A Knight's Tales

by Modern Masquerade

Denial

Author's Note:

Please note, this begins the "Grief Arc". Readers are advised that this arc contains dark themes.

Prism leaped in joy at her cutie mark, squealing with delight. Aura, being healed up enough to join her, pulled Prism into a tear filled hug, saying just how much she’d earned it. Eventually it was the cleric who broke up the conversation, speaking with a kind tone as he ushered the two fillies out of his ritual chambers. Barely able to contain her excitement, Prism helped Aura back to her family home before rushing off to tell her parents with a happy spring in her step.

This happy step carried Prism all the way to the carriage train, where she was surprised to be expected. An attendant from the Ward Estate, her mother’s estranged family, was waiting with a dark painted carriage. The attendant, a burly pegasus by the name of Carriage Cruise wearing dark attire, spoke to Prism with a well developed sincere tone, though one tinged with a hint of sorrow, “Miss Prism Ward, your presence is requested at the Ward Estate. Please enter the carriage such that we may make utmost haste to the manor. Your father is already there.”

Seeing the ward family crest, Prism gingerly stepped into the carriage, unsure of what exactly was happening. Her enthusiasm dulled by the strange situation, she looked curiously out the windows as the carriage winded its way to the august manor. It had been many years since she had been to the Ward Estate, having come only once for a celebration of her cousin’s cutie mark. That finally tipped Prism off, obviously her magically inclined relatives knew of her cutie mark and wanted to bring her here to celebrate. Prism was satisfied with her answer, but still couldn’t help a creeping feeling of apprehension as she approached the spiral towers of the mansion.

The Ward Estate was still as unfamiliar now as it had been the first time, a bizarre place of opulence and magic more akin to the Academy than the comfy home attached to the smithy. Perpetual fountains flanked the road as she saw many other carriages lining the drive before the great painted glass of the mansion. It was odd, Prism thought, that her parents would choose this place for her cute-ceañera, considering the history they had with her mother’s family. Prism could feel again that dread, worse even than the looming spectre that she’d faced, a chill tingling that touched her hooves like needles of ice. Dismissing this dread with how families so often came together for a cute-ceañera, Prism left the carriage when cued before the enormous oaken doors. Two more attendants, dressed in similar dark clothes, pulled the doors open with a solemn glance at the nervous filly.

Inside, Prism saw the great hall of the manor, and with it a great many ponies. Most she could recognize as varyingly distant relatives or friends of her parents, especially her mother’s. This made sense, of course, with the locale. Scanning the crowd, Prism could feel her excitement building again in spite of the somber tone of the room, attributing the dark attire as formality. This excitement shot through the roof when she found her pa in the crowd, a couple of older stallions speaking with him. Prism saw that her pa was tired, with a gaunt look about his face and red in his eyes. Her gut twisted in alarm, but still Prism ran up to greet her pa, diving into him with a hug. Normally this resulted in all the give of tackling one of his anvils, but today was different, her pa had practically fallen over before he caught himself and returned the hug, tears welling up as he held Prism tightly.

Prism chose to break the silence as the elder stallions left the two alone, speaking excitedly, “Pa, pa! I came as soon as they got me!”

Hammer pulled her even tighter as she spoke, and began to softly stroke her mane, “I know sweet pea, everyone’s here for you. You’re my brave little filly.”

Trying in vain to pull away and smile to her pa, Prism instead continued, “Thank you pa.”

Hammer continued, doing his best to maintain a modicum of composure, “You’re so brave, we’re going to take good care of you.”

“I can take care of myself, Pa, but I know I won’t have to do it alone.” Prism retorted.

Near to the point of breaking now, Hammer let Prism pull herself away, and spoke to her softly, “Your mother would be so proud of you.”

Prism only seemed confused, looking around excitedly as she ignored the cold feeling in her stomach, “When is she coming?”

Now it was Hammer’s turn to be confused, as any wind he had died from his sails. What little noise in the room there was seemed to fade as he asked Prism a simple question, “Prism, why do you think we’re here?”

“It’s .. for … my cutie mark?” Prism asked innocently, feeling already the great wave of cold washing over her as she showed the mark on her flank to her pa.

This did it, breaking any walls Hammer had left as he cried openly, weeping with great tears and sobs. Prism didn’t understand, she thought her cute-ceañera was supposed to make ponies happy, not cry. Besides, she had not once known her pa to cry. Not knowing what to do, Prism did the only thing she could and hugged her pa once more. He gathered himself and sat Prism down on the stairs so as to be level with him. “I couldn’t be prouder for you sweet pea, but that’s not why we’re here. It’s your ma, she’s … she had an accident on the field. There was some kind of monster, and she saved some ponies, but it got her. Your ma’s in a better place now, and her family buried the hatchet for her arrangements.”

The chill finally overtook Prism, it was too much. She looked out at the hall with eyes now open, ponies in mourning dress filling the place. A bile rose in the back of her mouth as tears streamed from her face. Everything that she’d been told today, everything that had been done for her made sense now. The day had gone from a dream to a nightmare in just a moment. A nightmare. That could be it, she reasoned, what if this all was a trap by that shadow in the catacombs. What if she hadn’t got her cutie mark there and it was all a lie, she and her friend could be in danger in a dark corridor. Of course, if that joy had been real, then the rest of this must be too.

Indeed, the whole situation felt unreal, like she was only watching something happen rather than being a part of it. In this daze, she felt the solidity of her pa’s hoof, saw his tear filled eyes as he led her up the stairs. The crowd seemed to part as if in a dream, and up ahead the two passed through a set of double doors atop the stairs into a smaller room. Prism still couldn’t tell if this was all real or a horrible nightmare, but up ahead she saw something that sealed it. Her ma’s body, lying in a healed repose under holy symbols and the medals she’d won. The room was filled with portraits, tournament prizes and many marks of the gods above.

For a moment, Prism struggled, she didn’t want such a world. Not one where her mother was gone. A world where cruel or apathetic gods had allowed such a thing. A world where she’d never again feel her mother’s embrace. Still, tears fell openly down her face as she fell to the ground before the body sobbing. She couldn’t deny a truth that laid before her.

Hammer put a foreleg over his daughter, cooing as well as he could, “We’ll get through this together, we’ll get through this.”