The End of His Days of Mortal Waking

It was enough. Our Prince recovered from the terrible ordeal, enough that he could once more sit upon the Golden Throne of Equusweyr. His recovery, however, was far from optimal; indeed there were days when he sat strong and proud upon the Throne… and then there were the days when he appeared so very frail and could barely move to lift his head; when he had to be tended by three Weyrtouched Unicorns whom had declared then and there to be his hoofmaidens during this troubled time. Unfortunately, Everfree City rested for nopony and neither did its oversight; thus the Prince kept up his monitoring of our fair City, though it was fairly reduced, the Weyrmind and Observers handling much of the load and our Prince sending out his Templars only when absolutely necessary.

During one of his weakest days… they – the Alicorn Sisters – came to 'visit', if you will. They did not send an invitation to let our Prince know of their coming to our City. They did not knock upon the great Gate of Dawn and allow the Weyrmind to ascertain their intentions before entry. They did not wait for their presence to be announced before approaching the Golden Throne, upon which our Prince sat with two of his hoofmaidens, clad in sleepwear, practically leaning against them as they petted and groomed his frail form. No… the Alicorn Sisters just… appeared before the Golden Throne, briefly frightening the hoofmaidens and startling the Templars into action! However, as they closed ranks around him – bringing their weapons to bear – our Prince, with the gentlest gesture of his hoof, bade them stand down; he would hear what the Sisters had to say.

Immediately, Celestia and Luna demanded to know what had become of Sunny Town! Why, asked they, had the Curse upon it been lifted? It was then that we all realized that the ordeal of unmaking Sunny Town – the destruction of the Bloodstone Obelisk – had wrought a far greater toll upon our Prince than we'd first thought. His expression resigned and saddened, lines of weariness etched upon his face, he looked upon the two Sisters as if he would see, was seeing, had already seen them--as if he'd seen and done all of this before; as if all was but a lucid dream. And then… then he remembered… The Evercurse. That Celestia had authorized it. That Luna had cast it. That Sunny Town had suffered for it…

Opening eyes ablaze with psychic fire, our Prince inhaled deeply and then - as we of his Court looked on – he unleashed upon the Alicorn Sisters a terrible, blistering diatribe! He did not shout. He did not bark with the voice of the Drill Sergeant. He did not use the so-called Royal Canterlot Voice. Neigh… our Prince spoke with the voice of the Weyr – the Voice of the Weyrmind and all of Us, his Subjects – as he proceeded to verbally tear strips off the Princesses, cursing them up one side of Equusweyr and down the other! By the time he was done poor Luna had fled, wailing in tears, and Celestia was stood there, cringing back on her hooves, her ears flat against her skull and her mane in disarray as if swept about by a gale-force wind! Our Prince, however, would not allow her to regain her composure.

For too long she had come here, lambasting the Prince about our City within the Everfree; complaining of how it ruined the natural state of the forest; beseeching that it be torn down and that we and our Prince should embrace Harmony and the Magic of Friendship—in other words, the more agrarian, old fashioned, primitive lifestyle of Greater Equestria. Mare, please! Celestia was an Elder Mare, and set in her ways. She did not see our Great City for what it was. She saw the Earthships and Skyscrapers … and not how they were wrapped within the Earth, erected between the mighty trees of the forest, or around them, or in some cases used them as supporting. Frameworks. She did not see the wonderous Treeponies and their grand Kelutrals or Hometrees… just mutant ponies housed inside abominations against nature.

She saw Equusweyr not as a technological marvel in itself – a living home with a mind and soul all its own – but as a blight upon her lands to be viewed with suspicion and fear. She saw us, with our great diversity, adapted biologies, and cybernetic connections to the Weyrmind… as mutants and slaves to an unholy machine. Her perceptions of us couldn't be further from the truth! Whilst the Prince and we, his mortal Subjects, are indeed all connected to the machine mind of Equusweyr, said connection is very, very gentle; we exist as individuals yet are all aware of each other as a whole. The Weyrmind enables us a greater level of Harmony than most normal Equestrians will ever know. Via our Neural Tranceivers, Everfree Ponies can – if needed – access any information from the Equusweyr Archives, of which there is a lot!

Additionally, facilitated by the Weyrmind via our Neural Tranceivers, we Everfree Ponies can draw upon each others knowledge and skills instantly without the rigorous hours of repetitive learning. Friends and lovers can share with each other their feelings, thoughts, desires, hopes and dreams in the blink of an eye. When our mortal bodies die, though many of us choose to be entombed by our Prince, still others choose to open themselves fully unto the Weyrmind and upload; transcend the mortal flesh! These ponies – known as the Transequines - live on as digital entities in wondrous virtual constructs, part of and yet distinct from that great machine mind, yet their knowledge, skills, memories and experiences are available to all.

Lastly, the Weyrmind has – is - Memory Eternal; should we forget something or other in our daily lives the Weyrmind does not, and through it we can never truly die; if our mortal lives aren't recorded and archived by it before we pass than, as stated above, we live on within it as digital entities. A saying oft used by we Ponies of the Everfree is "The Weyr remembers,";—because it does. Whatever your thoughts upon this, know that we are not like the – what did our Prince call it? – ah, yes, the Borg Collective… though we can become as such when All think as One, should something draw our ire—and there are certain sub-groups among us who do live and work as Collectives, their bond with Equusweyr as open and deep as can be made. But, I am rambling… As I stated before, Celestia's perceptions of us couldn't be further from the truth—and our Prince had had enough of them! On shaky legs he stood and descended from his throne; then he began to pace back and forth before her. As he did so, terrible music rumbled up from deep within Equusweyr… and then, as we looked on in shock and awe, our Prince began to sing, a song simply called "Walk."

In singing it, in his own way, our Prince - greatly weakened though he was - stood up to Celestia; told her once and for all to stay away from the Everfree Princedom; called her out on her abominable behavior and told her to respect him or "walk"; walk on home! And Celestia? Hissing through gritted teeth, her eyes blazing with the fury of the sun itself… she turned and "walked"—or rather, stalked—away, tail raised in a right snit! When she'd left our City (oh, did the Princedom cheer when that happened) we turned to congratulate our Prince… and found him collapsed upon his side, convulsing. With all haste, we raced him again to the Autodoc - within which he was able to recover – but he would never be the same again. Some part of his mind, neigh, perhaps all of his mind, had been in some way irreparably damaged and his Days of Mortal Waking - when he was as a normal pony, walking among us, talking, living – were all but ended. Some part of his mind was torn open that day when he rebuffed Celestia for the final time; he now possesses even greater power than before if possible, but he is all the more frail. Eyes closed, he sits upon the Golden Throne of Equusweyr - either asleep or in deep meditation - seeing far more than a mortal pony ever should.

He wakes briefly when receiving care from his hoofmaidens; they ensure he is properly fed, that his muscles are exercised so as to prevent atrophy, and take him out into the sun that he might feel it on his pelt. As they care for him, he hums contentedly, nuzzles them, and ruffles their manes. Other times he wakes are when decisions of utmost importance must be made, or in times of emergency, when Things Must Be Done by His Hoof. These times, however, are very brief, and it is always disheartening to see his eyes close again; as if the act of staying awake and with us is so very exhausting. Where he once walked among us as a mortal pony, now he rests upon the Golden Throne, exerting his power and influence through the Weyrmind, his Templars, and we whom are his mortal subjects; thus, our fair City still flourishes, indeed to a greater extent than ever. Alas… our Prince laid low is still the greatest of tragedies, one that might have been avoided, had Celestia and her Sister just left us alone!

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