A War

by Comma Typer

Seven Days

She sat at the white table, stirring her cup of tea as if mindlessly. She was not even looking at the cup; her eyes gazed somewhere else—the morning horizon, the apparently never-ending street sided by tall houses and stores.

Then, a tap on her shoulder.

She turned around.

"Oh, uh, hi!" a young pony said through an extreme grin. His bedraggled hair had strands sticking out; under his eyes were freckles.

She smiled. "And who are you?"

"Uh, I'm Star Tr-Tracker!" He stetched his notepad out. "I've gotten the autographs of so many famous ponies! Now, you and the Princesses and the rest of royalty are the last ones! When I'm done, I'll be happy!"

Cadance's smile grew. "And what will you do after that?"

He lifted a hoof and opened his mouth. And nothing except his eyes stayed open.

She snickered while covering her mouth. "You must be really dedicated to your passion, Star Tracker."

"Uh, why wouldn't I, Princess?" he said, regaining his composure. "It's a part of my talent!"

"And what would your talent be?"

"Some...things..." He rubbed his head. "Actually, I'm not sure if I've really grasped everything my cutie mark means." He looked at it: a star with three yellow horseshoes below it. "All I know is that I end up being near a lot of celebrities. And I don't think it's by chance—I sort of lock up when I'm—well, heh-heh-heh!—when I'm in front of you and other famous ponies. But—" He lifted a hoof once again, this time with a show of power in it "—I fancy myself in being a good talker so I could get to them."

"Oh!" Cadance expressed, straightening up in her seat. "That's a new talent!"

"So, uh, if you don't mind...eh-heh-heh?"

And he brought out a quill.

"I have some more ink," he spoke as she grabbed the quill, "in case you, uh, run out!"

Cadance smiled again. "It's just an autograph. I don't think I'll have to ask for more."

"Yes, yes, yes, Princess!" he said fast, nodding.

Cadance levitated the notepad and placed it on the table. She wrote her signature there.

"And, uh, do you have a stamper or something like it?" he asked—quieter and less sure. "I'd also like to have an imprint of your, uh, hoofprint!"

"I don't," Cadance replied—then, her face brightening: "Wait, let me ask the waiter if he has one."

Star Tracker danced in place as he watched the Princess go over to a white-suited waiter.

---

He hugged the notepad close to his chest as he sat on a bench in the middle of a stone-fenced park. "Yes! One Princess down, two more to go! And, of course, one Prince!"

Then, he gasped.

"Wait! No! I should've asked her where her husband was!"

He looked around. There were carriages moving slowly on the road and there were well-dressed ponies walking on the sidewalk.

There was Princess Cadance, walking on the sidewalk, too. She was levitating a box.

Out Star Tracker went, leaping the final steps with a bound to land right in front of her.

"Ah!"

The box stopped glowing.

It fell.

It halted, glowing again.

He looked at her face—her shocked face.

"Oh, it's only you, Star Tracker," Cadance said before she sighed. "What's the problem? Did you lose my hoofprint? I'm free for another go at it."

"No, I didn't," he said with that innocent tinge. "I realized that I don't know where Prince Shining Armor is! Princess Celestia is here and so is Princess Luna—well, at night, of course, so I'll wait it out!—but I...actually don't know what he does as Captain of the Royal Guard. Is it a day job or a night job? Or does he work whenever? Like it's freelance?"

And her smile disappeared—a yearning sigh, closing her eyes half-way. "He's...he's at work."

The smile on his face only grew. "That means he's not not at work! Which means he's at a fixed place because he's at his workplace and if he's nowhere but in his workplace, then that means that I don't have to guess a lot to see where he could be!"

Cadance blinked.

"Where does he work?" Star Tracker asked.

Another blink—moving little.

"Yeah, you'd think that I figured it all out since, heh-heh-heh, I'm the pony who wants to meet everypony famous and collect their autographs! But, I didn't expect to finish this fast! You know, last Sunday, I was only ninety percent done! Now, I'm ninety-five percent done with all the signatures!"

Cadance unwinded her shoulders, her face becoming melancholic—in a weighty tone: "To tell you the truth, Star Tracker: he's not here. He's near the Crystal Empire...commanding his troops."

He covered his mouth, stifling a loud gasp. "Oh, no!"

She nodded her head, only confirming. "I know that it would disappoint you very much if he ends up...not returning. I don't wish such an occupation upon anypony, much less my love." Then, turning away from his attentive look, that attentive mind: "But, we did fall in love and he pursued his job and...now we're here—or, I'm here, he's there and—"

Stopped herself.

"Oh, I apologize for being so personal, Star Tracker," she said, levitating the now-open box—he could some frames sticking out. A mellow smile returned. "You could say that I wasn't myself."

"B-But, you were so calm just a while ago!" he said, pointing at her in awe.

"You chase after famous ponies for autographs," she replied, closing the box with her magic—frames now out of view. "You should know that we put on a good face for everypony else, especially when you're a Prince or a Princess. Everypony's trusting in you to take care of them right, to lead them."

He looked away from the sky. "Well, I'm sorry, too, Princess, for making you so emotional in the first place."

Cadance held out a hoof. "No. It's entirely my fault—I should've restrained myself."

"But, you're still cool 'cause you're a Princess, right?" he then asked—giddy.

Cadance giggled. "I guess I still am."

Then, Star Tracker went off across the street.

"Wait!" Cadance yelled. "Whose autograph is next?!"

"I'll think about it!"

And his voice faded away as his figure disappeared round a corner.

---

Trenderhoof, inside a carriage at full speed—the dust kicked up even made him cough—saw a few ponies whizzing by on the sidewalk. He raised his eyes at the sight of a particular pony holding a notepad in his mouth.

"Must be that crazy pony trying to get all the signatures in Equestria!" he muttered.

He was a unicorn, thinner and taller than the average one. Brown in coat and blonde-white in hair, he was wearing a green-orange shirt with diamond-equse designs—a slanted checkerboard in pieces, one might say. His cutie mark was another such design. What completed his outfit was a white pair of clear glasses.

After a minute more of the ride, the carriage slowed to a halt.

He got off and gave the driver a hefty bag of bits—to which he reacted by saying "Thank you for the bits!"

"Don't mention it!"

The carriage exited, leaving Trenderhoof on the red carpet.

On both sides, crowds of excited ponies displayed various levels of such excitement: from the earsplitting screams of the crazed and radical fanponies to the tranquil businessponies in sober ties with their sluggish treading of the ground. Flashes almost blinded him and, before he disappeared into the building, he gave the outside throng a wave.

Their attention shifted to the next carriage in line, the next celebrity to touch the red carpet with his or her hooves.

---

He walked to the table clothed in black cloth, still assaulted by camera flashes and now furher showered with radiant lights on stands.

He sat down at the back of the table which was elevated on a platform, half a meter above the floor.

The place smelled of fresh grass.

In front: two blocks of chairs where a great audience sat and waited—and some of them did not even wait. They hollered, shouted—

"Trenderhoof!"

"Sapphire Shores!"

"Photo Finish!"

"Zesty Gourmand!"

"Sassy Saddles!"

"Hey guys! The Method Mares are coming!"

And everypony's eyes looked at the acting troupe of four—two mares, two stallions, all wearing quite fashionable clothing of stripes, berets, jackets, sweaters, shades.

The flashes were on them; they waved.

When they sat down at the table, there were no more empty seats.

The reporters stood up, all at the audience's front row, asking questions.

A storm of questions, mixing and meshing and molding, the individual queries becoming nonsense. The rabid fans stood up, tearing them apart with questions of their own.

Guards stood at the ready.

The flashes increased.

Those famous ponies behind the table looked at each other—scared, afraid; one of them, the jacketed unicorn Zesty Gourmand, lobbed a hoof toward a door with the words "Emergency Exit" above it.

Not hearing anything, not even his own thoughts.

Trenderhoof gripped the papers on his table, not noticing that his glass of water vibrated with that grip.

---

"Rarity!"

"What is it?!" Rarity yelled across the table, dropping the newspaper.

Apple Bloom and Big McIntosh, seated at the other sides of the table, continued their lunch of pancakes and apple pie, eyeing the two mares.

The sun shone right through the windows; birds chirped as they flew from one picket fence to another with the apple fields past them.

"Do you mind?" Applejack said. "You've been starin' at that thing for thirty minutes straight!"

"I wasn't staring, darling. I was reading!"

"Ya' can't possibly read a pony's picture for thirty minutes," Applejack commented. "Do you even remember why we invited you here?"

Rarity levitated the newspaper out of the room, her face distorting. Grunts.

"Look, Rarity," she said, more amiable, "we've seen the huge stress you've been goin' through. There are tens of thousands of stallions and mares signing up for the cause and I know that you wanna help 'em in your special way. But, ya' gotta take care of yourself—and I'm the one who's tellin' you this! After all o' these years of scoldin' me about my stubbornness, I've gotta give you a mighty good scoldin'."

And then, she relaxed—rested her back on her chair and breathed freely.

Took a bite of the syrup-covered pancake.

Apple Bloom and Big McIntosh now turned their gazes toward Rarity.

"I...I-I..."

"There must be some ponies who're willin' to help you," Applejack conveyed, worried. "Even assistants would do at this point. You can't possibly do everythin'. Bon Bon's good at wrappin' candies—bring her and Lyra 'long."

Rarity rubbed her eyes and levitated a fork, picked up a slice of pancake, and chewed on it—staring at Applejack.

The two siblings looked at her who was fixing her hat a bit. Then, they looked at Rarity again who was chewing on the pancake.

She swallowed it down.

And then, a calmer face though annoyed. "Well, that was un-ladylike of me, anyhow and anyway." She looked at her again. "I'll take your advice for once."

Applejack smiled. "Remember that I'm tellin' you this because we're friends." He placed her hat to her chest, somewhat forlorn. "I'm...sorry if I did act..."

A mad sigh.

"I apologize, OK? I didn't wanna blow this up, but I did. There."

And ate another pancake slice.

Rarity looked at her, the smile now muted.

Apple Bloom and Big Mac then resumed their lunch.

---

Hours later, it was night in Ponyville. Most of the houses had their lights turned off; those that still illuminated their surroundings stood out and on their roads, there were no ponies to be seen except a passing shadow—somepony late, galloping up and down.

The owls hooted, perched on the trees. The run of the river was as calm as ever, the water splashing under the short bridges.

At one of the many unlit houses, Lyra knocked on the door.

"Uh, hey, Bon Bon!" Lyra shouted. "It's me! Lyra! You know! Trust me!"

The door creaked open slightly.

"How do I know it's you?" whispered someone. "I've already heard reports of a changeling going about. And, the Crystal ponies are not bad at disguising, either."

"That's because you're still waiting on that delivery of imported oats from Seaward Shoals that you've ordered twelve days ago!"

And yanked inside.

Door slammed shut.

In the dark.

Flashlight on, showing Bon Bon's face. "Shush! Quiet! You don't know when secret agents of the Crystal Empire might be breathing down your neck!"

"Eek!"

She clung on to Bon Bon.

The Earth pony sighed. "Seriously?"

"Seriously!"

Turned on one light.

It was a dim light, but she could see most of the living room. The couch, the rug, the shelves, the jars, the plates, the books, the rest of the lights—all there.

"So, nopony robbed us yet?" Lyra asked, shuddering.

"No, and don't say 'yet'," Bon Bon said, placing a forceful hoof on her head.

"Well, at least you got home early from Rarity's work," Lyra whined, flailing her hooves, "while I had to deliver orders straight to Appleloosa!"

"Somepony needed to watch over the boutique while she got more supplies from the market," Bon Bon said, walking over to one of the couches and moved it an inch forward.

Lyra groaned as she walked beside her. "What's for dinner?"

"Those imported oats from Seaward Shoals," Bon Bon said, the slightest hint of a smile just appearing. "They arrived while you were gone."

"No!"

"Quiet!"

---

Now, it was the dining area that was lit; the living room was back in darkness.

It was a simple place. Bright colors of yellow and white prevailed. The only thing that wasn't remotely yellow or white was the red plastic table.

Lyra and Bon Bon sat beside each other, their bowls of imported oats on the table: those fresh flaky groats with that flour smell. Beside the bowls was a cereal box, its brand being "The Common Oat"; a picture of a pony riding a sailboat was on the cover.

"It's almost a week since things changed," Bon Bon said, serious and reserved. "While you were hiding inside the house, I got some not-so-good news. First, a press conference in Canterlot went wrong; apparently, Hoity Toity made an, uh, insensitive statement and then protesters almost burned his house down. Cancelled right away. The other ponies there were able to escape, but everypony's now suspicious of them."

Lyra gulped, swallowing the oats in her mouth.

"The fight for Vanhoover isn't going so well," Bon Bon continued, now placing a hoof on the table and gesturing around. "The E.U.P. Guard and the remaining police have lost everything but the southern most neighborhood. Spearhead's probably biding his time until he could retreat."

"Won't that send mixed signals to other ponies?" Lyra asked. "If they can't save Vanhoover then—"

"They can," Bon Bon said. "The only problem is that they can't save it now. Not only do we not have enough time, but we don't have enough soldiers as well."

"Come on! It's not like everyone has a sword or an arrow as their cutie mark!"

Bon Bon rubbed her forehead, sighing. "That leads us to the worst part."

Then, Lyra shivered. She held her forehooves closer to her face. "W-What's the worst part?"

She breathed in, closed her eyes.

"Oh, no..." Lyra muttered, watching her with dread.

She opened her eyes.

"Lyra, this war won't be over so soon." A pause. "I know it."

She staggered a bit, almost spilling her oats. "B-But...does th-that mean—"

Bon Bon nodded. "Yes, it does mean that. The Crystal Empire is stronger than we thought, they have a king who specializes in crystal magic that we've never seen before, and we've had a pretty rough start on our side—what with the clumsy bringing of soldiers to the front."

"Bon Bon, I know you know these things a lot." Lyra pushed the bowl away from her, looking at that friend—a pleading face, clenched jaw. "Are we going to live to see the end?"

Bon Bon turned her head away. "I'm not so sure, Lyra. It's hard to tell. But, it won't be over by the end of this month. Or this spring. Maybe it will go over one year, two...and, then..."

She rested her hooves on the table and ate some oats.

A tear went down Lyra's cheek. "But, we'll be best friends through it all, right?"

Bon Bon stopped chewing. A hard swallow. She smiled and a tear went down her cheek, too. "Yes, Lyra."

---

The clock tower on the hill at the outskirts of Ponyville struck twelve midnight.

The bell rang, resounding a long way its hollow ring.

Thus ended the first week of the war.

It was Monday, eight days in.