The Problem of Evil

by Quixotic Mage

Funeral Pyre

It should be raining.

That is the tradition for pegasi funerals. The sizzle of steam rising from the pyre represents the soul given back to the air. But the air here is too cold and dry for any storm to be gathered. In any case, as Rainbow reminds them, Fluttershy had been afraid of thunderstorms and loved the bright sunny days.

So they gather under the sun in the bright open square where Luna had so recently made music.

A podium is set up for those who will speak. Twilight, whose magic has scarcely recovered, nevertheless enchants the stand so that all will be able to hear.

And it is all, save only for a skeleton screw standing watch at the camp’s borders. There are too few bodies and too many dead to hold a funeral for each and every one. But everypony has lost somepony and some release is needed. Some way to mark the losses all have felt.

So Fluttershy must fulfill one last role as a symbol of the army’s loss. She must stand in for those who died and allow those who mourn her to mourn their own loss as well.

Were she any pony else, this role would inspire resentment, anger that the friend of the princess and the archmage should have the privilege of remembrance when so many others do not. But Fluttershy, dear kind Fluttershy, was so beloved by all that it feels appropriate.

They come bearing tears and arrange themselves in row upon row, encircling the podium and Fluttershy’s open coffin on the unlit pyre at the center. The multihued multitude of ponies weave together, a living shroud wrapped around that small yellow body.

Pony funerals are simple. Those who wish to speak do so. The order in which they speak is the inverse of how well the speaker knew the deceased.

When the attendees are all settled the first speaker, a timid grey earth pony achingly Fluttershy-esque in how he flinches from the crowd’s eyes, rises from his seat and stubbornly makes his way to the podium.

His name is Steel Chaser, cadet, and this is what he says:

Hi everypony. I’m not…not very good at this sort of thing. But I felt like I had to say something. I lied about my age. Before, I mean, to get into the army. It doesn’t matter now, I guess. The Captain knows and one way or another we’re all veterans after these few months.

Anyway, I couldn’t keep up with the others. Couldn’t complete the drills, or march in time, or win a single sparring match. I’d be out there on the practice field for hours after the others finished up just trying to catch up. That must have been how Fluttershy noticed me. She brought me water. She… heh… it took her three days of stopping by with water before she worked up the courage to tell me her name. I never got the whole story out of her, who she was and what she was doing here. I worked it out eventually, asking around, but at the time I didn’t know anything about her. All I knew was that this pony, so shy that she couldn’t even share her name, was still brave enough to leave Equestria and come to the frozen north, and kind enough to spare time and water to one struggling soldier out of thousands.

When I struggled or ran out of stamina or fell, I saw her in my mind’s eye. Trembling, without an ounce of courage showing. But still there. Day after day she was still there. And if she could show up one more time then I could stand up one more time. That got me through the training I needed, got me to the point that I could survive.

But I can’t help thinking that I wish she’d been a little less brave.

Steel Chaser ducks his head and returns to his seat without looking at anypony. As he sits down one of his squad mates puts a hoof on his shoulder, just for a moment. A moment more is allowed to pass, to let the last echoes of his words reverberate through the listeners.

Next, a white earth pony with a pink mane and a red cross cutie mark stands up and makes her way to the podium. Nurse by name, doctor by trade, she’s a familiar figure to far too many ponies. They greet her speech with the same dread that greets any medical professional’s clinical pronouncements.

Her name is Nurse Redheart, doctor, and this is what she says:

At the beginning I did not like Fluttershy. I have seen too many ponies who think they can substitute some first aid class or veterinary training for a proper medical education. When Fluttershy came to me offering to help, on that very basis I turned her down.

When she turned up the next day with the exact same offer I turned her down again.

This went on for a week. On the seventh day there was a skirmish between our forces and the griffons. ‘Minor’ I believe it was described, but that still meant a full emergency room and a triage situation. When Fluttershy arrived that day I needed every able hoof, wing, or horn I could get. She slipped on scrubs and set to work as if she’d expected this.

Only later did I realize that she had. After the first day she knew I wouldn’t just let her help. But she also knew that at some point there would be enough injuries at once that I couldn’t turn any volunteer away, and she believed that I would see her worth once she started helping.

Well, I did. A lot of ponies will talk about her kindness today, but her memory was what impressed me. She knew every patient by name after the first day. After the second day she knew the names of their families and hobbies. Every day during downtime she’d offer updates on the soldiers that had already been discharged. That dedication, that was what I respected about her. Without her… I’m sorry soldiers, but your care simply won’t be as good.

Nurse Redheart keeps her back ramrod straight and meets the watching eyes as she steps down from the podium, as if daring anypony to comment. No pony does, of course, but no pony offers a hoof to her the way they did for Steel Chaser either.

Other ponies follow, telling stories, reciting memories. Some are funny. Barrel the quartermaster tells of the time Fluttershy took him to task for not stocking bunny food.

Far more of the stories are sad. And if some of those stories feature other ponies more prominently, ponies that, if they were to attend the funeral would be in Fluttershy’s place, well, everypony understands that it is appropriate.

Last of the ponies that knew Fluttershy only in passing is Princess Luna. She concludes her story of learning from Fluttershy how to speak in the modern vernacular. As she steps down from the podium the focus of the mourners, which has drifted over time to more personal losses, sharpens again. A sense of expectation gathers as Luna takes her seat again.

Now those that speak will be the ponies truly important to the deceased. The kind words of acquaintances have led up to this, softened the blow. This is a time for truth, however painful, so there are no illusions left as a pony departs the mortal plane. Truth both of the deceased and of those who speak of her. The first speaker rises and with the indrawn breath of the crowd takes her place at the podium.

Her name is Gilda, former Pinion of the Griffon Empire, and this is what she says:

I doubt a griffon is a welcome sight just now, but it wouldn’t have been right to let that keep me from speaking. Many have wondered why I am here with you ponies when an army of griffons opposes you. Fluttershy is the reason for that.

I knew Fluttershy for years, longer than any pony else here except Rainbow Dash. The three of us learned to fly together. Or, more accurately, the both of us were separately friends with Rainbow. I never understood what Dash saw in her. When we met again, years later, she seemed the same frightened creature she had been as a filly. My temper boiled over at her weakness and I treated her more cruelly than she deserved.

I lost a friend because of it.

By the time we met again in Canterlot I was conflicted. I had overreacted in my treatment of her, that much I knew, but I still held to my belief that she was a fundamentally weak pony. I asked forgiveness for my temper and she, despite having no reason to do so, granted it. Because of that, I was with the Elements of Harmony when the griffons abandoned their embassy and travelled north. I was with the pony army when Sombra enslaved the minds of the other griffons.

Fluttershy, with her kindness, preserved my life and the freedom of my mind. A feat beyond the strength of the entire griffon army. I bow to that strength and mourn its loss.

As the griffon speaks the hard glares grow softer. Ponies understand and respect the strength it took Gilda to break from her version of a herd. More, Gilda’s sincere words revealed that she has moved beyond the traditional griffon correlation of strength and worth, and the ponies respect that change. As the griffon returns to her seat there were nods from the
gathered ponies as they found her offering acceptable.

It is, apparently, the turn of all the ponies’ enemies to speak, for the next to take the podium is a dragon. Not a dragon familiar to the army, that one will speak later still. This dragon is small, barely chest high on a full grown stallion. His scales are a brilliant red that flash in the sun just like a ruby, and nothing at all like a pool of blood. He stands at the podium and takes his time surveying the gathered ponies. The weight in his gaze belies his apparent youth and offers a stark reminder that the creature at the podium is older than all of them put together, save for the princess of course.

His name is Thraxus, fallen dragon, and this is what he says:

I met Fluttershy once.

If I understand your funeral customs correctly, I would normally have spoken much earlier than this. However, I insisted that I be permitted to speak near the end because I knew Fluttershy in a way no other here can claim.

Fluttershy was my enemy.

She took from me my hoard, my honor, and my very strength. Everything that a dragon prizes she stripped away in a single instant. And worse, she had no idea what she’d done to me. Just as the ancient red dragon I once was might have disregarded the suffering of a pony crushed carelessly underfoot, she destroyed me and forgot me.

How marvelous!

I was near ready to settle down to an eternal sleep, convinced that nothing of worth remained to gather in this world. In her cruelty she offered me a mystery worth pursuing: the true nature of a pony capable and desirous of breaking an ancient red dragon. I needed to understand her as desperately as I needed any of the gems that once graced my hoard. And yet, now that I find myself full of youthful vigor, the source of my mystery has gone forever beyond my grasp.

One last careless cruelty from her, to pass before I could take from her the answers I sought.

The dragon steps down from the podium, heedless of the confused whispers that greet the end of his speech. Heedless, too, of the considering gaze leveled at him by a rainbow-maned Pegasus. What will be, will be. He has said his piece and he is content with that.

Next to rise is a familiar stolid earth pony. Her orange coat is mottled with bruises from blows blocked by armor. Streaks of dark red show where armor was insufficient and one eye is puffed shut. Nonetheless, her hooves are steady as she makes her way up to the podium. Before speaking, she brings forth the body of Angel, Fluttershy’s beloved pet, and nestles him in the crook of one yellow wing. Her voice, loud and confident in its southern twang rings out across the gathered ponies.

Her name is Applejack, farmer, and this is what she says:

I won’t speak about Fluttershy today. Not because I didn’t love her. I did. But because somepony needs to speak for the other fallen and it just wouldn’t be right if it weren’t me.

My parents, Luna keep their souls, were soldiers on the first Zebrican envoy. I can see from your winces that most of you know the story. Suffice it to say, in doin’ their jobs they found themselves more over their heads than, well, than a new orphan come harvest season.

Ever since this began I’ve been wondering if we’d find ourselves up the same creek without a paddle in sight. Even after the battle I can’t say for sure. We’ve all been in sticky spots before and come through okay. But even if everypony gathered here does make it home, there’s still too many ponies we’re leaving beyond. My friends and yours who ain’t gonna come home. So here’s to them, a cheer for those brave souls who fought and died to give us one more day.

For the fallen!

‘FOR THE FALLEN’comes the unhesitating reply, thundering forth with the weight of an army’s grief. There is gratitude in the air as the orange pony sits down. None of the soldiers, knowing that the chance of death is what they signed up for, would have dared speak so plainly, for fear of equating the loss of soldiers with the loss of an innocent like Fluttershy. Stories that touched on their deceased friends perhaps more closely than on Fluttershy was the closest any of them had dared. Still, all were grateful that it had been said, and by the daughter of lost comrades no less.

Mascara and tears flow freely on the face of the next pony to rise, though she was one of those rare ponies that could cry prettily. Once the soldiers’ eyes would have held only desire as they looked at her, for she is very beautiful, but they now are tempered by respect. She fulfilled her role in that mission and she made it home where her friend did not. They all understand that and they honor her for it.

Her name is Rarity, fashionista, and this is what she says:

I believed in what we are doing here, that it was necessary to save Equestria. Even as the weeks dragged on and we spent far longer in this horrid cold place than we had on any other adventure, I still thought it was the same in kind. And, true to kind, that at the close of it we would all travel home and resume our normal lives.

That faith is shattered. No matter how this resolves, when we go home there will forever be an empty place. No quiet voice speaking words of kindness. No cheery lilt to gossip with at the spa. No sudden incongruous shout to chase away the dragons in our lives. Fluttershy and all the little pieces that make her up is gone.

My usual choice for dealing with trouble is to collapse on a couch and drown my sorrows in pints of rocky road. But that seems insufficient, somehow, to mourn the memory of my dear friend. I want to do more to remember her. I want to bring some small piece of her back.

So instead of eating away my sadness I’ll try and practice the kindness that so defined her life. Every evening at the mess tent I will have a table set out for dinner. Anyone who wants to talk, about lost friends, doubts, love troubles, anything, can come have a seat. I’m no trained therapist and I can’t promise a solution, but I can promise a friendly listening ear. And if any of you are willing to lend an ear to somepony else, you too are welcome at my table. Maybe together we can make up for some of the kindness the world just lost.

Knowing nods greet Rarity’s declaration. It is plain to see that many ponies already expect to avail themselves of her generosity. Other have smiles, tremulous ones, on their faces for the first time in days at the thought of a chance to confide in somepony else. Rarity answers those smiles with a small one of her own, an acknowledgement that others appreciate the idea of a space to share their wounds. Though she doesn’t appear it, Rarity is strong, strong enough to lend that strength to others when the need arises.

Moving awkwardly, as though he has not yet grown used to his diminished stature, the next speaker moves to take his place. As always, his eyes stray to Rarity, seeking to draw strength from his feelings for her. Unlike in the past, Rarity rewards him with a nod of acknowledgement. It isn’t much, just a brief lingering of a gaze, but it’s more than he’s had before and he takes heart from that.

His name is Spike, number one assistant, and this is what he says:

When Twilight and I first arrived in Ponyville, everypony except Fluttershy saw me as just Twilight’s assistant. She was the only pony that actually talked to me. Of course, that was partially because she was too shy to speak to a strange pony, but, as a baby dragon, I reminded her of her animals. If she had been somepony else maybe she would have stopped talking to me when she learned the things she wanted to know, but she was far too kind for that.

I remember the first time she came to visit me at the library. I was so used to ponies dropping by for Twilight that I had already put the tea on and gone to call her before Fluttershy could get out that she was there to visit with me. She was a friend. One of the first to be friends directly with me and not just through Twilight. I’ll always be grateful to her for that.

For a moment Spike pauses, his mouth moving as he looks for more words to say. In the end there’s nothing more he can find, and anyway he knows that Fluttershy knew how much she meant to him. He hangs his head, his large body looking smaller even than a pony as he trudges back to his seat. Rarity places a supporting hoof against him and he takes what comfort he can from that.

Hisses of indrawn breath show the shock of the gathered as they behold the next pony to speak. Her mane hangs straight and dark and limp. Every movement of her body seems a vast effort and she cannot even raise her head as she walks. It is the contrast that truly terrifies. So essential is movement to her nature that to see her so painstakingly quiescent feels obscene. Like peeling back her skin to regard her naked muscle, it is both a violation of her being and an act of violence on the part of the viewers.

Her name is Pinkamena Diane Pie, former Element of Laughter, and this is what she says:

…
…
…

Nothing. She says nothing. She stands at the podium for a long time, longer than many of the speakers, but her gaze, riddled with loss and a hint of madness, transfixes everypony. It is as if the legendary Stare of the deceased, flavored by death itself, now emanates from those piercing blue eyes. Time seems to stand still. She offers a silent plea, one that all can hear, but none fully understand or dare to answer. Until, at last, she lowers her head and scuffs her way back to her seat. As one, the crowd releases a breath none had realized they were holding. They shake off the spell of those moments.

They are there to mourn, yes, not to be pulled spiraling down into a fathomless abyss of grief and loss.

The next pony and the penultimate speaker rises. She too had been caught by the spell woven by those eyes, but she is made of sterner stuff than most. Or perhaps it’s that she only has one eye to be transfixed. Her stride is firm as she takes her place and her face holds determination interwoven with sorrow. She knows that what she has to say will not be pleasant, nor will it be well received, but it must be said nonetheless.

Her name is Twilight Sparkle, archmage, and this is what she says:

This, all of this, is my fault. I sent my friends into danger. When that danger materialized I led an army into an untenable position in an attempted rescue. When that rescue failed I took to the front lines myself to fight. Fighting on the front lines is a viable stratagem as an archmage, but in this case it was simply the product of uncontrolled anger and, as such, was an unforgivable mistake in a commander. Were it not for the heroism of Captain Armor and Princess Luna’s timely intervention, my course of action would have resulted in all of our deaths and quite possibly the enslavement of Equestria.

As it is, my leadership led to the death of one of my dearest friends.

I have never lost anypony before, let alone caused somepony I cared about to die from my actions. I don’t know how to handle it. Truth be told, there is a part of me that wants to curl up in a dark corner somewhere and scream until it all fades away. But I can’t. I don’t deserve to. Not when it’s all my fault.

So instead, I simply swear this: I will win. We will win this. We will end the threat posed by our enemies here and now and prevent them from threatening any of our loved ones back home. Only when Equestria is secure and whatever remains of this army is home safe will I find some way to let myself grieve as Fluttershy deserves.

Though Twilight swears to grieve only when the war is won, it seems her right eye is unbound by that oath. From the eyepatch covering her missing eye come tears of blood, rolling in streaks down her purple face. It is a jarring sight and the raw painful truth of her words lands like a blow among the soldiers. Tradition though it is to speak true, few among them have heard a commander take responsibility for their fallen so bluntly. There is a reassurance in it; a knowledge that she will neither throw away their lives, nor take lightly the mission on which they find themselves.

The last speaker shoulders her way past Twilight, not even giving her time to reseat herself. Impatience ever was her watchword, but the cheer that once tempered it has been forged into grim purpose. She still wears the bloodstained Ebonite gloves and her whole body crackles with energy, only some of it electric, as she flies to the podium. Even as she speaks she is unable to remain still, gesturing with her wings and the hoof that carries a torch.

Her name is Rainbow Dash, warrior, and this is what she says:

They killed my sister.

I don’t know who they are. I’m not a smart pony so I can’t figure out exactly who should bear the blame. Twilight says it’s her fault and she’s a smart pony so maybe she’s right. But I need her for now so I’ll settle with her once this is over. I figure I’ll start with the griffons, the dragons, and Blueblood’s rebellious nobles and when they’re all dead I’ll see how I feel.

I don’t think it will be enough. I think I could split the world with a lightning bolt and it wouldn’t be enough. I’m tempted to try anyway. These gloves get stronger the faster I go and with a rainboom I bet I could start wiping cities off the map.

She wouldn’t ever forgive me if I did that though. She won’t forgive me for what I’m going to do to the ones that killed her either. But she’s the only one I’d stop for and if she was here to stop me then she wouldn’t need to.

If I were stronger I’d do something like Rarity, try and spread that kindness she so loved.

But I’m not.

I’m sorry Fluttershy. Your pyre is the spark that lights the world aflame.

Rainbow Dash lowers the torch. The army watches in silence as the flames rise and the wind scatters the ashes of kindness.

Author's Note:

This was a difficult chapter to write and to post, for a number of reasons. The content was, naturally, upsetting to write, but I felt the need to mark what happened in the previous chapter. Too often battles in stories result in simple lists of casualties before everypony moves on, and that seems wrong to me. The repercussions of the battle and the losses last chapter will reverberate through the end of the story. This chapter is a small part of the characters trying to come to terms with what has happened and the role they all (especially Twilight) played in it.

It bears mentioning, too, that just because a character says something doesn't mean that it is true or that it will occur. When Twilight went to get Luna to negotiate with the dragons in her place, Luna "knew" that Twilight would get her friends back safely by the end of the day and look how that turned out. So, when Rainbow Dash says she wants to set the world on fire, she might very well mean it, but whether or not it happens is a different story. Like in real life, the characters don't always know where things will end up and they say things out of emotion, rather than because I want them to foreshadow something.

Finally, this chapter was worrying because it breaks a lot of the conventions I've established in this story (present tense, omniscient narrator, weird phrasings, etc.) I wanted to make it stand out and I felt I had a little more room to work with since it's an interlude chapter. I enjoy writing dramatically and I took this opportunity to cut loose, as it were. That said, I completely understand if the style changes are annoying. This chapter can be skipped without missing much that is plot relevant.

One last note. There will be no new chapter next week. The final arc is just not where it needs to be for me to be able to start posting it weekly. I'm hoping to start back up on the 3rd of March, but depending on progress the next chapter might have to wait until the 10th. Once it does start back up I hope to continue through to the end, but the final arc is the longest of the three and it may end up needing a break somewhere in the middle.

Thank you for reading and a special thank you to those of you that comment. While I don't always reply I do enjoy reading your feedback and thoughts.

See you in the final arc!

Comments

[Sir Budginton]

This...this was an interesting chapter. I don't want to say good, because a funeral is never a good thing. But it was extremely well written. I think you hit all the characters spot on, and it definitely hit me in the feels.

[Alchemik]

I can scarce recall a chapter of any story that matches this in its terrible beauty. Thank you. It's a rare gem of a story that makes me cry. Can't wait to see what happens next.