The Wanderer of the North

by Alaxsxaq

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 14. Aristeia

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 14. Aristeia

It was oddly calm, peaceful even on the eve of battle. The weather was far fairer than it deserved to be—with the knowledge that a host was set to besiege the White City. Before dawn turned to midday, the carnage would begin. Standing atop one of the battlements, perched on a high tower, an old orange alicorn gazed over the vale beneath Canterlot.

A throng of ponies from the surrounding area had gathered before the city gates. Henarion could see them hobbling up the winding mountain road, slowly trickling in to find refuge in the labyrinthine corridors that snaked within the foundation’s rock. The Prince had told him of their existence, holding stores and chambers so numerous and hidden an enemy could search for years and not find them all.

He himself was clad in armor: a hauberk of mail under plated barding. Girt to his side was the great sword Bálebemoséo, as fine a blade as he could expect—doubly so for being a gift from his niece. His helm was with that green fellow…Tabóna’s fancy. What was his name?

Grand as the crowd below seemed, it did have an end, and soon the whole would be within the walls; it was time to go back to his banner. Spreading his broad orange wings, Henarion swooped down to the cobblestone road, stepping to the side to allow a marching body of Guardsponies to advance up the rampart.

Cantering up the road, he saw a number of city dwellers retreating inside, closing their shops early. If all went well, they’d open tomorrow morning. Past these streets and thoroughfares, Henarion came to the inner wall, the last ring of defense to the Castle Keep. The gate was currently up, and ponies were traveling through to the tunnels.

It was a pitiable sight, villagers wandering in with nothing to their name. Doubtless their homes and livelihoods would be burned in the wake of the advancing enemy. A terrible thing to have happen to somepony, made all the worse in that afterwards Canterlot would be left with a great many starving and homeless ponies.

Henarion did not pity the Prince. Nor did he fear for his home; it was far enough away to remain outside the army’s path—hopefully. Either way, his greatest treasures were either safely within the Castle, or far beyond their enemies.

Opening his wings, Henarion leapt over the inner wall and soared over the castle gardens. He came to a mustering square, full of other ponies tall and thin like himself. Below on the field stood an assemblage of alicorns larger than he had seen in close to two-hundred years. Back then the paltry folk of the Northern Wilds had gathered to celebrate the birth of the future Exilarch, Maiëlindir.

Henarion had been in his early twenties—not even a fully-grown alicorn! Times had changed since then; it had become far too dangerous for such an event to occur when Maiëlindir’s daughter had been born.

Landing on the ground, Henarion inspected all his kindred drilling and practicing with their weapons. He knew almost none of them, and their multicolored-faces all ran together in his mind. From what that Librarian and Nikól’s appointed ”Deputy” had told the orange stallion, some were of ancient repute, possessing heritage weapons and even titles to lay empty claim upon.

He didn’t really care to commit much of it to memory, but what he did take note of was the absence of alicorns past a certain age: roughly one-hundred and fifty. Middle age…heavy with the wisdom of experience yet still full of youthful vitality. Mutilations and grievous injuries were not uncommon amongst the Downfallen, and past a century was an awful long time to survive in a world where creatures hunted one. Henarion himself hadn’t made it unscathed, and he had learned very early on the dangers of this world.

Off to the side of the square three of the Triple-Kin stood speaking. Henarion approached, identifying them as a green stallion, and old greying beige stallion, and a pretty lavender mare. “Hail, Friends!” he called out, mostly just to annoy them. They spared a glance and returned to their affairs.

“I was told to report to you, eh…begging your pardon, Lad, but your name?”

“Cardúnón, Sir. I find it odd I would have no mention amongst your nieces,” the green alicorn replied.

“Just the opposite, Boy; I hear about you a lot—though often Nikól don’t call you by name,” Henarion chuckled.

Cardúnón cleared his throat, “Right. This is my sister and second-in-command Rhílë, and I understand you’ve met Delbedasir before.”

“Of course; he’s the poor old pony the Prince settled my nieces with.”

“And the older and poorer for it!” cried the Librarian. “Taberanyn is such a joy to tutor. But has Nikóleva always been such trouble?” he asked as a half-jest.

“You’ve no idea,” Henarion grinned, placing his forehoof over his eyepatch. “Wonderful girls,” he stared wistfully at space, already missing them. Henarion then turned to Rhílë and smiled, bowing slightly, “Charmed, Miss.”

Rhílë returned the kindness. The lavender mare then got a shifty look in her eye, “You know, my brother might have a certain matter he wishes to discuss with you. But in fact if I do not prod him, he might keep his peace until he’s the Librarian’s age.”

Henarion had a suspicion, and raised an eyebrow. Cardúnón had the slightest blush on his face, “Now, Sister, there shall be time later! There are in the meantime more pressing matters for the Alicorn Company.”

“Aye,” groaned Henarion, “How many of us are there to fight? Is this all of them?”

Delbedasir stepped forward, “I’m afraid so. Ninety-one live in Canterlot and its surrounding environs, counting you, your nieces and your son. However, the Prince desires that each soldier in our unit be able fly, gallop, cast, and wield a weapon. Those young and…intact enough to meet these requirements number only thirty-nine.”

“Damn. Well…I’ve done more with less,” Henarion said, causing Cardúnón and Rhílë to both give very incredulous looks. “Master Librarian, I don’t suppose you’ll be out there, too.”

“What is that supposed to mean, Colt?”

“Pushing three-hundred, ain’t ya? Hell, a gust a wind ought to snap you like a twig.”

“Careful, Friend. Whom you see before you is not so frail, nor so far away from yourself. Good fighting alicorns stay good a long time. As bones thin, magic only becomes stronger!”

“Well, Friend, show me some of that fancy spellcraft then. Impress me, and I’ll buy you a drink,” Henarion smugly said.

“Dark ale, lightly spiced,” Delbedasir grinned.

Cardúnón knocked a hoof on the cobblestone, “Back to the Company, now.” Everypony gave him their respectful attention. “We are few. We have certain advantages, good advantages. But we cannot delude ourselves completely. We will be targets, as our kind always is. Therefore, we cannot cease moving; we cannot become vulnerable.”

Rhílë then spoke up, “Our strikes shall be precise and deadly. Hit like a hammer and feign. Those that chase will be cut down.”

“Yes, Sister. And undoubtedly, if tales of thestrals be true, we will face them in the air. They are quick, quicker than most, but also fragile. If we control the skies, we will have robbed the enemy of a crucial advantage.”

“Indeed, we shall act as an adjunct to the pegasi units,” the Librarian added, “But, however you may view it, Tulicëai see us as ‘greater’; our successes will inspire, and our failures will instill despair. We know we bleed—we don’t need to prove this today.”

Henarion furrowed his brow, “Mighty we alicorns are when we find reason to be; can thirty-nine be mighty enough?”

“How about forty?” came a lovely voice. Each of the alicorns looked to its source, and then craned their necks down to find a pink mare, a pegasus. Clad in iron armor with a lance hanging off her side, she approached with a cheery grin. She and Henarion then shared a kiss.

“Primrose!” he called, embracing his wife. Hopping behind the two came a small blue alicorn, exuberant and utterly excited to be in the mist of warriors!

“Papa!” he shouted and bounded up into his father’s embrace. With a field of magic Henarion caught the colt.

Cardúnón and Rhílë frowned and looked at the winged Tulicë and her…mixed son. “Where are my manners?” began Henarion, “My wife Primrose, and our son Eldowas.”

“I shall be fighting alongside you all,” Primrose proudly announced before bowing.

Brother and sister shared a glance. “You have heart, Manwadranias, but…we find our unit might fight better—“

“It ain’t about fighting with the alicorns,” Henarion interrupted Cardúnón, “It’s about fighting with me. I’ll be with my kin whether wanted or not, and where I go, she goes.”

Delbedasir leaned in closer to Cardúnón, “I think your hooves are tied.”

“Not too tightly, I hope,” answered Primrose, “I can fly as swift as the wind, and take a hit. I can pierce the eye of a needle with my lance at two-hundred yards.”

“She ain’t lying,” Henarion grinned, slinging a forehoof over her.

“Birthing and rearing an alicorn is no mere task for a Tulicë; there’s fire in your spirit, ma’am.” Primrose grinned at the Librarian and took back her son.

After studying her closely, Cardúnón managed to swallow his pride. “Welcome! Keep up.”

“Yes, I hope you do,” shot the pegasus.

Rhílë enjoyed a laugh at her brother’s expense. “Is the little one to join us as well?” she asked, leaned down to meet the colt.

It was not long afterwards that another pegasus entered the vicinity. A courier, dressed in the courtier’s vest of the Castle. He bowed low to the alicorns and spoke at last, “Prince Petrafyrm has requested all units begin falling into position. Please come to the keep; he wishes to speak with all his commanders first.”

“Thank you,” replied Cardúnón, and the messenger returned to his lord. The green stallion then turned to his soldiers and called out, “Alícëai! In-Nyn!(Triple-Kin! To the perch!)”

“Sernon!(At once!)“ they all cried. Unfurling their great wings, the nigh-forty alicorn soldiers lifted off with the force of five-hundred, shifting the very air for a hundred yards around. Garbed in iron mail and plate, and armed with long weapons unusable to their younger kin, these remnants of ponykind’s greatest splendor assumed their place atop the mountain perch along with the pegasi. When the horn blew and the hour came, a tiny glimpse would echo of why the World had once fallen to their dominion.

“Go with them, Rhílë. I shall join you soon.” Cardúnón kissed his sister’s forehead and allowed her to fly away with the host. The Exilarch’s Vicar then flicked his head to the Keep, “His Princeship does not like to be kept waiting.”

And the briskness of their steps ensured His Highness would not be. The Librarian, for all his advanced age, seemed to have found renewed vitality, and marched just as capably as these youngsters centuries his juniors. Henarion held his head tall and proud…proud for once to be amongst the Sea-Lords of old. Beside him marched Primrose, small in stature but in no way else. Eldowas rode upon his father’s back, utterly enthralled by the grand sights of the city. Perhaps one day he too could march in armor under a great banner.

Cardúnón spared one last look at his people before cantering ahead to meet the orange stallion. A short time of silence passed before he summoned the courage to speak. A dreadful hesitation lingered in his voice, “Uh…if I may…”

Henarion rolled his good eye, “Aye, Lad? Is it that thing your sister mentioned?”

“Vaur. Maihenduléd lyrás nor-shai buanduléd holcadulédodë(Yes. I had a matter I wished to ask about.)”

The older stallion groaned and waited a moment before replying. Flawlessly he switched to his native tongue, “Ishaciléd(I am listening.)”

“Neílruniléd tras-inash nor-géba dran nor-bhoro óheda tam-mevilúsincof ylo. Yltáön solámiléd prandúrilúsédódë viliremë bheneo, tyl éca tam…(It is not lost on me that…at the end of this one of us might not be present. I sincerely hope that we both enjoy our victory, but in case not…)”

“Vaur?(Yes?)”

Mastering his nerves, Cardúnón finally remembered the treasure that was at stake. “Forgduléd dadiremë héim-nasídeceo bhenë, Taberanyn. She shainadim céba obác inashdulyréda she semlon maihendulyréda héim-sivái lyrása, buanilúsédcof…éca-sénodulyríncof poles, telbarilúsedodë vuir.(I have taken a liking to your niece, Taberanyn. And when this war is over and we once again have time for such things, I’d like…if you deem it appropriate, to pursue courting her.”

A deep, heavy sigh left Henarion nostrils. He understood this was inevitable, but in his mind it could always have been an issue for tomorrow. “Lís siwa rílion?(Is that correct?)”

“What is it, Dear?” asked Primrose, who could read his sighs like an open book.

“This one here wants to ‘court’ Tabóna.”

“I see he has a death wish…,” she chuckled.

Under ancient archways and through the inner courtyard of the castle, the group finally came to the gatehouse of the Keep. Troops were marching everywhere, their banners fluttering in the wind and orders barked out by rigid sergeants. Henarion did not say anything when they came to the steps.

“Palë, vuir meviln diëna bhenduvadeam, she buaniléd hónacilúsédodë gylton héim-mor. Tocaniln wulpen randasion she dirilion—(Sir, she is an extraordinary mare, and I wish to treat her as best I can. She deserves a devoted and virtuous stallion—)”

“Vasonilímera dran héim-mor?(Could you find me one?)” Cardúnón laughed, but it was not a joke; Henarion at last understood Nikóleva’s gripe with this one. After more time to think, he finally had an idea to quash this nonsense. “Éca-géba shai buanilím, hóna ronenaïléd malonícad: ylo, nówin céba obác cadabdasemë, vilirilúsím oshpe gárun.(If this is what you want, then I demand a dowry: here, in this battle to come, you will slay one-hundred foes.)” That ought to work.

“Catiléd elnái candita in-ner!(Thank you very much!)” Cardúnón bowed, a powerful mirth in his heart.

“Drangh nghélen,(One chance,)” Henarion intoned, eye set on the keep, “Dal aiätilúsím nusademë.(Or die trying.)”

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

A quiet chorus filled the hall, silent weeping its compliment. Incense smoke wafted into the air, and ponies proceeded in somber lines to pay their respects. A wooden casket sat closed and hallowed, flowers draped over its lid. Prince Petrafyrm bowed his head low, holding back the tears he could not shed now.

A priest read aloud the rites of the Gods, proclaiming now that Marshal Helmraed ran with the great Ethereal Host of Lionheart. The Prince uttered a silent prayer of his own, and approached the casket. Laying a hoof over it, he smiled and recalled all the memories they’d shared, the battles they’d fought. No ruler could have asked for a better pony to lead his forces, and a foolish errand had sent Helmraed to his death.

“Forgive me, my friend…,” his voice cracked. He wiped a small tear from his cheek. Peter was not wearing his crown; nor clad in armor. He did not even wear his fine vestments; he was bare and penitent. There was little comforting about any of this; the good Marshal had no body to bury; only his cleaved head. A fine sword had been laid with him inside; hopefully it would find good use in the battles of the World Beyond.

“I am sorry, Helmraed. But…your sufferings are over; ours have only begun. Be at peace, Warrior of Canterlot. Perhaps I may find myself in your company soon enough…”

The Prince bade farewell to mournings and adjourned with several of his bodyguards. Bearers would inter the casket deep in the Castle Catacombs, but the Prince regrettably had a siege to command. Emerging from the hall into another chamber, he met Princess Coruscina and their son Vale. She recognized his sullen face, and offered her comforts. The Heir, the little lordling, did not yet understand the gravity of his father’s position; hopefully he wouldn’t have to for a time yet.

Petrafyrm stood at a small table in the room and fiddled with an empty cup on it. He was not thirsty; it was a mere toy to help him concentrate. “Your quarters have been established deep in the mountain. You remember the way?”

“Of course, Dear. But I shall not simply wait out this siege idly,” the Princess-Consort asserted, “I intend to care for the sick and elderly. Safe as they might be, those caves are dark and dank; most unhealthy.”

The Prince smiled and turned his attention to the young colt who was wandering the room and admiring the paintings on the walls. Not long afterwards a door creaked open by means of a guard, and in came a few of his commanders. Hard as steel, Captain Gendarmette of the Canterlot Guard approached her liege and bowed, followed by Acting Commander Stormvane of the First Battalion, the third-most senior officer of the Guard. Behind her trotted young Veroche, Knight Commander Wintermail’s squire currently assisting Stormvane, ordinarily a Lieutenant.

Almost immediately following them, Knight Captain Grimheim, a dull brown earth pony, entered with a small retinue of fellow knights. He and his band were motionless once settled, and awaited any further instruction from their liege. Grimheim and the company he commanded comprised the Free Knights, soldiers that owed no allegiance to any lord save the Prince himself. The bannerponies of Canterlot had gone north to merge with Equestria’s greater camp, but Petrafyrm would not send his personal retinue of the Guard and his own knights without himself.

To follow was Stonehewn, appointed Commander of the city militia. Age nearing sixty, though still tough as rock, the maroon unicorn had cut his teeth on many a battle, latest of all Windhock Vale. Despite looking grizzled and rough with his missing eye and notch in his ear, he was oftentimes a jovial pony, and entered the Prince’s war room with a grand kindness and gregarity, shaking hooves and calling others by name.

Last of all, by accident or as a show of purpose the Prince did not know, three grown alicorns entered, filling the already cramped chamber with their towering presence. Along with them came a pink pegasus and a very young blue alicorn colt. Lord Vale’s eyes immediately found his friend, and the two galloped towards each.

“My friend! Look at these knights, their swords and armor!” Lord Vale squealed, hopping up and down.

“There might even be a dragon! My aunt told me all the stories she has about fighting them! Father even—“

“Bite your tongue, Children,” came the commanding but still soothing voice of Princess Coruscina, “Fell things come upon our home; do not invite them further.”

“Yes, Mother,” Vale muttered dejectedly.

“It shall not do you two much good; you’ll be safely within the mountain. Won’t they, your Highness?” the alicorn colt’s pegasus mother asked.

“Certainly, Lady Primrose. Your precious boy will stay safe, and out of trouble!” the high-born noble mare promised as she sent a gentle hoof at Eldowas’ belly, causing the little sprout to giggle. Small laughs escaped from the hard warriors in the room, all remembering some of what they fought for.

“’Lady’? Does that make my husband a ‘Lord’?” Primrose giggled.

“Most emphatically not,” Prince Peter shot. He spotted Henarion and soon flashed a grinned and nodded. The one-eyed alicorn returned the gesture. “Cardúnón,” he then spoke.

“Prince,” the green alicorn bowed, but soon returned to his lofty poise. The Librarian lightly shook his head.

All attention in his grip, Prince Petrafyrm of Canterlot narrowed his eyes and swept his gaze over the assemblage. Over a dozen ponies representing the combined strength of the Castle now awaited their sovereign. “Friends, neither treasure nor honors can imitate my gratitude. You have answered the call, and now besetting us lies a great force, a mere taste of what awaits us from Discord’s mighty host. Lórian above has seen it fit to test us today. This should not even be a question.”

Hooves stomped and voices cried. Petrafyrm raised a forelimb and grinned, “Aye! Hewn three-thousand years ago with alicorn skill—”

“Hear!” cried Cardúnón. He was rewarded with chuckles and complimentary shouts.

“This castle has stood. White walls and battlements, marble in beauty but iron in fortitude, Canterlot has been assailed ever since jealous eyes first turned to her. You are my commanders, chosen with great mind for your talents. I cannot comprehend that we should break the record our forebearers have set!

“Captain Gendarmette, the Guard shall hold the walls. Under no circumstances may they give an inch! Pikes and swords will hold our defenses.”

“Not an inch, your Highness,” the yellow unicorn said.

“Commander Stonehewn, fill any breaches. Our people are brave, but many are green. Keep them out of harm’s way unless it comes careening forward.” Stonehewn nodded.

“Captain Grimheim, my knights are formidable indeed. Should those gates break, make our enemy rue the one who thought first to enter the city!” The Free Knights clamored loudly, rattling their swords as best as the room’s small size allowed.

“And Cardúnón…I suppose it’d be appropriate to call you Commander. Your company of alicorns shall be the vanguard of the pegasi. Fly fast and fly hard.”

“Already discussed, my Lord. The pegasi shall have no better guide.”

“Excellent. And keep my Librarian alive. He insists on fighting, and I couldn’t find five ponies to do half of what he can.”

“Staying alive is a talent, Lord; one that somepony doesn’t reach my age without,” Delbedasir replied.

“And Henarion. You are neither a noble nor an officer. You are a simple farmer leading a simple life. But…you have given us all a great gift—two, in fact. While Dame Wintermail and Lady Stellara search for our ultimate salvation, bloody business remains for us. You are a hero of the most ancient sort, and I find gladness that you shall fight beside us.”

Henarion stared, saying nothing and doing nothing. He hardly felt worthy of such words, but perhaps that was exactly why Peter had said them. Primrose looked up at her husband, anxious but eased beside a stallion a cut above the rest.

“If nothing more needs be said, Warriors, to your stations!” The commanders shuffled out slowly through the two doors. Outside they would gallop and fly as quickly as they could to their ponies and await the first strike of the enemy.

The Prince waited motionlessly, finally stirred by his wife. Princess Coruscina looked at him tenderly with warm eyes. She searched for the right words, but after a silent time passed she settled on a kiss. Peter then leaned down and met his son, barely seven years old. Another kiss sealed his love, and he placed a hoof on Vale’s tiny shoulder, “What is the first rule of Princes?”

“’To…defend one’s…realm’!” Vale recited.

“Now I must go fulfill my duty.” Peter could not help but remark his son’s big innocent eyes. He hugged him for good measure. “I love you both very much. When a happier time comes we shall meet again.” Coruscina and Vale left, retreating to the refuge of Canterlot. Now alone save some bodyguards, Petrafyrm was ready to find his personal dresser.

A short sojourn through the castle halls brought the Prince to his wardrobe. Midday was coming soon by the angle of the Sun. If it were not a violation of his sacred vows and Divine design, Petrafyrm had a mind to cancel the rest of day and let the enemy wander in the confusion of night. Alas, the siege would happen under a kind and clear afternoon.

Resting on a wooden stand was his armor. He came to the center of the room and nodded to the attendant. Cold eyes fixed on the window, the Prince adjusted himself when needed as his dresser tackled the straps and clasps. A small plain padded tunic came first, followed by the mail hauberk. Greaves were fitted to his four legs, then came his embossed and engraved barding. Flecks of gold marked the heraldry of his suit, symbols of his reign and realm upon the steel. His sword belt was girt around him, the Southern Keen ready to prove its name.

With a bow, the dresser presented his liege with the adorned warhelm, topped with a proud violet crest. Ready for the trials of battle, Prince Petrafyrm led his bodyguards out from the chamber and through the castle. Iron upon iron was the only sound as he emerged from the keep and ascended to the inner wall. Atop the parapet he stared out over the assembled host of Canterlot. Spear tips wavered in grand formations, most lustrous of all the ones upon the outer wall where his Guard was placed.

Banners fluttered in the wind with their blue fields and violet stars. Perhaps only two-thousand soldiers, knights, and levies could stand to defend their home; it should do. Far off, past the edge of the city, the riverine valley could be seen. Already trails of smoke rose from the woods and the empty villages below.

The enemy had arrived, and they were felling trees for siegecraft and campfires and forges. The lines were moving now, forward in large blocks. Such discipline had never before existed in the perennial foes of Equestria, the tribes and bands that raided the frontiers. They had in fact united, as was warned, and proved a terrible opponent.

Noblesse Oblige, the rotten traitor, was down there, so the Prince surmised. Now was the time for steel deeds and adamant hearts. Siege engines were being carpentered, with the vain hope of breaching the walls of Canterlot, unsullied since their construction.

For magic stood in each brick of this city, quarried and laid with wisdom borne out of the Sea, now forgotten by its heirs and protectors. Noblesse counted three soldiers for every one of Petrafyrm’s, but he would need every one to crash upon the Mountain-Borne Keep, and still it might not be enough.

At least as traditional siegecraft went.

Taking a deep, full breath, the Prince flashed his broad horn and charged his throat. “Canterlot!” his booming voice echoed throughout the city, “May your blades be sharp, for ere day’s end they shall become notched! Arrow shall fly, and shields shall become broken, and blood split in our great home! But blood too shall be our price, our toll that we demand from our foes! A faithless traitor, a cur bereft of honor leads them against us!”

“Put his head on a pike!” some yelled. “Justice to Noblesse!” others cried.

“Justice indeed! For he has arrayed a host of barbarians, invaders, and turncoats to the folly of our undoing! Down there, in our fair valley, lies the enemy! It drinks our water, and steals our timbers! And that is a bitter taste, a drop of the poison of the his Master, the Snake that slithers through our Garden!

“They seek to ravage all of Equestria, and in their greed and impiety they turned their lustful eyes to us. An honor to be sure is granted to the mighty folk of Canterlot! For today, we give them a taste of the fire and fury that they’ve awakened!” Swords were beat, spears knocked, hooves stomped, and voices clamored. “Their own doom was decided when they crossed our borders, and by no leave but our good graces shall these invaders cross it again!

“Do we have such mercies, when they themselves have none? No! We fight, we fight as Heroes of Old! We fight as Gods on Earth! We fight for the weak and small, the old and frail! We are the Shield of Ponykind, the Lance of Equestria! Today Noblesse and his horde face our Greatest! Let us not disappoint!”

The Canterlot garrison was whipped into a zealous frenzy. Cries and bellows of warriors shot from the White City. If any of those miserable villains down below caught sight of their madness, the meeker of them would die of fright.

The engines of war were being prepared for first blood, and archers drew their bows. Prince Petrafyrm brought his sword out. Focusing his magic, he made the folded blade glow bright with its tapped energy. Hardened and powerful, the weapon would find much use this day. Its maker would be proud.

“Canterlot!” he yelled, followed by a reverberation of the castle’s very foundations. Peter grinned and recalled the old oath given to old kings in old times, “Upon this Mountain, within this Keep, shall we guard the Kingdom of our forebearers! Not a hoof, not a wing that means injury over King or Country may find our stone and rest with calm! A Guard we stand and breathe, and a Guard we will bleed and fall!”

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

The ramp was high. The road up to Canterlot was a long one, narrow as well. A ram would not do; it’d be too slow and too easy to hit. Catapults would take too long to construct; the ladders were demanding enough on a few capable carpenters directing clumsy creatures. Prince Noblesse saw the city and heard very faint noises from it. Petrafyrm was probably so self-assured, not giving any thought to a parley. Fair enough; Canterlot would fall today either way.

Companies of mustangs, minotaurs, and his own levies marched upwards, steadily making progress to the gates. King Aurýx and Warchief Jasicus were further afield, raiding and plundering as they liked. Discord’s great force was eastward-bound, ready to meet the Equestrian forces gathering there. Canterlot was a necessary detour, and six-thousand and more were allotted to wipe its hubris from the world at last.

Noblesse was no fool; he knew well the stories and boasts of Canterlot’s impregnability. He smiled in a cruel fashion, bringing his brass horn to his lips. A loud bellow came over the camp and formations. He drew Deference and stood as a powerful burst of wind blew his surcoat and mane forward. His force possessed a number of great aids, and they ripped from the trees and advanced forward to the castle. Winged beasts with terrible teeth and claws and shimmering scales flew ahead, roaring and blasting streams of fire-breath. Dragons would break open those walls and roast the ponies behind.

Thestrals followed, swift as roaring waterfalls and thirsty for pegasus blood. Their strange war cries, the high-pitched modulations of their voices, sounded overhead. Zebras rode their grey elephants, white tusks adorned with spiked iron bands. Stout and lumbering though they seemed, Noblesse had watched the beastmasters urge them on with speed and ferocity. Any caught underneath would not survive.

But then, the castle stirred. Over the crenelated top of the walls streams of smoke and fire trailed. Like falling stars, boulders careened down to Noblesse’s forces, covered in pitch and set alight. The Prince saw their first victim: a large sapphire dragon. Proud and young, he flew furthest and fastest of all until one of the missiles crashed upon his spiked back. The fire could not kill the drake, but the ground did. The creature smashed into the rocky pathway up the mountain, his bones twisted and broken. His final wail of agony, his death knell, boomed across the valley, thunderous and deafening.

Noblesse’s face curled into an angry sneer, “Forward!”

The rest of that first volley impacted at places amongst his formations, scattering many but ultimately harming few. Some crashed into the woods, others in the river itself. The follow-up however was far more threatening. A wave of arrows curved along the smoke trails of the catapults, finding their marks with a deadly accuracy.

Mustangs wore little armor, save their helmets and lamellar coats. Minotaurs and zebras wore bronze and even wood, while dragons arrogantly opted for their own tough scales. He was loath to admit it, but Noblesse had to concede that Petrafyrm’s castle was as impenetrable as was boasted. Many would die in the siege, but the dull orange unicorn had numbers and powerful soldiers to his advantage, and they would prove crucial. And besides, little but hastily drawn-up levies defended Canterlot.

But one of those “levies” stood and watched the advance of the dragons and bat-ponies from atop the mountain. Cardúnón, Commander of the pegasi, levitated up a signal horn and blew deep and full. The great wing of flyers stretched out their feathers. A second blow took them off the ground. He raised his sword, “Forth, Ladocëai!” and a third sent them to their foes.

From an onlooker’s perspective it was only a matter of seconds before the two aerial forces engaged. To all flying within, air heavy with the beating of wings and cries of war-fury, time was at a standstill. Cardúnón led the charge, numbering nearly five-hundred flyers. To his side were his sister and Henarion, both too ready to fight and claim glory on this day. Behind flew Delbedasir, already charging his horn and running through his mental catalogue of spells. And even Primrose beside her husband was eager, shouting most unkind curses at the thestrals.

The first clash began with a bright eruption of flame. The dragons unleashed their inner power on the battalion of pegasi. A few burned instantly, their bodies not even allowed to reach the ground anything more than a puff of ashes. Cardúnón quickly led the force upwards to avoid the fire. There they met the thestrals. Iron clanked on iron, streams and splatters of blood coming from the first passes. Bodies fell limp and lifeless hundreds of feet below.

Cardúnón fought one bat-pony, cleaved in half with his great sword. A second was decapitated, and yet a third impaled in a swift motion. Those that flew past the green alicorn were answered by Rhílë, who took one with her blade before telekinetically pulsing it forward and striking another fifty feet away. She retrieved it just in time to slay a thestral who threatened her brother.

“Take off the blindfold!” she teased. Cardúnón grinned and returned to combat.

Alicorns, few they were, wreaked havoc on the enemy. With long swords and powerful strikes few were able to resist their attacks. A few fell in grand displays of valor, taking many more thestrals with them. Teamed together, several alicorns even smote a dragon, its dying fire-breath catching its own bat-pony comrades.

Thestrals were swift flyers, and the pegasi had their work well chosen in the task of clearing the skies. Henarion and Primrose fought off their enemy lancers with precision scarcely seen elsewhere. With his magical blade, Henarion parried and pulsed energy into his strikes, yielding such fierce results that nearby thestrals did not wish to engage him. For a stallion who could count his age in lives of ponies, it was remarkable how the routine of battle came back so quickly. “On your left!” he shouted to his wife.

Like a bolt of lightning Primrose catapulted herself forward, lance first, and speared the incoming foe through the gut. A second was cut with a twirl, but backed off too far into the enemy swarm for her to follow. It had been a good while since she’d fought—her adventuring days were over.

When she’d first met Henarion and his niece, she was scarcely old enough to wed. But Primrose had grown bored with her simple peasant life, and when the opportunity came to travel with two tall strangers who helped her village, she took it. Never in that time had she even gotten the notion of falling in love and marrying a stallion who frankly was old enough to be her ancestor of six generations. Yet here she was.

Henarion fought wildly, dodging and matching blows. His commanding presence and stern face reminded his wife of ancient statues, and in him she saw a glimpse of that noble race she’d heard much about in her travels and marriage. He defeated the latest to challenge a full-grown and roused alicorn, and then turned his head to the pegasi and alicorns around him, “From above, below, and through!”

The immediate foes were hit from three directions at once, unable to respond effectively. The battle in the sky would be won no doubt. But near the walls, as the ground forces sent more arrows and flaming boulders to Noblesse’s army, a golden dragon was descending and rearing his head back.

“Down there!” Henarion called out to Primrose. She nodded and brought her lance into position. Together they darted a hundred yards down, appearing on either flank of the drake.

“Eldowas was so excited when he learned you had so much as fought a dragon!” cried Primrose, looking for a point in the beast’s armor to pierce, “When he hears about slaying one…”

“Right!” Henarion laughed, “Behind the crest!” Primrose charged her spear-point into the drake’s head just above the neck. The strike was true, and it bellowed out in pain. Unfortunately, it let off flames with its song, torching some of the defenders atop the walls. Screams and wails caused Henarion’s heart to sink, and he maneuvered underneath and slashed open the mighty dragon’s belly. Covered in blood but otherwise unharmed, he returned to Primrose as they watched the worthy foe fall upon the walls.

Heavy though it was, such an impact could not break the ancient stonework. Its back cracked and it slumped off the edge to join so many others that had fallen. Wiping his brow, Henarion readied his blade and prepared for more butchery.

Above this carnage roared further such work. The Librarian, old and terrible, fanned his great wings wide and leveled his horn on his enemies. Armed with ancient spells, he unleashed overwhelming beams of energy that seared and paralyzed and pulverized those unfortunate enough to be caught in their path. He’d been studying for two centuries the varied discipline of spellcraft, and now he finally was able to put it to use.

Aged and frail he seemed, but Delbedasir was a formidable adversary that few with wisdom would wish to face. A dragoness learned this, a ruby red drake with jagged teeth. The beast lunged forward, trying to snap the Librarian in her jaws. Each time she seemed certain to catch him, but with a flash of red light he teleported a few feet away. It became almost a game, a means to toy with the dragoness. A burst of magic, in truth a superheated air spell, bored into her neck, and as she tried to roast the Librarian alive the fire in her throat exploded; she breathed nothing more than blood.

He shot another beam in her chest, and that was the end of the red dragoness.

The first wave of flyers was beaten back, thinner though still more numerous than Canterlot’s own winged battalion. Cardúnón charged his voice, “To me! To me!” A pursuit would be dangerous; maybe as many as a fifth of the pegasi had fallen.

With his forces gathered again, Cardúnón looked at the battlefield below. Archers and siege engineers were so far the only ones to have engaged Noblesse’s ground force, discounting the aerial skirmish. Training his eye down the mountain pathway, he saw the foe already half-way upwards, elephants and siege engines in tow. His keen alicorn eyes also noticed that the catapults in the city were running low on ammunition; the archers could not be much farther behind.

And then, a loud roar erupted from the woods. Birds of all sorts scattered for miles around and the very trees shook. Gazing out to the valley, the flyers spotted something moving through the forest. The earth quaked and a horn blew down by the river. Noblesse seemed to have one great trick in hiding, and it would not be easily defeated.

Amidst the confusion, hidden in tall ancient trees a gigantic hulking monster plodded further to the battle. Having taken its time to remain concealed just long enough, it finally saw fit to reveal itself. Emerging from the trees came a massive black shape, wings as wide as an army. An onyx dragon raised his long spiky head and let loose a torrent of multicolored fire, brimming with magic.

“That…is a Greater Dragon,” intoned Delbedasir, his horn smoking just the tiniest bit.

“How do we kill it?” Cardúnón asked.

“Steel would shatter on its hide, and any who got close enough would burn to death,” Rhílë muttered.

Henarion paused and looked at his blade levitating beside him. He then tried to remember Nikóleva’s story about that Dragon Queen.

“We have to think of something,” Cardúnón said, “Else we might as well ask him to go back home for all the good that’d do.”

Then with the force of a hurricane, the dragon flapped its wings and soared towards the castle walls. If ponies could not break those white walls, primordial dragonfire would. Primrose saw Henarion eyeing his blade, “Could that cut through?”

“I don’t know…it ain’t alicorn steel, but it’s hard. Delbedasir! Got any magic that can help?”

The Librarian thought for a moment, looking at the approaching drake. “Perhaps. We’ll have to act quickly, though. I can distract it better than anypony else; its fire won’t kill me right away. You will handle the swordwork.”

Behind the black dragon came the second wave of its lesser kin and bat-ponies. Cardúnón looked at his diminished but still capable force, “Strike it down! If it can assault the city with impunity, all is lost!” With that he flew off and led his ponies to combat the renewed enemy flyers.

Delbedasir, Henarion, and Primrose obeyed their orders and flew lower to meet the giant foe. The black dragon was a fast flyer, and came within range of the walls. One burst of his fire swallowed up dozens of guardsponies, and caused the otherwise-impenetrable defense to crack. He then rushed forth and gripped his forelimbs on the wall itself, talons digging deeper. With a single wrench he pulled off a whole section of the fortification, throwing it down onto the path.

Thrusting his hind-claws into the mountainside, the dragon swung his massive tail and assaulted further the walls. Another stream of fire caught alight a whole neighborhood in the city and its defenders. Delbedasir arrived just in time, and he sent a stream of magic so potent that it managed to knock the dragon off-balance, forcing him to let go of the walls. Still it could not pierce his armor.

“Well met, Alicorn!” he laughed, voice dripping with sinister delight, “I had hoped there were some of your kind left.”

“I should say the same!” the Librarian yelled in reply. He trained to the side and aimed for the monster’s yellow eye; it missed only barely.

“Powerful…I sense it, but old too. Older still am I, but years have only made me stronger!” Now flying high, he spread his great body and opened his toothy maw. A glow of fire echoed and emerged to engulf solely the Librarian. He flashed his horn and grunted loudly and full of strain. But then the dragon’s breath subsided. A red shield then dissipated, but Delbedasir looked worse for wear.

“Oh, so this one is more clever than most! Very well, Alicorn, you prove worthy to fight Telnarakh, King of Drakes and Wyrms! We both know in the end only one of our races can survive!”

Telnarakh sent down his tree-sized claw, missing the Librarian and only smashing into the ruined section of wall. Meanwhile Henarion and Primrose were behind him, looking for the right spot to strike. Darting to his upper neck, they spotted small gaps in his large scales. Primrose drove her lance into the crease, seeing the scale shift ever so slightly. Henarion followed with a thrust, his folded steel sword making a shallow gash. It would work, but it would be like digging through rock.

The pegasus’ lance strike however hit tender flesh, and Telnarakh recoiled and roared, “Pests! Pests! I shall swat you like the flies you are!” His mighty tail swept across his back, but Henarion and Primrose were too quick. He swept again, missing such small targets and instead crashing into a tower in the city. It fell with little issue.

Frustrated, the dragon unleashed his searing fury on the walls. The soldiers were scrambling to safety, trying to get out of range. Delbedasir noticed and charged his wings to meet the threat in time. With a powerful burst he redirected the immense fire off harmlessly into empty sky. Lightly singed and feeling more tired, he heaved and sneered, but kept his resolve.

Telnarakh bared his teeth and then landed on the path before the walls. Wrapping his strong forelimbs on the gatehouse, he bellowed while uprooting the stonework. Incompletely done though it was, Telnarakh had managed to form a great breach, wide enough to allow the approaching army to enter, which was already a hundred yards from the end of the Dragon King’s tail.

Henarion and Primrose attacked again, striking the very same spot as before. The scale shifted and cracked a little more. Telnarakh thrashed, “You think you can cast down me? It took the mightiest of alicorns to slay us in our great days! And though your kind has diminished in power, Greater Dragons remain as large and strong as we always have!”

As he finished boasting, a flaming payload from a catapult smashed directly into his chest. He screamed and snarled, turned his head and fire to the platform for which it was fired. Again the Librarian rushed and parried the inferno in a large flash of red magic. This time the strain compelled him to belt out in exertion.

For his labors, raucous cheers came from the defenders, the host calling for the name of their great Bookkeeper. On Telnarakh’s back, husband and wife dug at the scale once more. Now he was fully enraged, and trained his head upwards. Drawing in a deep breath, the inner heat was charged with a great amount of dragon-magic and unleashed. Spinning his massive flying body, he created a firestorm to torch his back-ticks alive.

A terrible glint grew in Delbedasir’s eyes, and he swooped down for his greatest feat. Closing his red eyes, he opened them to reveal green ones with purple shrouds. An erratic and ethereal stream of violet magic then twisted up the firestorm. With all his willpower and mental fortitude, the Librarian pushed the dragon’s breath away and back to where it had come. Sweating profusely and belting out in a stinging, stabbing, throbbing pain, he directed all his ancient might into driving the fire into Telnarakh’s belly.

The black drake fought back, but in the end it was a losing battle. Now inside the beast’s gullet, the fire was let go by the alicorn’s magic. It combusted within, causing a terrible pain in Telnarakh’s throat. His neck felt distended and a trail of blood dripped from his mouth. After this final phase of spellcraft, the Librarian shrieked, clapping on his temple with hooves to abate the sensation of his skull wanting to burst open. But by this mighty feat the dragon was distracted long enough.

Wounded as he was Telnarakh would not die by such means. Therefore Primrose stabbed the scale cuticle five times, and Henarion five times in kind. On the sixth the scale dislodged and broke, revealing the soft dragonskin below. Henarion raised his great sword and made it glow brightly with his own magic and that stored within the weapon. Letting out a war cry along with his wife, Henarion drove the blade deep, all the way to the hilt, and channeled the magic through the dragon’s skull.

The death throes were cataclysmic, and the two were thrown quickly off. Shrieking and bellowing and even cries of defeat and fear sounded from the dragon’s throat, but as it wailed and thrashed blood dripped from its nostrils and mouth and even eyes. After what seemed an hour of realizing its own mortality, Telnarakh, King of Drakes and Wyrms, ceased at last and fell from the air. His gigantic corpse crashed upon the river below, so broad as to dam it up.

Henarion and Primrose saw the impact and then each other. Chuckling and then bursting into raucous laughter, they grabbed one another and embraced, sharing a tender kiss. The Librarian, weary and barely able to fly, came up behind, “Come! It’s not over yet, and I feel you’ll have to make up for my absence. I am…tired.”

Henarion broke off from his wife and stared at the old alicorn. Stern-faced he nodded, “You saved our lives. Thank you.”

“You saved ours,” Delbedasir replied. He then recoiled as Primrose rushed to him and planted a kiss on his cheek. A slight blush found his face and he cleared his throat, “Careful, Dear; I can be brittle when I want to be. I shall return to the Prince’s side to rest and provide counsel. We’ve done well enough, Friends; let us bring it to the end!” And the Librarian flew off.

Henarion looked below and saw the enemy ever closer to the walls. Without gates, the defenders were now caught at a disadvantage; “bring it to the end” indeed. Cries and shouts perked his ears; above the second wave had been defeated, and Cardúnón’s host was celebrating. That would make things easier.

But one more thing would as well. “Return to the flyers; I’ll be back in moment!” Primrose obeyed and rushed as fast as her wings could take her. Henarion dove down to the body of Telnarakh, his neck twisted and wings broken. At the end of the snaking body he found the shining copper hilt of Bálebemoséo. Drawing it from the dragon’s corpse he held it high and proud, looking like image of a hero. A small cleaning spell was used to clear the blood and gore from its steel, and then Henarion was off to continue the fight.

He hoped his girls weren’t having as much “fun” as he was.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Long and deep sounded the Horn of House Mountainkeeper, wrought of brass and adorned with bands of silver. A shallow relief of alicorns tall and strong, girt in armor, had been woven along the bands with ancient craft. Petrafyrm’s ancestor Treelion, had bellowed with the Horn and led the defense of Canterlot nearly a thousand years ago. He won and became her first Prince.

With this relic of a vanished kingdom once again the might and fervor of the White Citadel was called. “For the Mountain!” the Prince commanded. Up ahead at the outer walls detachments of the Canterlot Guard were maneuvering to defend the breaches. Pikes arrayed and lowered they remained steadfast as the yards closed between them and the advancing enemy. Overhead the battle still raged between pegasus, thestral, alicorn, and dragon. Arrows whistled past ears and found their mark in oncoming minotaurs and mustangs, and zebras in their elephant mountings.

Behind his own forces, trailing at a safe distance, came Noblesse Oblige, grinning maliciously at the broken Canterlot fortifications. But for all his cunning, for all the ravages of the slain Telnarakh, this fortress was not yet won.

Before the Keep, the light sound of a pony dropping from flight came behind Peter. He turned and spotted the tall figure of Delbedasir, breathing heavily and red in the face. “My Friend! For all you’ve done for this city, I should say that was your best work!”

“You flatter me, my Lord…but it shall be my only work for the rest of today. Yet by your side I shall remain…nevertheless.” He made deep, calm breaths to sooth his exhaustion.

“From the looks above, how many are left to fight?”

“Archers and engines have done much against Noblesse; I placed it around a third lost. We are still outnumbered, and by and large the greenest were the ones to fall. With walls we could sustain, but now—”

“The Guard will hold,” Petrafyrm replied with a grim sternness, “So long as we are clever.” With that, the Prince bade his Librarian farewell and took his bodyguard forward. Sword raised he galloped, calling out to his soldiers left and right. Careening down the streets of his city, he came to just before the ruins of the Western Gate. Standing atop tall building to view better the situation, he called one of his messengers, a mauve pegasus.

Recalling one of the little maneuvers Lady Stellara performed during her wargames, the Sovereign of Canterlot got a coy idea to save the city. Laden with orders, the pegasus mare flew away to Cardúnón, where hopefully the command would be heeded.

Satisfied, Petrafyrm returned to ground level and found Captain Gendarmette. “My Lord!” she cried, utterly surprised to find him so close to the carnage. Screams and shouts came from the foes as they were impaled and pierced by the multitude of spear points.

“I shall suffer as my soldiers! Now, Captain, remember Windhock Vale?” She nodded and got a grin to match her liege’s. “Good! Keep the walls; let them come through the gate!”

The orders were obeyed at once. Acting Commander Stormvane led the center, and withdrew her soldiers little by little. Short, frequent steps were taken, and as more nomads and raiders fell to pikes, the Guard gave them more room to make poor decisions. The gap became larger, and the enemy had to trample the lifeless corpses of their compatriots to close it.

Meanwhile, orders went to Commander Stonehewn to send archers into the high buildings nearby. Other militia troops filled the gaps in the Guard’s lines, joining the slaughter. The brutal arms of minotaurs and the curved sabers of mustangs were formidable opponents to the heavily-armored infantry, but though they sustained losses, the front line replied with interest.

At the walls ladders were raised, and Noblesse’s own Trottingham banners, used to siegecraft, ran up to assail the white parapets. Swords and spears cleaved limbs and heads from the assaulters. Blood and cries were endemic, and it was no long time before the marble purity of Canterlot devolved into crimson sin and carnage.

But for all the spectacle, where ponies became reddened and lesser savages in their own right, Canterlot was winning. Bowponies high in their roosts loosed arrow after arrow into the quickly-growing throng of enemies in front of the gates. They had allowed themselves to become too eager, a consequence of Noblesse’s impatience, and now formed a pocket that was surrounded on all sides by pikeponies and varied militiatroops. With clear shots and plentiful targets, the archers had great sport then.

Four thousand or so, however, remained, and Canterlot’s forces were dwindling; to think otherwise would be a mistake. Another course was needed in the end, else sheer numbers would eventually overwhelm the Violet Star Banner. Amidst the twang of iron and wrenching of severed limbs and broken bones, Cardúnón would have to be that course.

From his vantage point, Noblesse’s Host was compressing, pushing itself further into the walls to bring their numbers to bear all the quicker. The messenger received a time ago gave Cardúnón his orders, and soon the opportunity would present itself.

In the meanwhile he satisfied himself with a fight against no less than three thestrals. These grey golden-eyed creatures rushed from three directions, to which Cardúnón replied by flying upwards, swing down his sword and catching the back of one’s skull. Ripping it from bone, the green alicorn then turned his weapon on the disoriented remaining two, slashing their chests in one move. One crashed down to the ground, the other tried to fly forwards for vengeance. A single thrust was all it took for Cardúnón to finish his valiant, but ultimately mistaken, opponent.

Blood dripped heavily from his great sword, yet he was spared no moment to muse on life and war before the weapon was set on more oncoming foes. Rhílë soon joined his side, never willing to leave the green fool alone for too long. Brother and Sister fought off flyer after flyer, teaming up to slay a dragon—after the killing of mighty Telnarakh, what was a small “lesser wyrm” to high-blooded ponies?

Henarion and Primrose ravaged their space as well, leading dozens of their kin against great swarms of bat-ponies. Flying as he hadn’t since before his first century was past, Henarion bellowed and fought with a vigor he’d forgotten he had. “Stronghoof! Stronghoof Dragonsbane!” he heard coming from behind, from his newly-formed “retinue”. “Now that’s not too bad…,” he muttered to himself.

Primrose darted left and right, up and down, at speeds incomprehensible. Thestrals were swift; she was swifter, and just as merciless in her strikes. Never far from her husband’s side, Primrose kept his rear safe, and was certainly kept busy in doing so. Precise and deadly, as Rhílë had advised, Primrose came to appear like bolts of lightning to the thestrals. It was in this view, and with great admiration of this little pegasus peasant’s mettle, courage, and ferocity, that the pegasi trailing first uttered a name that would become part of great pegasus folklore: Lady Thunderlance.

When the relentless battering became too much for the thestrals and dragons , this wave withdrew, licking its wounds and likely not able to mount a fourth attack. Cardúnón called out and blew his horn, reeling in his scattered flyers together into a broad formation. Down below the enemy was squeezing further into the city, the traps the Prince devised wreaking havoc but by itself not enough. Now was the time.

Raising his great sword, Cardúnón, with Rhílë, Dragonsbane, and Thunderlance beside, led the pegasi and alicorns down to smash their hammer upon the Guard’s anvil. Wide wings propelled the airborne ponies forward, sword and lance lowered to skewer through. War cries trailed the flyers, all making fierce and gnashing expressions, ready to tear into the foe. But Cardúnón made one final maneuver, causing his alicorns to follow.

Low to the ground, he began galloping his legs in the air, touching down perfectly and maintaining his momentum. His kin mimicked the action, and soon nearly thirty of their fading race made a gesture of defiance. A cold deep night threatened to swallow them, but it would not be with quiet and stillness that they’d comply. Heavy, speeding along, and armed, their pegasus brethren overhead, the Triple-Kin galloped straight into the rear.

“héim-Ránen!(For the Mountain!)” their green Commander yelled, uppercutting his great sword into the first minotaur to get in his path. The thunderous quake of the earth behind them alerted the enemy to the great flanking, but they prepared with too little time. The clashing of iron and the trampling of hooves deafened those around. Some alicorns managed fifty feet through the enemy line before they lost their momentum and took off to the sky. And darting down from the clouds, pegasi picked off the stunned enemy.

The shock attack forced more of Noblesse’s banners forward, straight into the wall of pikes and swarm of arrows Petrafyrm had arrayed. The giant grey mounts of the zebras tried to rush and trample Canterlot’s defenders; to an extent they succeeded, but soon spears and shields felled these creatures. As a knell of death they blared like trumpets and reared up, toppling over and crushing friend and foe beneath their massive frames.

Again Cardúnón gathered his forces and perpetrated a second charge, this one met with more resistance than before, but almost just as futile. Afterwards, many began to break and flee, dropping their weapons and banners. A mass rout would soon take place.

“Run them down!” Cardúnón ordered, pegasi turning around and chasing the routers. Meanwhile, at the head of his army, Prince Petrafyrm saw more and more of Noblesse’s troops turn, and so he raised the Southern Keen and led the charge. From the streets of the White Citadel, Knight Captain Grimheim led his Free Knights out to trample and capture the broken foe. Alicorns joined them, and with bursts of magic and giant swords the ancient ponies demonstrated their classical strength.

Canterlot had won, and some three-thousand routing opponents proved this. Quick mustangs and thestrals would largely escape, but dragons would be too proud to run. Most fought to the death, taking a substantial number with them. Atop his city’s walls, Prince Peter surveyed out and spotted Noblesse. He then called for a messenger and relayed them his terms. The Prince then sent the pegasus off hopefully to hear of Noblesse’s good nature and reason.

Amidst the carnage and chaos, Cardúnón and Henarion were chasing down foes, ensuring that tomorrow they would not rally and again try to take the city. Admirable foes kept their weapons and tried to die with honor. And die they did. Cardúnón scoffed; these cowards forsook their oaths and lords for their own safety—to die with honor was their fate, as far as he cared to see it.

“Ninety-nine!” the green alicorn called out, catching the ear of Henarion. The orange stallion raised an eyebrow.

Number one-hundred then came before him. A dark brown minotaur, bearing a round shield and short sword. Cloven hooves dug into the dirt, he grimaced at the tall alicorn before him. Another one was close by. The bull grit his teeth, but soon lessened his countenance. Taking a deep breath, the minotaur dropped his shield and laid his blade before Cardúnón’s feet.

“I have lost. Through cunning and strength you have beat us,” the minotaur spoke through his thick accent, “You are the better warrior; I yield.” He then knelt.

One-hundred foes slain…that was his condition. Cardúnón stared at the minotaur and raised his sword. Defenseless, it should have been a clean kill. But the rules of war…if but one rule could be observed…surrender was to be respected. The alicorn fought with himself for a minute. To run was dishonorable, but to stand and admit defeat…

Cardúnón lowered his sword and slid it back into its scabbard. “I accept your surrender,” he announced in his deep voice. Seeing his mercy, many other foes around him too approached and bowed before the alicorn. Weapons dropped and armor unfastened, dozens yielded to their betters.

Most fleeing had escaped from Cardúnón’s immediate range; there would be no one-hundredth.

Henarion approached from behind and sheathed his mottled blade. He turned his one blue eye to the green stallion, “Now’s your chance.” His voice was grim and biting.

“Balila she ila,(Ninety-nine,)” Cardúnón reaffirmed, looking Henarion straight in his eye.

The old alicorn’s scowl slowly turned to a half-smile. He outstretched his foreleg and placed it on Cardúnón’s shoulder. “Aye!” he laughed; soon his green companion joined in.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Standing atop a rocky perch, Noblesse raged and shouted, erupting with violent bursts of violet magic. “To me! To me, you cowards!” He blew his horn, and managed to assemble a paltry force of his knights and levies who had not fled. Scanning the battlefield, Noblesse Oblige looked for that damn Prince. He found that blue unicorn charging at the head of his Free Knights. A toothy sneer formed on Noblesse’s face, and he readied himself to meet in single combat that irksome, loathsome, troublesome pony that had arrayed Equestria against him!

“Parley! Parley, Lord!” came a mare’s voice. A mauve pegasus descended and appeared before the Prince of Trottingham. She craned her neck, “My liege Petrafyrm of Canterlot has bade me to announce his Highness is willing to discuss terms. Surrender and equitable treatment is guaranteed.”

And there, at his patience’s end, Noblesse Oblige committed the gravest taboo in war: he rose his blade Deference and cleaved off the diplomat’s head. The poor mare seized and convulsed on the ground, blood pouring from the stump of her neck. “Bring me the Prince!” he ordered through clenched teeth.

A sizzling air of magic appeared, like the charge in the sky before a thunderstorm. “I don’t think that shall be necessary,” came a voice Noblesse knew well. He turned around and found the long, spindling form of his Master, face set with a frown and hands upon his hips.

“I am not sure what to do with you,” Discord began, picking up his minion by the scruff of his neck, “You have this one task, and that eludes you!” A dark grin then grew on the fiend’s mouth, his single fang sprouting from his lips, “Though…a finer mess I have seldom seen. I should give you more kingdoms and armies to ruin; you’re good at it.”

Pride hurt, Noblesse found the rest of him injured when Discord threw him onto the ground. “I was having such a lovely day of song and drink, but now that I’m about, I’ll be taking over here. Sit and wait, like a good dog.”

“But Master—“ an idle snap of Discord’s fingers caused a bolt of lightning to singe Noblesse’s hair. A grown Lord of Equestria, adorned in grand armor and leader of a proud realm brought to heel as the comedic plaything of a God…Noblesse did not know pride could sink so low.

Hovering over the battlefield, Discord advanced slowly and almost with a bored expression. Some chasing Canterlot warriors spotted him and tried their luck. They had none, of course, and the Draconequus dispatched dozens with methods varied and cruel. Some were roasted alive in their armor, others speared to death when plant roots grew ten-fold and sharply. One was even crushed when he enlarged his fingers and pinched a knight’s warhelm.

Discord giggled to himself like the wretch he was; ponies had been so much stronger, so much more capable of resisting in Elder Days. These current ponies just weren’t the same… But there was one relic of those times; that black sword he coveted so.

As he moved closer and closer to Canterlot, others spotted him amidst the grim and grisly field. Henarion saw him, and at once horror overtook the stallion. “What is it?” asked Cardúnón.

“Discord.”

Cardúnón turned and spotted the fiend, “That is him?”

Henarion nodded, “We have to return to the castle!”

With a loud horn-blow, Cardúnón signaled for his troops to rally, “To the Castle! Fall back!” Beside Cardúnón and Henarion flew in Rhílë and Primrose, along with the remainder of the pegasi and alicorns. With great haste they soared to regroup within the city.

Along the journey they passed Petrafyrm. Henarion’s voice boomed downwards, “My Lord! Discord approaches!”

Remembering well the account Dame Wintermail and Lady Stellara had given of this primordial fiend, Peter’s eyes shrunk and he ordered all his troops to give up the chase. The brass Horn of Treelion echoed across the mountain pathway, but to the furthest it proved too late. Most made into back into the city at full gallop, but the stragglers were subjected to more of Discord cruel tricks and games.

He softly hummed to himself, conjuring up abominations out of the objects around him: rocks, grass, even reanimated corpses. Shrieks followed in his wake as he came ever closer to the shattered gates.

Standing over the walls, Petrafyrm watched this foe approach, nothing seeming to slow him down. Cardúnón and the Librarian at his side, he turned to seek counsel, “What can we do?”

“The caves,” Delbedasir replied, “We can hide there.”

“Hide? For how long can we hide? How long can we avoid Discord?” Cardúnón interjected.

“Hopefully long enough for the Sisters to return. Take them! Lead all our forces to safety there!” ordered the Prince.

“And you?” asked Cardúnón.

Petrafyrm turned slowly to the alicorn, “I shall ensure the rear makes it inside. A Prince shall be the first out the gates…and the last inside.”

“My Liege, do not let your pride cloud your judgment; you must get to safety!” said Delbedasir.

“There is no pride here. Go!”

A look of hesitation crossed the Librarian’s face. Despite a sharp wit and centuries of experience, words failed him in that moment, and he resigned himself to obeying his lord. He took off and called out for Canterlot’s soldiers to fall back into the mountain tunnels.

Cardúnón, however, stood in deep thought. There were over a thousand left to save, and by his reckoning Discord would reach the city before many had a chance to reach the caves. He sent off his pegasi, but assembled his remaining alicorns. They would buy time, hopefully to some profit.

His sister and Henarion joined him, along with the orange stallion’s young wife. Twenty-five or so remained of the Triple-Kin after such struggle. A ways back, the Librarian spotted his kindred gathering. He relayed commands to one of the fleeing officers and turned immediately around to join them.

With no words, Cardúnón drew his blade and sallied forth to meet Discord. The green stallion opened with a burst of magic that seemed to only annoy the fiend. Seeing these alicorns around him, Discord snarled and unleashed a measure of his power, snapping his fingers to conjured up a few lead weights on an alicorn’s wings. She plummeted to the ground, snared alive by livened and aggressive roots. Another snap caused purple tendrils to emerge in the air and grab hold of a few more, strangling and tearing to shreds. But powerful as he was, Discord could only focus on so much, and this swarm managed to land a few blows on him. Slicing tendons and tender spots, he recoiled and lost focus on his spells.

But as quickly as they could harm him, Discord would heal. Summoning a measure of his cosmic power, Discord readied to deal with these pests. Delbedasir, in a moment of great daring, flashed on his own alicorn power and projected a field to disrupt the Draconequus’ move. “I’m impressed! Now it’s my turn!” he laughed, ramming his fists into the magic barrier. Several blows later and it shattered, throwing back the Librarian and leaving his horn a singed mess.

A swipe of Discord’s arm cast out a blade of magic, felling no less than five alicorns. Cardúnón out the corner of his silver eye saw most of Canterlot’s soldiers nearly within the keep’s walls. “Fall back!” he called again, leading the alicorns away from their foe.

A few were caught by Discord, but he gave no chase, and instead spotted the Prince of the city just behind the walls.

“Come! To the caves!” the Prince yelled, seeing the last of the stragglers cross the gatehouse. Petrafyrm was now ready to join them.

As he galloped down the street, a sinister laugh came upon the wind. “Oh, won’t you join me for dinner tonight?”

A glimmer of panic struck Peter as a bubble of magic formed around him and the surrounding city block. Ponies who did not heed the barrier crossed it, the flesh immediately burned from their bones. Haunting wails echoed from their bodies.

Discord, terrible and looming, hovered closer until a mere twenty feet stood between him and the Prince. “Peter, is it? I’ve heard a great deal about you. In fact, so much that I now know that you have something of great value to me.”

Petrafyrm, dressed in his armor, rose the Southern Keen and recalled the First Duty of a Prince. He channeled magic into the blade, causing it glow a bright white. Discord recoiled, a fear upon his long face.

Hundreds of yards away, the shimmer of the sword did not escape the notice of Delbedasir. His sharp eyes saw Discord and the Prince, and an agonized stabbing sensation overtook his heart, “My Lord!” he shouted, but stumbled immediately as the reality of his age and exhaustion made itself known.

Henarion caught the stallion and propped him up, “Me must go; There’s nothing we can do for him now.”

Delbedasir clenched his teeth. A few tears trickled down his cheeks, and all the memories he’d shared with his dear friend flashed in his mind. Leaving that place was perhaps the hardest thing he’d ever done. Ponies all around were racing for the caves; one at least would have to be left behind.

And that pony could stall just a little bit longer. He stared at the hellfiend, raising his blade and taking a stance. “For Equestria!” he called, galloping forward. Discord attempted to use a trick on him, but Petrafyrm managed to fire a countering blast of magic. He leapt up and swung Manycsudë hard across Discord’s chest, then thrust deep to where his heart presumably was.

The Draconequus shrieked in pain, but after many beltings he realized that the steel did not burn him. He then grabbed the Prince and drew him from his chest, throwing the stallion onto the cobblestone. “You do not wield the Sword of Light and Darkness, do you?” the fiend chuckled, “Might I ask where it is?”

Petrafyrm wiped some of the blood from his mouth and raised his weapon again. “Stop it. Don’t you know it is rude to ignore someone when they ask you a question?” Discord stomped his hooves leg, causing a pillar of rock to emerge and knock the Prince into a nearby building. He groaned as he hobbled to his feet, but Manycsudë was ten feet away.

Discord levitated up the sword right as his lieutenant Noblesse came up behind. “This managed to trick me,” the serpent smiled coyly. “Here; I know how much you like long, hard things,” Discord jested, handing the sword to Noblesse.

The unicorn blushed but then filled his heart with hatred and fury, “My Lord, I ask your leave to kill that enemy of His Chaotic Eminence!”

Discord’s eyes lowered, “No. You’ve done enough today. Besides,” the fiend opened his paw, capturing the Petrafyrm in his magic. The blue unicorn was weak and unable to stand correctly, likely due to several broken ribs. He could do nothing to resist when Discord brought him forth. “I need him for a very special purpose.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, you know, Peter.” The mention of his name caused the Prince to shudder. “If you’re not careful, your entire country could wind up in a bad place, if you catch my meaning. Noblesse here had a little sense—little, but enough. Give me what I want, and I’ll make you the envy of all lords!” Discord then leaned closer to his prey, “Or see it all burn and become ash.”

Wincing over his injuries, Petrafyrm spat at the Draconequus, “Silver tongues are nice….Discord, but I have found something even more precious.”

“Is that so?” Discord rolled his eyes, “Don’t keep me waiting. Give me the Heavens.”

“Is the Mighty Draconequus…beholden to a mere mortal?” Petrafyrm teased, managing a rude smile.

The hellfiend chuckled again, “Oh you know how they can be; Sun and Moon are a stubborn pair. But they’ll be mine, easy way or hard way. Last chance, little Princeling!”

Petrafyrm merely continued glowering, battered and bruised. Discord smiled, “Well this is on you then,” he extended a hand into Peter’s chest, boring into it with dark magic. The unicorn screamed as Discord sifted through his spiritual core itself, searching for the cosmic “deed” to the Heavens.

The Draconequus found it after a time, pulling out an orb of pulsating, multicolored magic. The Sun and Moon, and the star above, were all placed when the world was new. As part of the divine design the unicorns first were tasked with ordering them and ensuring that each day they came again. When kings rose they assumed the duty, and when they fell, the Princes of Canterlot were humbled by this task.

But there was an order, a divine contract of which violation entailed a stern retribution. Discord had stolen the contract, and thereby stolen command of them. He could not have been happier.

Thrusting the orb into his chest, Discord could feel the connection to the Heavens, and focused on the bodies above. Soon the Sun was shifted aside and the Moon came up to join it. Laughing at his handiwork, Discord turned to his little minion, “Well Noblesse, what do you think? Hmm…could use some work. Let me try this…” A swish of his fingers later and both bodies fell below the horizon such that a grim twilight overtook the sky.

The whole world would remember this time for the disruption to a pattern observed and taken for granted for millennia, and it would be called many names, whether or not it was understood why it had happened.

“Much better! So…Peter, I want just one more, little thing. I know that you know what it is.”

A wraith of the pony he had been, strong and just, a ruler of great repute and respect, Petrafyrm still had the strength to defy this wicked creature. “Enjoy your victory, Discord. Enjoy the chaos you’ve wrought, and enjoy the lives you’ve ruined. But remember…always remember…that in the end you cannot win. Not since your first sin, not since you let pride overtake you could you win. In the end, whether I live a moment more or a hundred years at your torment…in the end my pain shall cease.

“But you can never be free. In my short life, I have done at least this: I have created the means of your undoing. So stand and laugh while you can; soon enough you shall cower and weep.”

Discord clenched his fist tighter, crushing the poor Prince, “When you see your ‘God’, please let him know this is my world now. I would respect his distance.” A sickening crunch and Discord relaxed his grip, letting the broken body of the Prince fall on the ground.

Mangled and bloody, Petrafyrm raised his still vibrant violet eyes at Noblesse. Raspy, labored breaths signaled his final words, “Cold and nameless shall be your fate.” The Prince of Trottingham furrowed his brow and almost lost his composure and pounced upon the dying unicorn.

Petrafyrm of House Mountainkeeper, Prince of Canterlot, lied on the cold stone, losing his last gasps of life. He could in these closing moments dwell on the fate of his city and its ponies, and on his failure to defend both. He could lament he’d never see the shining faces of his dear wife Coruscina and beloved son Vale again, or those of his friends. He could mourn that’d he’d never witness the coronation of a new sovereign of Equestria, or see its glory restored. And all these things did cross his mind. Tears were insufficient to express his grief and loss. But in all this his last sentiment focused instead on the hope he’d retained. His family was safe, his ponies safe, and in the end his realm would endure.

It was a hope so overpowering and bright that no evil could choke it or shroud it from the world. Prince Petrafyrm had done his part, and for his efforts he could now rest. He closed his eyes for the last time and accepted his fate.

Discord for his part stood over the lifeless corpse and surveyed his new city. Gathered soldiers ran inside, soon to take up residence and torment any inhabitants left. The serpent smiled and admired the blood and ruined cityscape before him, “This is a good start, but…some work still needs to be done.” A snap of his fingers and the Draconequus began remodeling his new abode. So many possibilities, and after a little rest he could set about looking for that sword, and that white pony who had wielded it.

Amidst fires and tattered banners, the smashing of buildings and looting of treasure, Canterlot had fallen, and the first great victory against the Equestrians had been won. The main body of Discord’s horde was due north, on the march to eliminate the resistance that remained. It seemed very grim indeed, but only mirth left Noblesse Oblige’s lips as his despised rival was at last thrown down.

His crown was all the closer.

But even in the face of such grim travesty, the ponies of Canterlot snaked through the labyrinth deep in their mountain, further into the depths were secret passages allowing them to freedom. Led by the light of unicorn horns and torches thousands came to the many hidden doors. Magic was used to reveal their creases and unlock their stones, opening the way outside a thousand feet below the ruin of Canterlot.

Princess Coruscina, in light of her son’s minority, took up the Regency and led her ponies to the safety of the woods beyond, escaping under the cover of the dim twilight. She spared one final glance at the smoke trails rising from her city, and there vowed to return in triumph. With hope of their resilience, and of the sisters toiling away in the Everfree, the Princess stood for hours overseeing her ponies slip into the dark woods, there to regroup and plan to take back the Mountain-Borne Keep.

She wished so desperately to weep, quite certain of what became of her husband. She dreaded the moment she had to tell little Vale his father was gone, and he’d have to rule in time. But now strength and composure were needed. Only when the last battle had been won, and the last foe defeated, could she grieve.

And there’d be many more reasons to grieve at the end of it all.

Comments

[Alondro]

Geez. Well, this Discord has killed too many to be forgiven.

He must be exterminated. Reformation is impossible for such a stone-cold killer.

[cosmofur]

One of the reasons I feel this AU version of Discord is so unredeemable evil, is because the author is purposly following J R Tolkien's style. Which in itself is no bad thing. Tolkien was a master story teller...but he did most of his writing for a different age. When stories of good and evil where expected to be very black and white.
The idea of redemption we see in so many MLP stories was not the norm. Indeed what few redemption stories you can find from that period were written to make redemption rare and extraordinary difficult to achieve. Only border line cases could hope for any forgiveness and only after great torture and humiliation. An example would be the book (not Disney) version of Pinocchio where being swallowed by a whale was the least of the trials the naughty puppet had to endure to earn redemption.
So following Tolkien's story beats means that a major baddie like Discard can't have any possible path to the light. Black and White morality has no room for redeemable trickster.

[Alaxsxaq]

8886154
You make an interesting point. Now here usually would be the part where I try to explain my mistakes or explain all my reasoning because I suffer from insecurities and a deep desire for approval. But all the themes and rationale behind my choices and directions I've taken might be better delved into in a post-story essay or something of that sort. It frustrates me that I've not yet finished (notwithstanding my incredibly long hiatus), especially as it'd be best to let the story speak for itself when it's finished. If the author must explain something important when a reader cannot decipher it themselves, then it should have been written better...

Modern fantasy has become divorced into two main camps as I see it, and the classic comparison has been done to death: the traditional good-vs-evil narrative born out of medieval romances and I think also Victorian/19th century idealism on one hand, typified by the Lord of the Rings, and the grittier, greyer, and utterly human drama, this a product of post-modernism and the tumult of the 20th and early 21st centuries, exemplified by a Song of Ice and Fire.

In my view it is incorrect to compare these two on the basis of "fantasy", as I don't agree that fantasy is itself a genre, but rather a setting that stories take place inside. LoTR is a classical quest/adventure, while aSoIF is a political drama. It'd be like comparing Spiderman to the Godfather because they both take place in New York.

Furthermore, there is a tendancy to view the idealistic dichotomy of good and evil as simplistic and childish. So too can "Tolkienists" see Martin's and other's works as ruthlessly grim and cynical. I love both works, and to me both have their merits. I enjoy either for many reasons, a few of which overlap. But ultimately my world-view lies closer to the black and white morality, the idealistic lens of humanity and its capacity.

I'm sure you know, as all good intelligent and literate individuals might have found out, that good characters in stern black and white stories can be both complex and interesting; the idea that the "good guy" is boring and only amoral anti-heroes are worth one's time is something I believe arose from a post-modern contempt for the traditional narrative and an overeager willingness to accept something new as inherently "better". But of course anti-heroes and even anti-villains, with complex and morally grey motivations can indeed make some good literature.

To throw in my two cents about redeeming evil characters, this is probably seldom done in good vs evil stories for a few reasons. 1) It's simply not what the story is about. It's about the good hero vanquishing the bad villain and saving the land. 2) A strong white and black view precludes the idea that someone who makes (as read by moralists) objectively wrong decisions has committed and evil, and evil must be punished in the narrative. However, what can really add an element of complexity and intrigue to the equation is reevaluating the motivations of the villain. Heroes can do wrong and villains good, but at the core is their reasoning for doing so.

I believe to redeem a character, at their heart they need to show some motivation that in their mind they are committing evil utlimately to further the good. Darth Vader is an example that I am fond of. The films don't touch on this so much, but in the supplementary materiel Vader is portrayed as a tortured soul, devoid of all he held dear and left with nothing but his work. And his work is brutal but in his mind ultimately it serves the Empire, which he believes in the end will ensure peace and stability in the Galaxy. Of course the audience is led to feel that both his methods and motivation are evil, but he HIMSELF does not.

And speaking of your statement on Pinocchio, where redemption only comes to a character through great suffering and humiliation; well I believe this stems from the medieval idea if purgatory. To the Catholic Tolkien I'm sure, and myself, a contrite soul may find redemption, but only after their wrongdoings have been atoned for or made right.

Now finally to MLP. From the villains we've encountered, many times they have been blown-up versions of a "schoolyard bully", as in someone who is not evil or necessarily sadistic, but really just a scared and hurt child who simply needs a friend to show them a better way. This is a nice and wholesome angle to go. After all, do children need to learn yet that monsters really DO exist? Who am I to say? The couple characters who are not redeemed, off the top of my head Tirek, Sombra, and Chrysalis, seem to desire power and dominion.

Though Chrysalis' motivations might be more complicated than that, and Sombra wasn't really a villain so much as a looming force that moved the story forward. Discord is different, and one could argue that his initial impetus to "being good" was simply a means to keep Fluttershy as a friend, i.e. to fulfill an emotional need rather than any altruistic desire to behave or sincere regard for Fluttershy as a person. But...that'd be a cynical way to look at it.

But to add a final thought to all this mess, another aspect of Tolkien that has drawn me is the "end of an era" theme, the fading away of power and myth. At the end of LoTR the great evil is destroyed and peace reigns, but the magic wanes and the creatures are to disappear in time. The heroic mythical High Numenoreans are dwindling, and will one day be like us, and the Elves will vanish forever. To me LoTR was the last hurrah, the dying blaze of a mythic age before the mundane times of our own world began. Like at the end of Beowulf with him slaying the dragon, the great evil is gone, leaving the only wickedness in the world to come from the hearts of men.

What was the point of all this? I'm not sure, but it was nice to write about it. Sorry to have spent so much time and made a wall of text in response. I hope you didn't interpret any of this as talking down to you; I fully respect any and all opinions you might have, and greatly appreciated any input you've given.

If you've gotten this far, you have a wonderful day, Friend!

[cosmofur]

8886329
Very well thought out.
If you don't already know about it, there is a great online community, that also happens to be a certified school called Mythgard Academy http://mythgard.org/ The head of which is Professor Corey Olsen, also known online as 'the Tolkien Proffessor' a real nice guy with lots of insights on this subject. Well worth listening to his podcast lectures on Lord of the rings and medieval literature. Here is a great non lotr one that covers much of the sort of ideas you mentioned http://tolkienprofessor.com/lectures/courses/faerie-and-fantasy/

[Q07]

Just read the last 4 chapters all at once. Couldn't wait any longer. The canterlot battle may be my favorite thing to come out of this story so far! What a ride. When DIscord appeared I could barely continue reading!

[Alaxsxaq]

8886605
Well I'll just have to check this out, won't I?

[Alaxsxaq]

8887067
I'm very pleased that you've enjoyed it so much. I'm terribly sorry then that'll you'll have to wait for on me to finish the story!

[Q07]

8888228
To be fair I waited through your super hiatus and came back as soon as I realized it had updated. So I like to think I'm pretty patient when it comes to stories on this site lol. By the way I'm curious about something and wanted to ask a question. You were gone from putting out content for a while, so do you still watch the actual show? I know more than a few individuals (myself included) that do not actually keep up with the main show any longer. The closest I come is watching the Equestria Girls stuff, but that's only because I love Sunset

[Alaxsxaq]

8888654
I do in fact still watch the show. I think my favorite is still season 4, but I'd have to rewatch and evaluate all the episodes to make that for sure. I do think the later seasons don't have that same magical quality to it, but I'm not sure what that exactly means (maybe it was just because season 1 and 2 were new and had that freshness, I'm not sure) but I still find the show entertaining and enjoyable.

Most of my brony friends now look on those years with contempt and shame, which I find funny. I will say that the mane 6 had their goals/character arcs sort of fulfilled by season 5, so that took an element out of their stories, but even so it's not to bad.

Also, I love Equestria Girls (Rainbow Rocks was the best) and Sunset Shimmer.

[Q07]

A real life friend I have definitely holds the couple of years he was into it with that shame. I'm not entirely sure why I don't watch it anymore, which is why I was asking you if you were in the same boat. I hadn't missed an episode since season 2 and I was in the midst of season six when one week I missed an episode, and that was all it took I guess because I haven't seen an episode since then. It's very strange to me that it was like a switch that turned off where the actual show is concerned. Oh well some things are just meant to be strange I suppose. Thanks for indulging my curiosity!

[Alaxsxaq]

8888765

[FiredragonX]

Now that is a last stand.
You know at first I thought this was going to be filler but lucky I was so wrong.

[Alaxsxaq]

8898952
Come on, have a little faith in me

[FiredragonX]

8905590
I do even if you wrote filler you may try to fit in some character development or a really good fight scene.

[Alaxsxaq]

8934425
I suppose the most correct reason (not necessarily best) is that she needed to lose. Very contrived I know. Also I thought sword-fighting was a lot cooler.

As for the magical levitation, I see the unicorn telekinesis as more a function of physical strength and/or mental fortitude, and individuals subjected to attempts to throw them around like a rag doll possess the ability to resist as one might in a physical confrontation.

Thank you for your criticism.