individual of even my kind to be able to remember when we first washed upon the shores of the kingdom of our noble kin. As far to my knowledge, all those original pioneers among us have since passed away, leaving their children to carry on the heritage of our people, a race once bathed in a glory that I fear shall never touch even a far more deserving civilization.
The splendor of all ponykind, the greatest power and prestige the equines of the world would ever attain, is but a memory. Lost amongst the tempestuous sea unnumbered leagues beyond the shore, our ancient home stands as a model of hubris, and a reminder of the folly of unchecked passions. Future generations, both of my kind and not, will likely see our Fall as a crime against ambition and vision, an unjust punishment by a jealous and vengeful God. But in truth the patience of the Greatest Glory above ran for ages undiminished, finally pushed to the breaking point by an impish and arrogant kingdom, as children goad their parents until they brandish the switch.
As I have grown older, I have seen great Equestria grow and prosper. Whether or not this new realm can match or even surpass the strength of the old Alicorn dominion is a question I cannot answer, but I hope you who reads this will hopefully not repeat the mistakes my race once made habit. I have grown to love my new kingdom and its people very dearly, and to see two homes punished would be too much for my heart to bear.
Thus, if it pleases you, oh Reader, I shall now recount the history of my people, the Alicorns, and their time of golden strength and virtue, the silver age that corrupted their hearts, and their eventual descent into chaos and madness. Please, if you delight in the goodness of the Earth, heed well my admonitions, and rightly guide your own people away from the dark path mine treaded upon until they were destroyed.
By the best of my conscience, I promise that to my knowledge and heart all that I shall now write about is the honest truth. If anything I write turns out to be falsehood, then I offer my sincerest apologies. Now with courage, honesty, and a bit of sadness, I shall begin.
According to what I recall from my days of schooling and whatever histories we managed to bring with us, the race of the Alicorns finds its origins millennia ago, when all the world was engulfed in a war waged by a tyrant devoid of virtue and any sense of goodness. Dyan, a fiend from the primordial age, long poisoned the minds of all beings that dwelt on the Earth, driving them to cruelty, greed, deceit, sorrow, betrayal, and worst of all faithlessness and despair.
A century of warfare engulfed the world, ruining whole continents and shattering societies of all kinds. From atop a citadel the accursed Dyan pulled the strings and took sick pleasure in the chaos he spread far and wide. Bonds of fellowship and even those as sacred and unyielding as between a parent and child were rent. A smoldering blackness looked poised to swallow the whole world, and send it into an endless age of discord.
But through it all, a group of ponies remained true and steadfast. Unicorns, Pegasi, and Earth Ponies fought valiantly to resist the encroaching shadow. Their lifespans lengthened by pure willpower and their strength divinely inspired, the ponies matched Dyan blow for blow, frustrating his designs for swift victory. Yet even for all their bravery and vigor, the ponies could only fight Dyan to a standstill.
Raging for a hundred years, the war was finally decided when six magical talismans were picked from a tree planted by the very servants of Lórian itself. Henceforth called the Elements of Harmony, these fruits were each given to the six leaders of the righteous ponies. Reenergized, the ponies pushed ever faster through the armies of Dyan before reaching his very doorstep. Leading one final assault against his fortress, the six bearers of the Elements confronted the Fallen One in personal combat.
For three days the six ponies countered Dyan’s every move, until they finally disarmed him and open his defenses. Summoning the six virtues of the Elements, they stunned Dyan and left him vulnerable to a fatal thrust from the sword of the six’s leader. Weakened and without chance of victory, Dyan was then attacked by the pure power of the Elements, the rawest expression of God’s might as could ever be allowed on Earth.
His body no more, Dyan’s soul was then raptured deep into the bowels of the world, where it was meant to remain for all eternity. Robbed of his greatest power, and permanently detached from his angelic heritage, Dyan would no longer be able to impress his will in the capacity he could during the war. Unfortunately, such a deed required an immense amount of magic, and the Elements consequently were left with but a fraction of their original power.
Still endowed with insurmountable strength, the talismans were kept by their bearers, who then began to bring their kin back home to rebuild their lives. But messengers from above appeared before the First Six, offering them and their people a new place that they could call home. The messengers then rose up a new island, far in the middle of the sea, and Lórian blessed the land with such boundless gifts that the isle’s new inhabitants would never again know want.
Those of the ponies that chose to emigrate were then granted a new body, one with all the strengths of the three races. Both horned and winged, with a mighty endurance and strength and a lifespan thrice that of the others, this new breed of pony came to be called the Alícëai, and the island they were to inhabit Alícor. From the first landings, the six bearers each brought their tribes to settle a different part of the island. In time, wishing to be strong and united, the six tribes convened before the central peak, Cyrdanemensil, and held a congress to name a leader over them.
They chose the pony who had been their leader during the War. History does not record what his name was before or what race he had been, but they called the Alicorn Dyavilir, for he had been the one to deal Dyan the final strike. Elected by all his kin to be their ruler, he then and forever became known as Dyavilir of His Own House, First King of the Alicorns, Sovereign of Alícor, Warden of the Sun and Moon, and Lord of the Tribe and Bearer of the Element of Magic.
And from then on he set his element within his crown, as did the other Lords of the tribes. The Elements would for ages remain simple heirlooms and visual expressions of power. At first, the Elements would only allow themselves to be utilized by members of their respective tribe. Yet as time went on, the Royal Line of Dyavilir intermarried with the blood of each tribe, until eventually Kings found themselves with the ability to summon their great power. It should have remained otherwise.
Dyavilir was a model King, and reigned with the same vigor, courage, and virtue he possessed during the fight with Dyan. He built his capital halfway between Mt. Cyrdanemensil and the coast, naming it Ylánalícë. A calm ruler, he permitted the tribes to decide most matters by themselves, content with leading his own tribe for the most part. Dyavilir lived to be three-hundred years old after ruling for one-hundred and fifty; when he died the Lords elected his son Nicóldabëthe new King. Nicóldabë’s brother, Aralimán, was then appointed the Royal Vicar and a Prince of Alícor.
Aravlimán’s line would eventually lead to my own millennia later. Unfortunately, whatever honors my family held were eventually retracted, leaving us with but a claim to the bloodline of the First King.
King Nicóldabë was already fairly aged by the time he assumed the throne, and as a result did rather little. He codified our laws and formally organized the tribal lands into six regions for ease of governance. He also laid the foundations for another royal city south of Ylánalícë, Lainashynóna, which would serve as his winter capital. Nicóltabo reigned for fifty years before dying aged two-hundred and sixty-three. His daughter Tadémanwa was then elected Queen by the Lords.
For the first three millennia of our history, we were a just and righteous people. Rightly-guided judges and sheriffs kept our cities and towns peaceful and safe. Our land was so fertile and our crops grew so quickly that the only Alicorns who’d starve were the ones who could not be bothered to sow or harvest. Forests could be felled for their timbers, only for the trees to grow back to full height in a season. Miners had only to scratch the surface of hills or mountains to find veins of gold and iron reaching deep into the Earth.
Our cities grew, and our talent with arts and crafts with them. We forged weapons and tools with magic steel, so fine in their make they could never dull nor rust. Ever bigger did we build our furnaces and mills, churning out new product at rates never before dreamed of. As the rest of the world writhed and slowly slipped from the ravages of the War and the barbarism that followed, the Alicorns experienced nothing but prosperity.
Soon, however, what Alícor made became too much, and we built massive ships with dozens of sails to explore new lands and peoples to find markets to absorb our excesses. Ersabeshnion the Navigator, a renowned mariner, led the first expedition east. There he found young tribes and cities emerging back into the bright light of civilized ways. During his dozens of voyages, Ersabeshnion inspired awe and wonder within these indigenous peoples, his great fleet of ships like wooden mountains crafted by none other than gods.
In fact, many of these cultures began to create shrines to the Alicorns and incorporate tales of the tall sea-gods into their local traditions. We smiled and extended a hoof of friendship, in hopes that they’d learn better in the future.
The throngs of races both wondrous and strange gave us exotic items that could not be found in Alícor. In exchange we traded our weapons and tools, our jewelry and fine silks, and anything else Alicorns made that others could not. Ersabeshnion died a hero, wealthy beyond his wildest dreams and having lived to gaze out over the great harbor of Lainashynóna as innumerable vessels pulled in and out.
From these voyages and trades, we discovered what power and wealth the Alicorns could draw from the sea and the lands far past the horizon. But in this brand new age of discovery and promise, the seeds of corruption had already been sown.
Seeing our ships, larger than any that other cultures were able to build, and the quality of Alicorns arms, one tribe of ponies came to us bearing enough precious gifts to fill a palace, begging us for protection from another tribe of raiders. Accepting the tribute, we agreed to lord over these ponies, effectively creating the first of the Alicorn colonies.
It began earnestly enough; some explorers wishing to remain in the new world and build settlements. Trade posts appeared along well-traveled sea lanes, eventually growing to become great cities in their own right. More and more native peoples came asking to join us in hopes of learning the great secrets to our wealth and glory.
And here a new philosophy started to emerge. The Alicorn nobles develop this idea of Dominion over the entire World, believing it to be our God-given right and destiny. It became our duty to disseminate throughout the Earth, spreading our ideals and way of life. The other races of the world, even our own equine kin, were but children that needed to be taught how to live. And indeed though a great many Alicorns increasingly became born in the colonies, it was illegal to intermarry with the locals. The Blood of Alícor was considered the purest and most sacred, and no greater taboo could be committed than to dilute it with the lesser kind.
My how times have changed.
But our goal was honest enough, and we pursued our intent to share with the world the skills of magic and industry we’d been cultivating for millennia. Perhaps the natives were indeed children in our eyes, but we never allowed them to be our equals. Nevertheless, our efforts eventually came to a head over a thousand years before I was born when our sailors decided to travel west.
There they found our old home; the country whence our ancient ancestors hailed. But my heart pronounces sorrow when I confess harmony was all but unknown where once was its cradle. Calendion, son of King Rindildalérë, landed on the distant shore of Equestria, finding not a single realm, but three distinct and loosely organized tribes on the very verge of warring. So great was their discord that icy wendigo spirits had descended from the north.
The clear-sighted among them abated the spirits and rescued a nascent people from total oblivion. Driven by pity and a desire to see his estranged kin prosper, Calendion presented himself before the three leaders of the Unicorns, Pegasi, and Earth Ponies, and offered gifts from Blessed Alícor. He showed them the six virtues of harmony and the value of friendship. Joyful in their newfound bonds of kinship, the ponies agreed to unite into a kingdom of their own, ruled by the Unicorn King. Each race found a new role in this land; the unicorns to govern, the pegasi to defend, and the earth ponies to work.
Calendion called this new Kingdom Tulicor, but the ponies preferred the name Equestria. Content that this young state was ready to stand on its own, Calendion and his crew returned home with Equestrian tribute as cargo.
When Calendion was elected by the Lords as the new King, he forbade any alicorn from traveling to Equestria without their own permission. He had grown fond of the land during his stay there, and rumors even surfaced that he’d had a native lover. This and his habit of sending frequent gifts and aid to the young kingdom did not endear him to the Alicorn elite. They instead wished for him to send an expedition and subjugate Equestria. Alícor for them was a ruler, not a peer.
Threatened with rebellion, King Calendion reluctantly demanded light tribute from the Equestrian sovereign. Seeing us as nothing short of gods, the Tulicëai happily agreed. They carved statues in our likenesses and envisioned their deities to have our form. Appalled by such blasphemies, Calendion tried hard to convince the Equestrians otherwise. He however made little progress.
And unfortunately, overcome by the burdens of leadership, Calendion fell ill and soon died, barely aged one-hundred and thirty. His younger brother, Esandion, then filled his place.
Esandion, though undoubtedly a villain to our kind, was originally not a cruel stallion. He dearly loved his people and longed to further the might of Alícor. He was a smart and brave pony, and possessed an immense talent for governing. Yet there is good reason he should be considered the first of the Lesser Kings.
Adhering to traditional and ancient Alicorn law, the six Lords were to elect a new King. By chance, all kings had been of the Line of Dyavilir, making that family synonymous with royalty. Calendion was a strong ruler, but his seed was weak; he left behind no heir to the throne. Esandion used tricks wicked and fowl to secure his own election, and soon proclaimed that from then unto the end of time, the Throne was now the property of the House of Dyavilir.
The Lords rose up to reverse this grave injustice against so sacred a tradition, but Esandion crushed them all and abolished the old tribes. He also claimed the five other elements from the Lords as spoils and set the six within his new crown. Ruthless and brutally effective, Esandion won the civil war and cemented his power as the new King, claiming himself to be the very Vicar of Lórian and the absolute arbiter of the Alicorn dominion.
But Esandion’s rise to power is yet another sad reminder that our virtue as a race was already fading away.
By this time, the treasure fleets pouring into our harbors swelled the coffers of every Alicorn on the island. We began to forget our original intentions and soon prized only power and gold. Overcome by wealth, those officials left to the colonies soon employed vicious means to extract every last bit of tribute from locals struggling to even feed themselves.
What populations clamored for justice and turned against their Alicorn rulers were swiftly defeated by royal armies far stronger than whatever forces the poor natives could field. Fortresses of iron were built, hosting garrisons charged with keeping the colonies nothing but compliant. Dotting the landscape, they became a grim reminder of a once-benevolent occupier’s tyranny. Esandion grew obsessed with expanding the empire, toppling whatever nations stood before God’s Chosen.
Perhaps Esandion’s greatest sin was the war he waged against an expansive kingdom of jade. Esandion’s architects and engineers summoned all the ingenuity of the Alicorns and constructed dread machines; unholy fusions of industry and magic. That our talents in crafting began so pure, only to be perverted into fueling engines of war should be a tragedy not lost on most.
With their Alicorn warriors armed with steel weapons firing searing magic, Esandion’s armies marched behind his horrific war machines. When the kingdom of jade would not submit, Esandion ordered that every farm, every town, every bastion of resistance, and every pleasant spot of nature was to be destroyed and leveled. As he said, not a blade of grass would sprout once the wrath of Alícor was dealt. And indeed, the kingdom was so devastated, its people so brutally slaughtered and every respite it once possessed removed from the ruin of the Earth, that nothing would grow in the land for ages. Whatever remained of their people crawled from the smoldering wreckage, daring to hope, and rebuilt the realm many years later. But the jade kingdom would forever be but a shadow of its former glory.
Esandion’s personal monument to his vanity and ruthless ambition was duly noted: a blackened stain across the face of the world.
Few dared to challenge the King’s rule afterwards. Esandion spent the last miserable years of his heinous life finding new innocent and naïve peoples to conquer. He died finally four-hundred and thirteen years old, a lifespan far longer than anything a stallion like him deserved.
The Kings to follow Esandion were little better. Consumed as well with expanding their dominion, the further lesser kings lorded over larger and larger domains, further enriching that Glorious Island. The cities of Alícor grew taller and taller, pillared with ivory and marble. Heroes of war and expansion wrought of steel and stone stood throughout the empire. Unimaginable treasures of every item of value under the sun flowed into the royal treasury, enriching everypony, especially the King. Adorned with jewelry more valuable than what most ponies possessed, our so-called leader flaunted his riches with all discourtesy.
Yet in the colonies, the wonder of the Alicorn realm was not felt, nor was the purported mission of enlightenment their overlords professed. Those peoples, so wide-eyed and optimistic, once asked us to share our strength. Now they cursed us whenever our soldiers weren't present. Denied in joining with the enterprise and governance of the Alicorns over their own lands, the natives grew sullen, too disillusioned to resist the ruining of their homes. The Alicorns took more and more from their colonies without giving anything in return, leaving those regions desolate and sapped of value.
It came to pass that Queen Ferenimusindir ascended the throne. Her reign was ill-different from the aggression and exploitation endemic to the series of lesser kings. Yet her actions earned the special place of being the harshest of all, a title well deserved. In those days, but one race stood with the capability to challenge or even usurp the dominance of the Alicorns; the Greater Dragons. Fearsome and ageless giants, they first existed in the secluded and unexplored reaches of the world, but our encroachment further and further into new continents soon brought them to our attention.
Early wars resulted in nothing but stalemate, Alicorn armies unable to overcome the ancient and terrible dragons. Peaces were interrupted by renewed hostilities, only to have the invaders tossed back into the sea. But when Ferenimusindir came to power, the Alicorn dominion could field a force far more destructive than ever before. Vowing to cast down the greater dragons once and for all, the Queen personally led a fleet of one-thousand of the finest warships and an army equipped with the most brutal weapons the Royal Armory produced.
What followed was little more than genocide. The landscape became littered with the blackened skeletons of these dragons, who had fought so valiantly but ultimately in vain. Ferenimusindir herself met the self-styled King of All Dragons and faced him in a duel. Wearing a suit of unbreakable armor and her war helm adorned with the Elements, she unleashed their power upon the King. The first to use the talismans since the War against Dyan, Fernnusindir grossly abused the divine magic locked within them. Stunned and beaten, the King of All Dragons recoiled and begged for mercy, only to be finished off by the unique blade of Dyavilir the Queen wielded. The largest and oldest dragon the world shall ever see was slain, his race driven to the brink of oblivion.
For her bloody and needless campaign, Ferenimusindir was awarded the epithet The Conqueror. Her prize for the destruction of the Greater Dragon kind was all the riches they’d been hoarding since time began. In her grand Royal Court Ferenimusindir placed the immense bones of the Dragon King, and his giant skull above the very throne of Alícor, both as the Queen’s trophy and her symbol of total dominion over all the world.
Returning from her savage campaign, the Queen soon ruled a realm that touched every corner of the Earth. All rival nations and peoples, no matter how ancient or strong, had been swept aside. Now the undisputed hegemon of the world, Alícor’s arms demonstrated to those who’d dare defy the Chosen People what it meant to stand against the Queen.
During the latter part of her reign, millions of souls lived within the border of the Alicorn empire. A thousand nations spoke a thousand tongues as they all toiled under the weight of Ylánalícë. Giant and expansive cities graced the island while the world we claimed and drew our strength from grew black and decayed. Alicorn fleets patrolled every sea lane and Alicorn armies every road and vale. So sure was our dominion that its only threat would come from inside.
Such was the world I was born into, in the three-thousandth seven-hundredth and twenty-first year since the Birth of the Alicorns. My name is Solárindil Maiërómbatalí Aralimánélda. The old tribes were long gone by the time I was granted life, but the Tribe of Magic should be mine, though like the extinguished Royal Line I have blood from all six. King I am named by my second people, the Tulicëai, though I shall discuss this soon enough.
Ynaundion was my sister, my twin in fact. She was older by but a mere moment, but I assure you she never let me forget it. Our parents were nobles, each one sitting on the Assembly of Alicorns, little more than an advisory council for the King by then. A previous King had revoked my family’s traditional title of Prince, severing forever our link to the Royal House. As such, I was of minor birth amongst the nobility, and was made content with an appropriate vocation.
I grew up listening to the romantic tales of our race’s exploits, the conquests and the mission we still fooled ourselves with: that we were civilizing the world and its people. But, isolated and sheltered by the trappings of complacency upon the Island, I believed this lie for a long time. Without even conceiving of the horrors beyond Alícor’s shores, I whiled away my colthood with many of my friends, who I’m sorry to admit, have long since passed. They took to calling me Aracílnë, on behalf of my fiery red mane and beard. Oh how I miss them.
Whenever we’d scrounge together enough money, we’d always go down to the docks of Lainashynóna and purchase some exotic good from places unknown. We’d listen to the stories sailors brought back with them about fantastical creatures and lands so beautiful it was as if the angels themselves sculpted the landscape. I was so enamored by these tales, and I wanted nothing more than to explore and discover even greater things.
When I turned twenty years old, I received my wish. After graduating from an academy, I was made a junior officer in the Royal Army. I fought in several wars, from the lands of the Zebras to the deserts where giants dwelt to those of the Serpent Ponies, creatures more beautiful than anything I had ever seen, and just as cruel. But everywhere we went was given the same fate: destruction.
Of course we justified these atrocities with the grand deceit of doing these poor and underprivileged nations the honor of becoming our disciples. I do not know whether or not war should be used to achieve this end, but I do know we treated them no better as friends than when they had been foes.
It was during the war against a race known as Griffins when I realized our true colors. Far away, across the ocean from Equestria, I led my troops to the best of my ability, and fought through their armies. There, aloft in the sky our two forces clashed. The Griffins outnumbered us, but naturally the Alicorns had them far outmatched. Whole wings of Griffins were set alight by our terrible weapons, and the sky rained down blood and charred bodies. When the smoke had cleared and the Alicorns stood victorious, I had a feeling of doubt and uncertainty. I saw across this blackened scene thousands writhing in pain; was this truly the virtue of our cause?
The soldier’s heart must be heavy, and we all carried on. But my superior, a general named Linesand, ordered that the Griffin capital be razed and its inhabitants all slain. I begged and pleaded with her, saying that warriors have their deaths on battlefields, but others in their beds. Linesand’s face was somber, and I could tell she did not wish to do it. But she confessed Queen Ferenimusindir, leading her own front miles away, wanted to send a message to the Griffins.
This is usually when those I tell my story to like to say that I dropped my sword and helm and flew away, listening to my good conscience. And each time I disappoint them. The truth is I brandished my weapon, silently weeping within, and followed through with my orders. Alicorn discipline was harsh, and I was too cowardly to defy an unjust command. That city was destroyed, and its inhabitants were subjected to all the injustice a conquering army could commit. Never before had I seen such carnage, especially upon a populace that had already surrendered.
When I finally turned fifty years old, my term of service was up and I declined any further commission that the Crown offered me. Disaffected with war and so-called glorious battle, I decided to utilize my right to a seat upon the Assembly. Burning for justice and hating what my people had become, I sought to directly challenge the monarchy’s power. Years went by as I attended sessions and slowly built an anti-royal coalition, all in secret of course.
Ferenimusindir died not long after my discharge from the army, three-and-a-half centuries of age. Her son Ferelor succeeded, a stallion possessing the Queen’s greed and ambition, yet little of her towering intellect. In truth Ferelor was foolish, and found himself a pawn to several powerful factions within the Royal Court. Deceived into thinking he was the true authority of the empire, Ferelor was tricked time and time again into granting duplicitous alicorns great positions of influence.
My intention was not to leverage the weakness of the King; I simply wished to curtail his powers. An army and fleet second to none, with riches unimaginable, provided a temptation too great for most to ignore. Foreign conquest and oppression were all that grew from the seeds the benevolent greater kings of history passed had sowed ages before. As the years rolled on, more and more joined my faction, eventually enlisting the aid of high-ranking officials and military officers.
So empowered, I felt confident to confront the King in private. I begged him to withdraw forces, lighten tribute, enact edicts of equality; anything to preserve the fragile state of the empire. I told him how our subjects were simply biding their time, how soon enough coups and rebellions would rise up, and with us so distracted our dependents would shake off the Alicorn yoke. Broken and fractured, all members of the Supreme Palace, our government, eventually would proclaim a loyalty to one or more scheming factions. I told him I loved my people far too much to endure seeing them destroy one another.
But Ferelor did not listen. Maiëcéïn, Captain of the Most Harmonious Guard, had his own agenda, and the King’s orders to arrest all potential schemers and traitors fit all too well with it. Overnight hundreds of bureaucrats, officers, attendants, and even civilians were taken into custody and given farcical trials. Dozens were sentenced to death and most others were exiled to the furthest colonies we possessed. I was spared for being deemed not a threat Maiëcéïn; I suspect he eventually wished to coup the King and seize power for himself, leaving the Assembly as a symbol of legitimacy.
Maiëcéïn however never got that chance. One agent of the King, naturally loyal to himself, informed Ferelor of his Captain’s treachery. Maiëcéïn’s punishment was to be tied down with heavy lead weights and tossed into the sea.
This was the breaking point for many in my coalition. They had become impatient and frustrated that I had not taken action against a tyrant. I was therefore dismissed as leader by a vote of no confidence and expelled from the assembly under accusations of working with the King. I did what I could but the new leaders turned everypony against me. I don’t know if I should have taken action before then, but my indecisiveness spared me from the fate of the Assembly. They presented Ferelor with a charter guaranteeing several rights to the Assembly and Alicorn citizens and demanded he sign it; he refused. Not long afterwards they gathered a large force from disloyal army units and generals, and camped a few miles from Ylánalícë. Ferelor became furious when he learned of this betrayal, and finally asserted himself as a true King. It would have been admirable if this King were a just and virtuous stallion.
Once more the Elements were summoned and their power channeled to commit yet another black deed. Their pure magical energy cast itself down upon the rebels and made known the true authority of the Throne. Thousands who stood to defend their sacred rights and bring down the tyrant were burned alive, the heat of a thousand suns coursing through their bones until not but ash remained. This one act reminded that the King alone possessed the Elements and could impose his will however much we wanted. All opposition was ceased, creating a crown never more secure since the time of Esandion. Ferelor might have proved he was in control, but he won no friends, unlike Ferenimusindir.
I was found on my estate and brought before the King to answer for my conspiracy. I thought I would've been executed, but he generated this idea that I had been preventing rebellion for so long as I sat on the Assembly. Dismissed as innocent, Ferelor nevertheless declared that I was not allowed to be active in politics. I was so unsure what to think about my sentence, seeing as all those others had been killed and I was left alive. I returned home demoralized and purposeless, while Ferelor continued to rule arbitrarily.
Initially confined to my estate, I was under constant surveillance by royal agents. Somehow I managed to escape undetected, however. I soon came aboard a ship and spent the next century or so traveling, trying to find ways I could help the poor downtrodden races. The Great Mission was dead, but I was still around to cure the ills of the Earth, however small I may be. My sister sent me letters during this time, but I could not write back. I did visit her on occasion, however. Ferelor’s agents had no idea where I was, and he eventually presumed I was dead. Tales of the benevolent but reclusive Aracílnë spread throughout the Dominion, and I became at peace with nature and the subtle touch of God’s wonders. It is during this time I truly found my faith, and did what I could to follow the six virtues.
But of course nothing I did would have stopped the relentless expansion of the Alicorn territories. Ferelor drove ceaselessly the armies and fleet of his Kingdom, seizing what few nations and peoples remained outside of it. Between the endless purges and civil wars defiant provinces ignited, Ferelor both presided over the grandest state of our people and also a crumbling imperium, its resources strained. The King did not care, so long as his glory and power were felt the world over.
When I was nearing two centuries of age, I heard the most disturbing news: Ferelor in his delusional middle age declared he would conquer the heavens themselves. He had run out of wealthy lands to absorb, and so for him in his madness the most logical next conquest was Lórian’s own abode.
When I returned to the Island, I heard rumors that the King wandered through his halls at night, muttering about the Servants of Lórian, the Crióa. He increasingly came to despise the angels, and believe him and the Alicorns were the fairest of all creations. He wanted nothing more than to battle with the Crióa and extend his reach to heaven, immortalizing himself as the greatest King to have ever lived. What disturbed me most was how many cheered him on. Those poor souls annihilated by the Elements so many years ago were perhaps the largest body of virtuous alicorns left; all others were seduced by promises of even greater riches and glory.
I met my sister, who had returned from her tenure as governor of some far-off colony, and discussed much, namely about the King’s planned invasion. We both feared what divine retribution the Alicorns would deserve. Already preparations were being made. Every smith in Alícor was ordered to craft new weapons and armor for the armies Ferelor was conscripting. Forests were stripped bare for their timbers, and each year they grew back less and less quickly. Iron was extracted from the earth in less and less quantities, the endless mines running dry. It was if the land itself were warning against this great folly.
The resources of the Crown won out, unfortunately. Enough materials were assembled for the King’s Grand Armada to be constructed. The full might of Alicorn industry was mustered, and our giant furnaces were fueled with coal and metal, pouring out vast seas of molten steel. Glistening iron ships lined up in the harbors of the island, able to sail unaided by the winds and currents by means of voracious fires down in their bellies. As numerous as the stars, these ships would transport Ferelor army to the skies above.
In my uncertainty and worrying, a dream came to me. I saw a stone in the water, smaller stones surrounding. On top of each was a spire, the tallest on the center stone. They crumbled to pieces, their vibrant glory and sheen disappearing as soon as they had risen above the tides. All that remained when the final spire collapsed into the sea was a lone statue of an Alicorn, weathered and beaten by age and neglect; the statue was of me. A voice spoke quiet words, saying our time was ending, but mine would be preserved elsewhere.
I woke up in a cold sweat, and rushed to the Palace to tell the King. He granted me an audience, and we spoke for hours. I pleaded for him to call off the armament and invasion. Nothing I said meant anything to him, claiming it was our race’s sacred right to be the brightest in the sky. He claimed he saw visions of stars bowing before him and tides receding at his will. He envisioned new worlds to conquer and a throne equal to Lórian itself. Ferelor told me he’d allow nothing to impede his destiny. I stepped back and saw a stallion lost to his own corruption, robbed of all reason and restraint.
I knew then that if the King would not heed my warnings, I’d have to take control myself. I knew not what fate awaited Alícor, but it’d behoove us all to find sanctuary beyond her shores. Gathering my sister and our closest friends, we sent messengers all across the island to convince Alicorns to follow us to a new home. Most declined, even calling us mistaken to think the invasion would result in anything but greater strength for us. Those that did come saw as well as us the corruption and sin that polluted the island.
The old wooden ships were abandoned, and we commandeered them as escape vessels. Assembling in a remote harbor, we repaired them while our agents searched for more alicorns who saw the impending disaster. We managed to gather about twenty-thousand alicorns and fifty ships. Our fleet was finished by the time Ferelor recalled all armies and ships from the colonies and assembled his forces.
Standing at the head of the largest, most powerful vessel ever made, Ferelor took his Elements and broke a lane of water with their magic. This pathway flowed away from the sphere of the Earth, and hopefully to the Gates of Heaven. On the morrow, Ferelor vowed his fleet would set sail for the ripest prize in all creation.
I had to save those Elements; their power however abused would be needed some day. At night I sneaked into the King’s Flagship and found the Elements. Along the way I spotted Eónadin, the Royal Sword, hanging in Ferelor’s personal armory. As swift as the wind I made it back to our ships as my sister was returning from the Palace bearing a single seed from the Tree the Elements had grown from and the Royal Scepter.
Immediately we set sail southwards, unsure which course to take. We simply wanted to put as much water between us and Alícor as possible. Somepony must have found out that we took those items, because the Royal Armada began pulling out of the harbor as we left. Perhaps Ferelor was eager to reach Heaven and find a new sword and elements, and ordered the invasion to begin. I shall never know the reason, nor shall I ever know what became of their fleet once it left the horizon.
Just before daybreak, dark clouds gathered over the Island as we sailed further and further away. The sea turned violent and rain pelted our decks with a relentless fervor. Atop the main mast of my ship, I could just barely see Alícor, our home. Flashes of lightning assaulted its land and tempests and cyclones scourged its coast with reckless abandon. As hours went by and the scene grew fainter, I swear I saw the lights of burning rain fall down from the sky, setting our vast forests on fire and scorching whatever miserable souls we’d left behind. The agonizing screams of a million Alicorns carried on the wind, and the outlines of our giant spired cities crumbled beneath a retribution unmatched in history.
We watched in tears as the island glowed brighter and brighter, the screams and cries only becoming louder and more heartbreaking. All the wars I had faced paled in comparison to what we experienced. It was too distant to see, but we could feel the suffering. The pent up crimes of a thousand years of sin and oppression against those too weak to resist were answered with cold and stinging justice. Quakes shook our ships as they rent the island apart, old mountains collapsing to rubble. Cyrdanemensil’s lofty peak spouted red-hot ash a thousand miles into the sky, the sun forbidden from shining through these blackest clouds.
Finally, a wave towering higher than any building ever masoned by Alicorns rose above the island and crashed upon a broken and defenseless civilization. The very submerged base of Alícor was destroyed, and after the wave had washed over the tattered remains of mortals’ greatest glory, the depraved realm was swept under the sea. The last land that stood above the ocean was attacked by giant falling stars, shaking the sea even more. I watched it all, the destruction of our home, and I can tell you with a sincere heart that nothing has ever caused me greater pain.
The torrents took hold of our vessels, leaving us with little time to mourn. When we finally wrestled control from the waves, the twenty-five ships my sister Ynaundion commanded had been set on an eastward course. She had given me the seed from the Tree, but the Royal Scepter was hers to take to whatever distant land her fleet landed on. I have not seen Ynaundion since, but every night I pray that she found a new home.
My fleet was swept west, eventually leading us to find Equestria. We made landfall and soon found the native Tulicëai. I dreaded that they’d take revenge upon us for our cruelty. By chance or design, however, the heavy hoof of the Alicorns ignored Equestria, ordered in perpetuity to be left alone by King Calendion. They welcomed us, the gods from beyond the horizon, and offered us gifts. So innocent and pure they were, ignorant of what our greed had turns us into. We refused all tribute; we needed it not.
We explained that our home was gone. They asked us what we meant, and we replied that a mariner could sail the seas for his entire life and never find a trace of the island once home to the blessed Triple-Kin. We told the Equestrians those on our ships were all that remained of the Alicorn race. Without our army or King, the alicorn settlers in the old colonies would be at the mercy of all the peoples we abused.
We asked if there was a distant place, empty and wild, where we might make a new home. The Equestrians told us of the country north of their kingdom, the fields untilled and the forests unfelled. But they also told us their line of Kings had ended some time before. The Tulicëai then bowed before me and offered their crown. They said they’d be honored if one so high-born as me would take up the mantle of leadership. We Alicorns had no business ruling anymore, and all I truly wanted was a homestead to raise a family, which I had neglected to start.
Thrice did I refuse, each time expressing the folly of this choice and my desire to live far away from intrigues and the temptation of power. Yet they issued us an ultimatum: either I accept the crown, or my people would need to find a new place to live. I looked out at the Alicorns, a once shining race reduced to a mass of hungry, poor, dirty, and frightened people. I agreed.
So I was crowned King of Equestria, and the Alícëai assigned me the old titles of their ancient Kings: Solárindil of His Own House, King of Equestria and the Alicorns, Warden of the Sun and Moon, and Bearer of the Elements of Harmony. The Tulicëai preferred to call me a native name: Sun Flare. I was one-hundred and ninety-three when I assumed the vacant throne.
After a few expeditions, the Alicorns began settling the wild lands north of the wall the Equestrians had built along a mountain range. This became the Alicorn March, and my people were meant to defend the provinces south from attacks by aggressive tribes. I built my northern and primary capital here, along a nice river, and named it Nairverulin. I also built a large temple to replace the one lost with Alícor. I prayed all day and night within it, begging to accept the responsibility for our transgressions, so long as my people might live in peace in their new home.
I had all our ships burned so that we may never seek the riches beyond Equestria; the temptation was too great. I built a southern fortress in a tall mountain, a marble citadel to defend the province there. All ponies within this realm were to be equal; we alicorns were guests in their country, and to impose our customs, language, and faith upon them would be a grave injustice. They far outnumbered us, but a growing sense of shared identity has emerged over the years. I know we Alicorns will never recover, and never again shine as brightly as we did, but I know the torch has passed to the Tulicëai, and with it they will do great things. When the time comes, the Elements will be there waiting for them. A lone tree from the seed I planted sits in a dark wood known as the Everfree, the six talismans hanging from its branches.
As I write this, I now stand almost five centuries of age, older than any alicorn I’ve heard of. Blessed with long life, or cursed with watching all I love die before me, I cannot be certain. My children are older, my wife deceased. My friends have all passed on, and the ponies whom I traveled with from Alícor are but memories. The candle of my life is wearing down, but the flame continues to flicker. I have regrets and there are many things I wish I had done differently. Even as I sleep I still think about the Fall of the Alicorns, and cannot help but feel had I not been such a coward the island would be here today.
Yet most of all, I wonder about what became of my beloved sister. Ynaundion was more of a leader than I, stronger and more fearless. She would have made a great Queen had we both landed upon this shore. Did she found a kingdom of her own? Did she find another people who granted them refuge as the Tulicëai did for us? Or did she only find oblivion, her fleet broken derelicts leagues beneath the sea? I sincerely hope Ynundion settled peacefully, raised her own family, and found a new drive in life. If she has indeed passed on already, I hope it was in a warm soft bed, surrounded by her numerous loved ones, in a quiet and peacefully sleep.
Reader, you now know what became of the Alicorns, where we came from and how we arrived to your shores. If you should draw any lesson from these pages, I hope it is to avoid the follies and sins of my race. Do not begrudge those Alícëai who grew up far from the island; they should never inherit the misdeeds of their ancestors. But let not the ruinous actions of my people become your own. This country is so blessed with fertile land and earthen riches, and with beauty I have scarcely seen elsewhere. I have done my best in leading it and keeping it on the path of righteousness. Do not allow my successors to pervert the mission of Equestria and eventually condemn it to a fate similar to my first home’s.
I ask this as a King’s plea; I hope whoever reads this recognizes the sincerity in my words, because you would in my face. May Lórian have mercy on us all.
*――――――――――S――――――――――*
Nikóleva, her eyes slightly misty, looked up from the page. Laid before her was the tragic account one aged and weary stallion told of his…and her people’s abrupt fall. Reading about all they were, all they did…Nikóleva felt a complex mix of sadness and pride. All the power and glory, such as nopony in her time had ever seen or would ever see, were once so endemic to her race’s lives. That the Alicorns brought about their own oblivion was a bitter drink to swallow.
She had half a mind to dismiss that part of the story as slander against those jealous of the wealth and greatness of Alícor…and yet, Solárindil’s words were not those of falsehoods. He saw the destruction of his own home, a sight a weaker pony might be too grief-stricken over to continue. Those who survived would until the end of time be but a shadow of their past. And none can be blamed but themselves.
Though born in a very different time and place, Nikóleva was still an alicorn, a member of this ancient people. Their culture endured, diminished and diluted, but extant. Her kind still clung to a language and faith as purportedly millions of souls once did. And though the alabaster mare could only ever experience this bygone era in books and within her own imagination, Nikóleva could not stop herself from becoming wistful.
Pulling away from the words, the alicorn thought about this ancient world, where she would have had a place and purpose, where she wouldn't have to feel like a stranger. Such an idea sounded nice, where everything was figured out. Yes…the world as it should be, before the Lesser Kings and the Fall of the Alicorns. Solárindil’s melancholy had gotten to her, and now she was wanting to escape to the time before her race traveled down a darker path, before anypony could know the sad fate of what was supposed to be ponykind’s greatest splendor.
Letting out a quiet sigh, Nikóleva turned the page, seeing if there was anything more to the story. Instead, to her surprise, she was greeted by a final sentiment. Written in that same beautiful black calligraphy, one last lament stared straight back at the mare:
“Ynaundion calniln basa bhenëai , shódaniln bor rhal-voneai veröai. Candë tuln nusatilédera, tan-damacilédera mordalim menë . Solámiléd she hondoriléd cempa mitilúsédodë semlon tecoë yenemë bhenë, shaimadel tam-meviln rhón.(Ynaundion occupies my thoughts, distracting me from the duties of Kingship. Try as I might I cannot shake my concern. I hope and pray that I shall see my beloved sister again soon enough, where there is no pain.)”
Her heart skipped a beat. Old but not forgotten memories recharged themselves and viciously emerged from the recesses of her mind. “Sister.” A stallion, a sovereign King ruling a mighty realm, wanted nothing more in his twilight years than to see his sister just one more time. What a travesty that of all the things the historic stallion saw and did, his one true desire was never granted.
Nikóleva remembered she too had a sister. Dark blue, like the sky beset by the glow of the full moon…the very image of their father. Sweet, innocent…until betrayed by her own blood! That night in the snow came back to the mare, when she had abandoned her only sister, her dear baby sister, whom she promised her dying father no harm would come to. What punishment befits such a sin? Was it to never again see her smiling face?
A tear came running down the mare’s cheek, slowly dripping onto the floor. A passing Delbedasir noticed this, knowing well the power of Solárindil’s words.
“All alicorns who read his account have the same reaction,” he said softly, his usual gruff demeanor wholly absent, “Solárindil would die soon afterwards, aged five-hundred years. That final thought was the last thing he ever wrote.”
Nikóleva said nothing, only silently staring off into space. “If you care to read about what he did as King, there are dozens of histories in the library. I’m sure the Prince would like you to study up,” the Librarian said.
The white alicorn closed the massive book and took a moment to recompose herself. Nikóleva sifted her eyes through all the shelves in her field of vision, trying to remember where the histories were. Delbedasir could however see the mare was still affected.
The Librarian flashed a kind and loving smile, “I like to believe the old King got his wish after all,” he warmly muttered before returning to work. Delbedasir never noticed, but Nikóleva smiled back, wiping her tear away with a hoof.
Such a sentiment was small and maybe silly, but more than comforting. Nikóleva could only hope the same might happen with her. She’d spend the rest of the day in that library, reading as much about King “Sun Flare” as she could. Yet for the entire time, and indeed the duration of her life, that simple lament would always stay with her, for better…or worse.
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5740317 I'm not sure if you'll have any functional pain receptors...
I could work on that, if you like!
Their god is pretty cruel. She let them wreak havoc through foreign lands but the moment they turned against her she slaughtered them all.
5743830 My rationale was that even though she lacked any formal training, Celestia could still leverage her height and strength in a fight. But the Minotaur had received an actual fighting education and managed to subvert Celestia pretty effectively.
5743791
Sounds like Crom
5743791 The Elements must also have changed somehow.
The ones we've all seen cannot be wielded by any who do not bear the character of the Elements themselves.
Celestia managed to use them once against her mad-with-jealousy sister out of necessity, and even that was enough to cause them to become inert for a thousand years.
Anyway, their god must be even worse than the Greek gods! At least they poked and prodded at humanity frequently.
Clearly, I must kick this god's ass and take over! (And lo, the Almighty Alondro sent his servant Discord to troll the ponies...)
5766104 I like to think the elements once contains incomprehensible power, but over the millennia they slowly degraded in their magical capacity. I guess eventually they'll be totally useless, sapped of all magic. Too bad for whatever poor souls need them then, huh?
5766300 Feh, they can simply be reforged like Narsil or whatever.
Magic. I ain't gotta explain nuthin!
5766810 Magic: the go-to cop-out answer for every implausible occurrence in fantasy since the middle ages!
5767918 Well, mainly cuz most magical stuff is so utterly impossible, trying to rationalize it is even more absurd than just taking the events at face value.
That's why some things are best left as 'because that's how it works, now shut up, stupid!'
I mean, look what happened when Lucas decided to 'explain' the Force!
Getting a strong Eldar vibe from this chapter.
5792161 Like Lord of the Rings Eldar or Warhammer 40K Eldar?
5793929
40k Eldar. Strongest race, huge empire, destroyed by their own arrogance. Pretty much identical to the story of The Fall.
5793945 A classic "pride cometh before fall" archetype. I don't know much about Warhammer though. I guess the Eldar should've been nicer, huh?
5827366 You're very welcome!
It's what I do!
5828333 A man after my own heart.
I wish I could know what happened to the fallen Alicorns. Even more that that, I't like to know about the War against Dûan and the original Alicorns. They were the only ones who should have become Alicorns.
5845610 Clearly, you need more brain bleach.
I'll help! Here's a picture of Dodoria winning her planet's fashion show (before Freeza blew it up... he tends to do that...)
static2.fjcdn.com/comments/I+am+so+sick+of+people+saying+that+purple+_2401c6492a201c2017f27972e5d00dfe.png
Holy crap I'm like a month behind! Be reading tonight or tomorrow.
5959678 Well I'm a little behind on updating, so I think that's fair.
5858832 Now I need Brain Bleach
One month later I finally read it!
You just told the entire history of an entire race, from birth to fall, in a single chapter, and it was one of the single most captivating things I've ever read. I was absolutely ENTHRALLED. Never have I seen something like this done in a fictional story so well. This has not only surpassed anything on this site for me, this has not only surpassed the actual show 10 fold, this has not only been possibly the greatest chapter you've written, but this may be the single best chapter of anything I have ever read in my entire life.
I am now officially an Alaxsxaq fanboy.
I am in love with every word in this chapter.
What have you done to me?
6101153 My sincerest apologies for the extremely delayed response.
I cannot tell you how flattered I am. The history of the Alicorns was a very special part of the story for me, one of the first aspects of the fic I conceived of in my head. Literally over a year of working things out in my head culminated in this chapter. It was a really fun part to right and I think it represents a very fundamental aspect of my world-building here. I know my thoughts and personal conception of the Alicorn race might be a bit polarizing and contrary to what a lot of people have already decided for themselves, but I think that makes it all the more fun.
Seeing my humble little words garner such a warm reception is nothing short of true gratification. Before I start to ramble, I want to say thank you
Well this was amazing!!!
have a like, fav, fallow and was is probably an obnoxiously long comment. 
I've just finished reading through everything up to this and I have to say my mind was blown!!
This story was brilliant! I was crying, laughing, suffering from massive sleep deprivation, and just generally having my personal head cannon shot to pieces by this XD
What you do with Celestia (and Luna and Twilight too) seems more mature than the actual show would but still feels accurate. The OCs are all, for the most part, interesting and compelling. Then I get to the pure glory that is the Equestria that you build, mythology/history, the journey of Celestia, all retold in the context of Celestia cleansing herself of her sins to her most diligent student.
Everything about this is brilliant save for a few inconsistencies with the cannon, specifically how the Crystal Empire exists in about the same spot I'm envisioning the Alicorn March. Additionally there's a lot of grammatical stuff through out that is irritating but that should be easily remedied by a quick reread.
I really don't think that I would like anything the show proper did on this topic, probably being annoyed that the show wasn't as epic like this or being angry that my bright pastel horse cartoon took such a dark turn. However, this is the reason I read fanfictions.
In conclution, 10 out of 10, will reread and wait egerly for future updates
6536015 Oh don't worry about that; it indulges my ego.
Thank you very much. I've put in so much time and thought into constructing this story's setting. Glad to see it has paid off. To whom it may concern, I envision the Alicorn March sitting north of "Equestria Proper" but south of the Crystal Empire. As for the grammatical errors, I've been meaning to go back and revise a good portion of the story. Haven't yet though
I've been taking a little break recently but I promise I'll return to writing at some point. Thank you so much for your support, Friend!
Have a wonderful day!
Just finished rereading this (because reasons
) and it's just as good the second time around. 
How it's so unknown remains a mystery.
On my reread I have noticed that that there are a lot of grammar errors that plague the piece (someone really has trouble with their tenses). It's made all the worse by the rather archaic style leaving me looking back over sections in wondering whether I was stumbling over an error or just being blunt.
The story itself is still brilliant beyond compare. Love pretty much every thing about this tale and I find that Celestia's characterization is even better constructed than I originally thought when reading through the first time. Still cried when Evergreen and Ironscaledied, not to mention everything involving Luna, Solárindil, and the alicorn's fall.
So, to quote my earlier comment on this story:
Now have another overly long comment capped off with an indignant demand that you get back to work on this
