The Wanderer of the North

by Alaxsxaq

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 18. Taking Charge

4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 18. Taking Charge

Everything was heavy. Her limbs, her breaths, the very air—now it had fully dawned on Wintermail. Before, she’d had too many things to worry about, but allowed a moment’s pause the grief was almost too much. Mourning came from her left and right, the many ponies who’d known and served their fallen sovereign paying due respects.

The service was to be short—unfortunately still so little time was available, but he deserved a proper burial. Wintermail’s glossy eyes looked up from the floor, shifting to the casket the deceased Prince now rested within. She sighed, stepping forward to see his face one last time. They had found his body, miraculous largely intact. He’d been broken and beaten, but possessed no great mutilations.

She peered over the edge, a painful lump in her throat. But he looked peaceful, regal even. The morticians had done well; his blue fur was washed and groomed, his mane trimmed and combed back. He was dressed in his silken vest, hooves folded over his chest. The face was calm and reserved in quiet retirement. Had she been a filly, Wintermail could have believed he was merely asleep.

She knew better.

And with great tragedy, so too did his wife and son. Princess Mother Coruscina, at last dropping the inner strength she’d borne since the fall of Canterlot, dressed in black. Her sobs were silent but wracked her body to its very core. In her hooves, head against chest, was little Vale, now Prince of the White City. A deep bout of pity hit Wintermail; he was but seven years of age. Some thought it best to try and convince him his father had simply left, gone someplace hidden. Wintermail shook her head; children were smarter than that.

It was a grievous pity that somepony so young had to learn the harsh reality of death. Wintermail thought back to that day long ago, when she was only five and Taby but a foal. Nikóleva remembered clutching her father as he bled to death. She placed a hoof over her mouth and beat back the urge to weep.

Tears were dripping down her cheeks, but still she tried to stiffen her lip. Wintermail rested her right hoof on the casket and stood for a time. At last, under trembling breaths, she spoke softly, “Thank you, Peter. What you’ve done…for me, my sister…I don’t think I could have ever repaid you. And now,” a sigh left her, “I failed to protect you, my Lord, my Liege. I hope you don’t begrudge me too much.” Wintermail gave a weak smile. “I’m sorry that I pushed away my duty, that I sought to run away from what I’d been called to do. I will make it right, my Friend. You told me many things about who I was and what you believed I could be…if only I had believed you then.”

She wiped her eyes, breathed in, and stood up tall. “Know this, Peter: you made a Queen, and now she will make your Kingdom. Rest now, Great Prince.” Wintermail bowed her head and returned to the stands with the other mourners, taking place beside her sister.

Elder sister cradled the younger in her long neck. Henarion and his family stood nearby, lost in their own thoughts of grief. Ministers, commanders, soldiers, craftsponies, farmers, landowners, and even alicorns were all coping in their own ways. The room’s hushed cries and whispers were drowned out as Delbedasir, Prince Petrafyrm’s oldest and most trusted adviser and friend, read aloud a solemn passage from the Alicorn Holy Book in that ancient tongue.

It was a lament, a tale set before the Fall of an alicorn who’d lost a loved one, and of their journey in learning to cope with the grief and loss. The story was a small comfort, yet Wintermail couldn’t help but smile at the end.

When the service was over, ponies came to bear the Prince’s casket into the deep catacombs to be forever entombed within a stone sarcophagus among his ancestors. Flowers were tossed atop the wooden lid as he was carried away, and there the last would be seen of Petrafyrm the Just.

Everypony was dismissed, and they began to shuffle out in a quiet rustle. Near the door of the service chamber, Wintermail looked back to see the Princess and her son speaking with the Librarian. The white alicorn hoped their pain could be lessened by old wisdom, but right now she had duties as Regent.

The rendezvous with the Lords further north had been delayed for too long.

Henarion kissed Primrose and Eldowas farewell before they returned to their quarters in the castle. Joined by their Uncle, Regent Wintermail and Lady Stellara took brisk steps towards the Council Room. Along the way, as they passed outside in the pleasant summer morning under the porticoes, the din of work came on the wind. Carpenters and masons labored to restore the fortifications within the castle, as many more were busy at work within the city repairing ruined shops and homes. Wintermail’s own smithy had put aside its usual work of weapons to instead forge nails and fittings and tools.

It was a gargantuan effort, paid for by what was in the treasury and the donations of wealthy and concerned citizens, and would not be complete for a long while. Weaving between moving workponies, the three passed under the arches and found their way to the Canterlot council. Guards astride the entrance bowed before the new Regent as she nodded in reply. They opened the oaken doors and allowed the alicorns within, shutting them once the three had gone through.

The chamber seemed bare compared to how it once was, doubtlessly ransacked of valuables when the city was occupied. Banners use to hang from the walls, chandeliers from the ceiling. The gold had been stripped away, the crystal stolen. Most of the banners had been ripped off, but were since picked up and taken away for mending. One remained, slightly torn, but some insignia were need in the realm’s council chamber. A small cart was off to the side, holding a tin pitcher of the wine the Prince always offered to his guests and councilors.

Standing around the table were the Prince’s old ministers, now Wintermail’s agents of state. Their talents and expertise would prove critical. They warmly greeted their superior; Wintermail returned the hospitality, and Stellara and Henarion assumed their places at the table.

The white Regent poured herself a small measure of wine in her tin cup and smiled after a sip, recalling the memories she’d had with this vintage in the Prince’s company. Downing the last drop, she came to the head of the table, judging the wonderfully-carved chair to be too small for her to comfortably use.

She stood and looked ahead, swiveling her gaze over each attendee. There was one missing—soon made right when a beige alicorn entered. He bowed and apologized for his tardiness; Wintermail understood and simply waved to the Librarian’s spot. All eyes on her, she waited to speak, trying to relive all the times she had sat in Court with the Prince, observing the methods and etiquette of authority.

“Thank you for coming. I have summoned this council for important work, and this shall be brief. The Realm’s forces have headed north, and were we not delayed by the siege and Discord, we would be there as well. All the same, we must join with them and the Equestrian Host. I have received a report that the Great Horde is still marching eastwards.”

Waiting for his chance to speak, Chancellor Logostus protested, “We’ve cut the head off the snake, Lady-Regent. Discord lies imprisoned in stone; the horde has no leader.”

“The horde has been roused to action, and only force will stop them now. A swath of ruin lies in their wake, and it shall only cease once they’ve been broken. We must act now, even though Discord is no longer a threat.”

“I’d feel better if he was broken apart,” added Henarion.

“You and I both, Uncle,” sighed Wintermail, “He can’t be cut or smashed or damaged in any way. Last night we had teams trying to pull him down or dig him out—he did not budge; he cannot be moved. But he is frozen in place.” Wintermail then allowed her words to settle, resuming only when agitation had died down, “Now, in my absence, I commit the affairs of the Realm to Princess Coruscina. I’ve arranged for the order to be made.”

“Should we not allow her time to grieve?” asked the Librarian.

“We shall, which is why you and the Chancellor will carry on when she wishes. Above all your concern should be the rebuilding of Canterlot; I want this city restored to its former state as best as can be done with our current resources. You both know your other duties; they have not changed with the Prince’s death.” Wintermail then turned to Captain Gendarmette, “The Canterlot Guard shall march to the realm’s army. Ready it soon.”

“Of course, my Lady,” nodded the Captain, “But if I may advise you, the Guard was raised a very long time ago to defend specifically the White City. Ranging afield for raiders and bandits is one thing, but sending it away…”

“Well noted, Captain,” Wintermail spoke evenly, “But Canterlot is no longer a mere outpost. What was a mountain stronghold has become the center of a prosperous state, and its defense depends upon affairs beyond its borders. If we reserve our most elite troops, our allies will grow suspicious or unnerved.” She then turned to Sir Grimheim, “The Guard, along with our Knights shall be our detachment, the most senior and skilled soldiers at our back. The Lords of Equestria deserve nothing less.

“Without the professionals, the garrison of the City relies upon you, Commander Stonehewn, and your militia. Conscript one of every household in Canterlot to stand watch and patrol the countryside—just enough to not leave the constructions starved for resources.”

“My forces will be as diligent and valiant as though they were the Guard itself!” Stonehewn bellowed, capping off with a hearty laugh. Wintermail couldn’t help but smile at his spirit.

“Excellent. I wish to leave by tomorrow morning. Can it be done?” she announced and stared down her subordinates; there was one correct answer.

The Guard Captain and Knight Commander shared a look, shifting their eyes in thought for a moment. “It can, my Lady,” began Gendarmette, “but both assemblages suffered casualties in the siege. If we cannot replenish the losses, then I wager only around six-hundred can march.”

“We must accept that—they will be able to march faster anyway. Now to the matter of supreme commander. This council needs a Marshal and vassal levies a leader. Without the Prince or Helmraed, may they rest in peace,” several ponies in the chamber bowed and nodded their heads, repeating the words, “I appoint my sister, accomplished warrior and tactician, and newly instated Wardeness of the Moon as Marshal of Canterlot. I will have a diploma drawn up and your armor adorned with insignia as can be found on short notice, Lady Stellara.”

Mouth agape, Stellara sat in stunned silence. She, without much in the way of formal military training, should certainly have been passed over in favor of better-qualified ponies. Others picked up on this, and they made confused looks at both sisters.

“Sister, I understand we’re pressed for time, but don’t you suppose somepony else might fill this position better?”

Wintermail’s magenta eyes were intense, causing Stellara to shift and stir. “You orchestrated the victory at Windhock Vale, and as I recall are undefeated in chess,” the older alicorn smirked. “You’ve…thirty years of experience with combat, and I have my full confidence in your ability.”

“Thank you, Regent…,” Stellara said, staring into space. “What about you? Won’t you be leading the forces? Am I to act as a lieutenant?”

“Yes. And as a lieutenant you must assume charge in my absence. I’m afraid I will not be traveling with you all to the Equestrian camp,” Wintermail announced to hushed murmurs. “My task brings me elsewhere. I am going north, beyond the ridge-borne walls to the ruins of the Alicorn March. Cardúnón!” That green stallion, heretofore standing quietly behind everypony, directed his silver eyes to his Queen. He wore a determined face, utterly willing to accept whatever mission he was given—she had not in fact forgotten their race.

“You and the remaining alicorns in the city will accompany me. We will cover ground by sky, as swiftly as possible. We are going to rally the other chapters of the Downfallen; I expect to raise few warriors, but even so we fearsome giants are a harrowing sight.”

Cardúnón smiled, “I know just the place to rally at. Though, if Her Majesty wishes, I can lead the effort while she remains with Canterlot’s soldiers.”

“I know you can, but this is something that I must do; the Alicorns need their Queen in person.” Clearing her throat, Wintermail towered over the council table and spread her gaze over the ponies, “That’s all. Any questions or qualms?”

Ponies shook their heads and remained quiet. “Good. Dismissed. Be ready to leave at daybreak.”

Captain Gendarmette and Sir Grimheim rose first, bowed, and left to prepare their respective forces. Commander Stonehewn however approached the Regent and pulled an object from his belt. The unicorn allowed Wintermail to overtake his magic, and she brought it her face. It was a brass horn, adorned with ornate silver rings. “This was found by one of my soldiers; she was going to sell it for the silver, but thought it too precious. The Prince’s Horn—you might want it.”

Wintermail both studied and admired the beauty of the piece, almost entranced by its luster and quality. “Thank you very much, Commander. Could you send that mare to my chambers later; I’d like to give her a just reward for such honesty.”

Stonehewn nodded and excused himself, passing by Henarion. He noticed the orange alicorn’s missing eye and the patch he wore over it. “There’s a shop in the garment district that sold me this.” The unicorn’s own patch had a certain sheen to it, “Velvet.”

Henarion grinned, “Oooh that’s nice; mine’s just wool.”

“You poor stallion; I had to use a rag when it was being drained,” the maroon commander cringed.

“The draining is the worst part,” laughed Henarion.

“The worst part!” and Stonehewn began to laugh himself, “Good day, Dragonsbane, and good luck.” The alicorn “Stronghoof” nodded.

He shimmied past other departing ponies, the Chancellor and Librarian among them, and turned to address Wintermail. “Am I to go with you and the alicorns, Nikól?”

The Regent thought a second, “Hmm…what do you wish to do? You have no obligation to go anywhere but home.”

“I always have an obligation to you two,” Henarion replied with a stern tone.

“Then…go with Stellara—keep her safe. I don’t know what sort of snakes she’ll find with the Lords.”

Henarion smiled a bit, then shifted to a frown, “And you? You’re very big and strong, but still only flesh, Girl.”

Wintermail laughed, “Don’t worry; I have Cardúnón!” The green stallion overheard his name, and then saw the single bright blue eye of Henarion boring into him, letting Cardúnón know that whatever task he’d been given…he had better not fail.

Stellara was about to step through the door, vexed by her new position and responsibilities. But then a gnawing sense of doubt forced her to turn back. “Sister,” she began, eyes training the floor, “I…well, if I prove inadequate in my capacity as Marshal, I’d like to put forth now, that…er…”

“This is quite a lot to put on you; I am sorry about that, Taby. But,” Wintermail leaned in close to her sister’s ear, “You are a great fighter, and I know you can pull victory from the jaws of defeat. But above all, I trust you.”

“Are you telling me you mistrust the others?”

“Not at all; they are dutiful and moral ponies, but you are my sister, my blood. I know you won’t disappoint.” Wintermail brought Stellara’s head to her chest. The blue mare sighed, and then dismissed herself. As she and Henarion were about to leave the door, Wintermail called, “Perhaps you’d like to sup with me tonight, Taby? I don’t think we’ll get the chance to see one another in the morning.”

Stellara nodded and smiled before disappearing through the door, off to arrange affairs and receive briefings from her new commanders.

Wintermail gave Cardúnón a look and then nodded with a sneer to let him know he was also invited. He then bounced off happily to inform his own sister and ready the alicorns for tomorrow.

Wintermail herself though continued standing in the now-empty council chamber, staring out the wide windows at the lands beyond. The hills, forests, mountains, valleys, fields—they were now all hers to govern. It was almost too much; the pressure, the expectations, but she had put on a decent mask she thought. She caught her reflection in the window, a solemn contorted expression. If everything happened as hoped, that mask wouldn’t go away for a long time, and when she removed it, would even Nikóleva recognize the face underneath?

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

Wet, wild and cold were the words many described this far land. Never before could they have proven to be more apt. Awash with the bandits driven from the southern realms to the lawless north, and the dens of diamond dogs emboldened by the horde of their fellow savages, this forested country was too dangerous for most to traverse without escort.

Regent Wintermail was no such traveler. A pack had befallen her and her retinue of alicorns, either too dull or too brazen to flee in the wake of the Sea-Borne race. Three dozen strong perhaps the curs were, assailing their camp in the early hours. Surrounded, Wintermail merely drew her blade and caught it alight. A sharp word had left her lips: “Leave”. One dog pressed on; he was left cinders.

They fled, and nothing had troubled their company since, though for safety and speed they’d traveled by air most of the way. But the wild weather in the North was unpredictable, and the frequent drizzles often became storms, alive with thunder and lightning. Then the journey would continue on hoof. Even in the height of summer the cold wind blew from the frozen wastes beyond, yet still Wintermail led her kindred further to where Cardúnón called.

A few days since leaving Canterlot, the company of Alicorns trudged on in the night just before dawn. A light rain was falling, and the pale glow of Stellara’s christened-moon poked through the holes in the clouds. A chilly breeze blew, but most in the company had been raised here in their youths—the Northern Wilds held no surprises.

Cardúnón at the head of the group pointed his hoof to a faint light. “Almost there! Through the glen!” he cried, encouraging all to gallop. A short while the company arrived at the stone ruins of something once grand. The flickering torches, sheltered from rain by awnings and overhangs, illuminated the cold grey skeleton of a bygone alicorn city, of lesser nobility than that where the Kings once lived.

Wintermail looked around and saw the tops of the collapsed and shattered wall adorned with large silhouettes. Alicorn sentries watched and listened, silently allowing their kin through without contest. Though, even had they wished, the occupants of this remnant of an earlier time were too few to hold any position for long. This place was no fortress; it had not been in an age.

The buildings were difficult to see in the night, but what little was visible was unimpressive. Broken and worn by age and neglect, most rested in piles of rubble. The grass and weeds had long reclaimed the streets, and when Wintermail’s company arrived at the old town plaza, they found only a muddy square. In its center was a cracked pedestal, its statue nowhere to be found.

The alicorns within the town gathered, trying to read these new arrivals. There were many, perhaps hundreds of what could be seen. Wintermail was almost overwhelmed—so many of her race in one spot, where for so long she’d thought she’d been alone. Her kind must have been very good at hiding.

“I gathered them here, your Highness,” began Cardúnón in the Alicorn tongue, “Those of Canterlot unable to fight were sent ahead to the cities, to call them all here. Though, I think only those healthy and strong enough for battle came.”

Wintermail nodded and then watched those around her, studying the alicorns from the various chapters of the Downfallen. Cardúnón and his sister had organized it, never amounting to anything like an army or some sort of movement. It merely functioned as a brotherhood, a means to arrange and dispense charity, and also to collect the alicorns in one place—as right now.

Triple-Kin from all across Equestria, from the southern cities like Hoofington, Manehattan, Baltimare, and Detrot, sent their best warriors. But their Exilarch frowned, estimating the numbers she could see. “You said there were nearly ten-thousand of our kin in Equestria.”

“All the ones left in the world,” Cardúnón sadly replied, “We have yet to call the ones living in the North.”

“There are not more than several hundred here; we sent more soldiers from Canterlot.”

“You should not expect more than a few thousand; most are too old, too young, or too damaged,” Cardúnón said.

The Exilarch then trotted forwards and climbed atop the pedestal. Attention from all was drawn to her, and once she had it she cleared her throat. She let more time pass, still coming to terms with this crowd of alicorns. Had there been no war and she a younger mare, Wintermail would have been elated and thirsty to ask questions; now she had to fulfill her objective quickly.

“I thank you all for coming, and I hope your journey was free of peril.” The white alicorn’s face then became hard and filled with a quiet anger, “But I know better; the dangers have only grown. My name is Nikóleva Daughter of Maiëlindir. Some of you may know that name; some of you may know that of my father.” She allowed some of the crowd to murmur—some in fact did know these names.

“I am a Knight of Canterlot, and now I am its Regent. But before all of that, I was first of the Royal Bloodline. My ancestor was Vasílion, our last King, and therefore I am his Heir, the Exilarch. And now I come forward to retake the title Queen of the Alicorns.” The murmurs dimmed, the great ponies trying to gather exactly how they felt about this.

One bold mare, yellow face sallow with age and strain, voiced this concern, “What proof do you have, Nikóleva? You are not the only one to have claimed this.”

A clang of metal rang in the plaza, the black steel of a greatsword catching the torchlight. “Eónadin, the Sword of Kings. Forged in Elder Days and wielded by the Kings of our vanished home. It was my father’s heirloom.” Some were visibly impressed, but still others were not.

“Stolen!” cried one of the alicorns.

“No! She speaks the truth!” Cardúnón’s deep voice boomed, “She is the true-born heir of Solárindil! She has fought in great battles, and vanquished many foes, among them Discord!”

A collective gasp came, and now more were brought to heel. That same gruff yellow mare groaned, “The Sun went dark some nights ago; we feared such a fiend had done this work. Are we to understand you undid it?”

Cardúnón approached the mare, not in aggression but certainly with a purpose to cow, “She found the Elements hidden long ago, and threw down the Accursed Serpent!”

Rhílë appeared from behind her Exilarch and joined beside her brother, “Nikóleva has corralled the Sun; she’s assumed her place as its Wardeness.”

A rather young and handsome alicorn stallion rose from the crowd, his coat a deep emerald. “And if you all are telling us the truth, what does Her ‘Majesty’ decree?” he asked with a sharp bite.

Wintermail felt the prick, the gentle nudge like a cat asking for food. A grin curled on her lips and she began charging her horn. “Friends, there is work to be done,” she spread her wings and lifted up, “For it is now daybreak.” And in a grand shine, the rays of the Sun burst from the horizon in a show of red and orange and yellow. Her figure cutting through the beams, Wintermail appeared a graceful and imposing mare, the magic from her horn coming to a point above her head almost like a crown. When she touched down on the mud, the rain had cleared and the growing warmth of the Sun touched the cold skin of the alicorns.

In full view now Wintermail shined as the tallest and fairest of their ancient race. The hearts of the most cynical ponies softened, and they saw an image of a past glory, of one they might be able to call their leader.

The old yellow mare and young emerald stallion approached, their senses of awe yielding to an eagerness. The rest moved forward and waited.

“A new kingdom will come here, law and order will be done in this northern country once again,” the Queen spoke, lightly pacing around the crowd, “But it first must be won on the field, by the price of blood and iron. I have convinced many Lords of the Southlands to gather a great host, and have sent many of my warriors of Canterlot to join them. I have but one last source of courage and strength; you all.

“The enemy will find us, they always do in the end. We have the chance to strike, to vanquish our foes at last and earn that long-awaited peace and quiet. So I call upon you, My People, to take up arms and fight beside me. The ponies of Equestria are outnumbered, and I fear they alone might not be enough. But we could perhaps turn the tide, and muster our strength for one last great charge. This is our land as much as it is the Tulicëai’s, and we should share in its defense, and its prosperity.”

The yellow mare came forth, age visible in her steps. “A wonderful dream, Nikóleva. My name is Aravorón, and I have brought the chapter from Manehattan. I’ve spent two-hundred years waiting for the Exilarch to lead his ponies. Aracílnë was his name in my youth, but he was no King. Cardúnón told us that royal sisters had achieved fame and status in Canterlot—I thought it surely his own tall tale.” Cardúnón shifted in his stance, but remained still and stoic beside his Queen.

Aravorón studied Wintermail, seeing her armored and girt with that old sword. “Our kind has rested in the wilds, and grown. I am eager to end the scourges that plague us—there are many more who also agree. But I’ll tell you, Nikóleva of Maiëlindir, you will not get many warriors. Even of those who can fight, some will have to stay behind and protect their homes and families.”

Wintermail met the elder mare’s eyes and nodded, “I understand. I want you all to know, however, once we’ve crushed our foes to the south, I fully intend to devote soldiers to driving out the filth in these wilds. Even if the Lords of Equestria do not name me their Queen, I shall still look to the lives of my own kin. That is I promise I make before you all and God above.”

Many in the crowd nodded in approval, some stamping hooves. Cardúnón and Rhílë looked back at one another, smiling.

“Then you have my pledge,” Aravorón said.

“And mine,” that emerald stallion shouted.

“The Downfallen of Detrot will fight!” called a thin aquamarine mare standing on the ruins of some building.

“As those of Fillydelphia!” came the voice of an off-white alicorn, mane bright orange.

More of the chiefs of the various chapters consented, and soon all within the city ruins were ready to assume whatever weapons they could for one last show of grandeur. But Wintermail was not going to idle and revel in her new warriors. Those that knew the posts in the North were sent out to call others—ten-thousand alicorns resided in all Equestria; she needed as many as could be spared. In the meantime, while the day or so of their journeys passed, Wintermail would drill and train her kin as quickly as possible. Hopefully Stellara could manage affairs long enough for the alicorns to arrive.

Wintermail remained on that pedestal for a while, watching the alicorns fly away and fetch weapons from various storage places. A hesitant smirk crossed her face; perhaps the Prince had not been so wrong about her.

*――――――――――S――――――――――*

The stomping of armored ponies echoed for miles around, the shimmer of their mailcoats and pikes loud against their silent marching. Adorned in her armor, her helm fitted with a tall crest, Marshal Stellara led her forces with the same diligence since leaving Canterlot days before. To her left marched Henarion, appointed her personal bodyguard and confidant. To the right were Sir Grimheim of the Free Knights and Captain Gendarmette of the Guard. They had been itching for battle the whole way, and if all went well they would have not only that, but a victory to go along.

Stellara had left Canterlot in good shape, its reconstruction in the very capable hooves of the officers of state. But as the host ventured along the valley river and turned northwards, the midnight mare adjourned herself for an afternoon.

The Elements, dormant and silent, were brought back into their forest. It was kind this time, allowing a friend into its heart without trial or issue—a simple straight path to that crystal tree. Stellara placed the “fruits” back onto their branches, bowed and thanked the tree for its help, and left the old chamber behind. Would the Elements ever be needed again? Hopefully not. At the edge of Everfree, the blue pony had taken a sentimental look back before darting to her forces.

And once again at its head, Stellara would not leave until her task was complete.

Emerging over the hill, Stellara saw a vast assemblage of tents, of smoke rising from fire pits, and varied colorful banners fluttering in the breeze. This was the Great Camp, some ways west of Hoofington; far enough, at least, that she could not see the city. Swinging down her hoof, Stellara ordered to resume marching. Soon the shuffling of her own troops died back to the din of smiths’ hammers and soldiers training and idling.

Coming closer, Stellara counted dozens of different coats-of-arms for all the various Princes and their vassals called. She knew many of them, but those she looked for stood taller and more intricate. The Marshal found the banners of six of the seven Princedoms, and of the King of Poneva. Coltorado was fighting in the fortifications of its mountainous realm, harassing the horde as it marched east. The Free Cities possessed little in the way armies, but their ships were sent south for operations against those lands. And their gold certainly helped lessen the monstrous burden of warcraft.

And of course, the exiled King of Mareposa had little soldiers since the Horde had broken and overrun his kingdom. A small loyal retinue remained to his service, its banner lost in the sea of many others.

Stellara found the azure field and the violet star of Canterlot’s insignia. Finding an empty patch of field, she ordered to make camp and begin drills, trusting her commanders to see it done. Henarion by her side, the midnight mare galloped to the tents of who were to be her subordinates.

A grand tent, very wide and of a fine weave, stood before her, flanked by the household guards of some lord. She swallowed a lump in her throat and mustered her courage. Stellara and her Uncle towered over the guards, “I am the Marshal of Canterlot. I wish to speak with the Realm’s lords.”

The guards seemed a bit intimidated, but held firm. “The Marshal was killed in battle, I’ve heard,” one of them said.

Stellara levitated up a small scroll with a wax seal. She broke it with a knife she carried and unrolled it before the guard. “This is a diploma from the Regent of Canterlot, Dame Wintermail Flamecaster. I am her appointed Commander of the Canterlot Hosts.”

The guard could not read well, but he recognized the official seal. “Very well, My Lady.”

Ducking under the opening flaps, Stellara and Henarion emerged to find the tent with a number of Canterlot’s vassals sitting around a table and debating. They were well-dressed, often wearing small circlets of gold or rings over their horns. Most were unicorns, though a pegasus and a few earth ponies could be seen.

The blue alicorn looked at her Uncle, who gave a reassuring nod. Hardening her countenance, Stellara strut forward, causing everypony to slowly focus on her. An alicorn was an uncommon sight, and many of the lords wondered what it meant.

“Noble Lords,” she spoke, now at the head of the table, “I am Stellara Nightwrath.” Lords who’d fought at Windhock Vale remembered that name. “I am the new Marshal, and I’ve come to assume command of our forces here.”

A burly pale blue stallion rose, a ginger beard thick on his face, “Where is Prince Petrafyrm? Will he not lead us?”

A trembled breath left Stellara’s snout, “The Prince is dead, murdered by Discord. So my sister and I avenged him. Prince Vale is too young for leadership, and therefore his mother has invested my sister, Dame Wintermail, as Regent. And she has appointed me Marshal.” Once again Stellara produced the diploma and set it on the table. The Lords read it, some grumbling.

“And this new regent?” an older pegasus countess asked.

“She is away gathering more forces.” Stellara breathed deep; alright, Taberanyn, time to show them you are in charge. “I will command Canterlot’s forces, and I have brought the Guard to bolster our effort. I am an accomplished warrior and tactician, and I do not intend to lose. If any of you take issue with my command, voice your concerns now, for I shall not tolerate insubordination.”

“You’re the one of royal blood aren’t you?” asked the bearded stallion. Stellara nodded. “Very well. If you’re our new Marshal, then I hope you do not disappoint.”

“You can bet your life,” she bluffed, “Now if any more wish to contest, do so now. I must go to the Princes and talk with them.” Nopony spoke, a group of loyal vassals reinforced by their love and admiration of Petrafyrm. If he had chosen the two alicorn sisters for daring missions and positions, they trusted it. Stellara understood, and tried to ignore the pressure of such expectations.

“Excellent. I shall return later to settle any disputes or uncertainties you all might have. Until then, My Lords,” Stellara bowed, as did Henarion, turned around and left.

After asking a guard where the Princes’ tent was, Stellara set out to the center of the vast camp, passing hundreds of soldiers working and training. According to reports she’d received, the combined host of Equestria numbered around eighty-thousand—a truly colossal army to move, let alone feed and supply. But it had been done so far, though their true test remained.

Stellara ordinarily would have marveled at the organization in the camp, the almost mechanical way soldiers knew their duties and worked. Drills squares ordered by shouting commanders and specialists ensuring all the equipment was battle-ready would have delighted the mare, who took great pleasure in the less visceral and martial aspects of warfare. But right now she was too occupied in her thoughts.

She had faced the Princes before, but that was against the backdrop of Prince Peter and her sister—now she was alone. The show she put on for Canterlot’s lords impressed her, but could she feign the sort of confidence and authority the Princes expected? None were used to being told what to do, after all…

At the entrance of their tent, Stellara paused and looked up at the behemoth. In their enthusiasm of unity, they went and stitched a cloth banner of Equestria’s insignia above the flaps, the sun and moon and its alicorn striking Stellara deep. The tent was dozens of feet wide, and certainly tall enough to accommodate a fully-grown alicorn. Arresting her hesitation, she stepped through. Inside she found what amounted to a cloth-walled mansion, separated into many rooms and servants going about to tend to the many sovereigns inside. They did possessed their own tents with their respective armies, but when need came they congregated here.

Down a hallway, still baffled that a tent could include a hallway, Marshal Stellara came to the center chamber, a grand wooden table at its center—nobles loved their big tables and halls with mead and ale.

And sure as the guard told her, the Princes were sitting around, jesting and carousing, drowning drink and feasting on pastries and other sweet things. Stellara scowled—they cared little for the battle to come. But then she softened; perhaps they wished to enjoy some earthly pleasure before they passed from the circle of the world.

Stout Wealthford of Detrot, beard covered in frothy beverage, was the first to notice the blue mare. “Well if it isn’t Lady Stellara! Friends, Canterlot’s Prince has arrived!” The other Lords perked up, setting down their selected indulgences and shifting their attention towards the alicorn.

“No, My Lords, I have come in his stead.”

“Well met then, Lady Stellara,” the prim and proper Luminescent of Hoofington greeted, waving a hoof to offer wine. “Please sit and enjoy a vintage. We have heard of the siege in Canterlot, and surely that as well as your journey here have left you parched.” Stellara bowed and paid respects to her hosts, allowing a servant to draw a goblet of red wine. The white unicorn Prince allowed his guest to become settled before continuing, “Is Prince Petrafyrm behind, looking to restore—“

“The Prince did not survive the siege,” Stellara spoke curtly. The indignant shock gave her pause, and she cleared her throat, “Forgive my rudeness, Lords. It is not favorable circumstance that I represent Canterlot’s host. My sister, Wintermail Flamecaster, has gone to rally forces elsewhere; in the meanwhile I should like to know what our plans are.” Marshal Stellara held her gaze over the Princes, remembering the late Peter’s lessons on commanding a room.

Venerable Princess Nephele of Cloudsdale was the one to reply, “Of course, Lady. Firstly, our condolences; Petrafyrm was a good stallion and a just ruler. We are here today by his hoof. Now: we possess a grand host, of warriors from across the land.” Some of the rulers rang their cups on the table. “Indeed…five Princes, two Kings, and an alicorn Lady.”

“Marshal,” Stellara corrected, a slight grin on her lips.

Nephele returned it, “Apologies.” The pegasus Princess rose, the oldest of them, her strong alicorn blood shining through, “I do not intend to lose against this rabble. Therefore we need a clearly-defined command. We will not squabble and bicker over slight insults—there shall be no confusion over which of us holds supreme authority of the Host.”

“Agreed,” spoke Rufus of Fillydelphia, his war braids rattling with gold and silver beads, “We should vote, and honor whosoever wins.”

“It makes no difference to me,” groaned Brynhilda of Horsava, the pink filly almost lost amongst her broad and tall peers, “So long as I get a damn-good fight!”

“I’ll be sure not to disappoint, Your Highness,” Stellara quipped, earning a chuckle from the young Princess.

“Well then, shall we put forth names, Friends?” suggested King Hillwick of Poneva. He had a candidate in mind, though granted his first choice was out and about on no doubt some very important errand.

“Princess Nephele of Cloudsdale,” offered the cyan pegasus, “I am the eldest, and I have seen many battles. And I can fly over the battlefield for a broader perspective.” Some of the Lords seemed already to be considering it.

“All true, Princess, but I believe my experience qualifies me best,” Prince Rufus contested. “I have already led forces against this horde’s raiding parties; my realm is at the edge of Equestria—"

“All due respect, but mine is further in the wild plains, bedeviled by mustangs and minotaurs.” King-in-Exile Auburn Flare puffed out his chest and held is crown proudly upon his head, “I am a King, and Mareposa has dealt with this war in far more intimate ways. I shall lead us.”

“A ‘king’?” Rufus laughed, “Self-declared, perhaps. What authority do you have?” Auburn Flare did not take the insult kindly, and nearly rose up to ram his hoof into the red-haired Prince’s snout.

King Hillwick sparked his magic and restrained both stallions, “Is this any way to behave? If I may, I had an eye on the Wintermail, the true Queen. Yet she is not here, so therefore I cast my vote for Marshal Stellara.” The tan unicorn smiled at the blue alicorn, raising his eyebrows to call her for a response.

Heart thumping, Stellara pushed down her doubt and remembered that her sister had trusted her with this business. “I accept your nomination. I am…well versed with battle, with the command of troops and the maneuvers of war. And it was I who played part in vanquishing Discord. If I may boast, the greatest foe our world could know was defeated by my hoof.” A quiet shiver traveled down her spine, the nerves soon calmed. Now for the final blow: “As I am also of the royal alicorn bloodline, you Lords will find nopony better to lead you in this camp. Only my sister, the Queen, can outrank me.”

A stupor caught some of them, caught off-guard with such brazen audacity. Stellara looked around and frowned, “Shall we vote already? We’ve little time to plan before I intend to engage.”

Brynhilda leaned back and giggled, “Very bold, Marshal…I like it. She has my vote.”

Nephele approached Stellara, nearly meeting her in height. The old pegasus narrowed her eyes, “And what do you have to offer as Commander?”

The Marshal of Canterlot was not about to be bullied, “Victory. The various armies you’ve all brought are filled with strong soldiers, but they suffer in a lack of organization.” Prince Rufus stirred, ready to contest; Stellara cut him off at the knees, “Your vassals command their own knights and levies, be they swordponies, archers, or those with spears. Thousands of small duels, ponies hungry for glory. This is romantic, but not as efficient as it could be.”

“And you propose?” Nephele asked, eyebrow raised.

“Patience and trust. Pikes, swords, archers, and pegasi; they all possess certain roles in combat. We should allow ourselves to assume command of a particular type; cede control of our own forces that are not this type and assume control of those that are—only so long as the battle lasts, of course. Our regiments will be more effective; able to control more of the terrain, which is key.

“Our enemy shall fight in a grand mass, clans and races with their like out of habit and comfort. Even so, their forces will have little in the way of sophistication—they value prowess and strength in battle over such boring trivialities like tactics and organization. We will be outnumbered, but we can at least make the effort to fight better pony for creature, and with better cunning.”

She finished speaking and let her audience digest the words. Prince Luminescent began to nod, “Perhaps King Hillwick’s suggestion was not misplaced; I am impressed. You approach war like a craft, like a trade.”

“Now you all understand why Regent Wintermail placed me in charge,” Stellara said with a smug grin.

“Then I cast my vote for her as well,” the white unicorn then raised his hoof. It was now four votes, counting Stellara’s; five were needed for a majority.

Wealthford was that deciding vote, and soon after some grumbling the other Lords rescinded their opposition and admitted that this midnight mare, a blue alicorn from the northern wilds, was a gifted strategist—and sorely needed in the deeds to be done. She accepted with serene grace, respectful bows to each and every of the sovereigns. With the niceties of etiquette finished, Stellara immediately called for any maps and charts they possessed; it was time to plan.

The lines of battle were thought out ahead of time, the roles of each commander assigned and their respective units divvied out. She’d spent much time reading about the ancient forces of Old Equestria, a force of soldiers far above the peasant levies and knights of this current age. But she’d restore some of that genius yet, and field something she could be proud to call an army.

Stellara detailed and organized as best she could; this battle would prove decisive. If won, it would break the horde and all its ambitions; if lost…then that remnant of civilization that was this fractured Equestria would disappear entirely—an ignominious end to a legacy of millennia.

Comments

[JMP]

Glad Luna's getting some time to shine

[Xanderfox]

Something tells me Brynhilda is a distant ancestor of Pinkie, she's pink and a little crazy, wouldn't surprise me if being pink was linked to being odd in her family. Also I agree Luna needs some time in the spotlight, while this is mostly Celestia's story Luna is the most important pony in her life.

[Alaxsxaq]

9437905
Me too. She's got a lot to offer.

[Alaxsxaq]

9437988
As much as I wish it weren't, that's pretty true.

[Alaxsxaq]

9438923
I like your thinking. Truth is each of the Mane 6 have ancestors or ponies they'd be related to in this story-two of them have two such ancestors. Some of them are more hidden and obtuse than others.

I thought it'd be a fun little easter egg.

[Q07]

Celestia has become a natural at completely dominating conversations around her claim to royalty. Oh and holy shit Luna is kicking some serious ass this chapter. Love that confident and cocky aura she puts out with the lords.

[ocbaker]

Still loving the story! Keep up the good work!

[Alaxsxaq]

9443397
Thank you! I shall!

[Alaxsxaq]

9442893
I think the Alicorn Sisters deserve to show off why they're in charge.

[FiredragonX]

*in a deep voice* one last battle to end the horde but can sisters do it?

[Alondro]

9439907 All that are pink bear the stain of he that was the first arbiter of mayhem: The Pink Panther, whose first agent was Peter Sellers.