Lady of Love

by FireOfTheNorth

Prologue

Prologue

Ponies trod slowly through the muck and desolation, some dragging carts behind them, others carrying only whatever possessions would fit in their saddlebags and on their backs. Spring was stretching on, and the fields should’ve been vibrant with new growth, food to feed the nearby villages and the hungry cities to which they belonged. Instead, the fields were muddy messes, having been crushed first by the Balte-Maeri army headed north, then again by them on their retreat, and again by the Fillidelfiyaan army pursuing them. A battle had been fought where the refuges currently were, making the land even more of a mess. Broken pikes and posts with ragged banners were still stuck in the ground, and the dead were heaped in piles, left to rot with only a light layer of soil thrown over them.

Crowned heads and historians would go on to call this conflict the Seventeenth Trade War, but for the peasants traveling across the desolated land, it was only one more nightmare they’d never asked for. They’d just wanted to live their lives, tend the land, provide for their families, but that had all been swept away because of squabbles between the rulers of the Three Sisters. This land had once been the domain of the House of Reykirk, but hearsay said that the Reykirks were all dead. Fillidelfiyaans administered the land now as conquered territory, and hearsay also said that Baron Hadrian of Trotston might be named the new lord of these lands. Even if the rumors weren’t true, some new noble would come to rule this land; some new noble always took over.

Many of the peasants had decided to take this chance to flee while rule was questionable. The land held nothing for them now anyway, not when their homes had been burned and fields torn up. Some still remembered Duchess Seaspray as a beloved ruler, even if they’d never seen her and probably never would, and they would stay in the Duchy of Balte-Maer, but others were going farther. They’d heard tales of the Dominions of Cant’r Laht, ruled by the immortal sorceress Celestia, and they’d heard things were better there. Maybe they were and maybe they weren’t, but it was worth the risk.

The sky was completely overcast, scattered droplets of rain falling occasionally as if the heavens wanted to draw out the rain as long as possible. It made it difficult to tell when night had fallen, but the darkening of the sky eventually reached a point where the refugees decided to make camp. They pulled their carts and wagons into protective huddles and pitched makeshift tents made from whatever scrap cloth they could find. They gathered around fires, clutching their foals close to them and trying to ignore the lights to the south from other villages burning, either torched by soldiers, deserters, or bandits. It really made no difference anymore.

“Pardon me, fellow travelers, but might I join you at your fire and have a bite to eat?” a stranger asked as he appeared at the edge of one of the circles.

The stranger was dressed in clothes of extraordinary colors, though they’d been subjected to some wear from his travels. Ruffs had come loose, his hose was faded and muddy, and the feather in his cap had been broken in one place, but he still cut a striking figure. Entirely undamaged was the lute upon his back, carefully wrapped to prevent harm.

“We’ve barely enough food as it is. Find somepony else to bother,” an old stallion grunted grumpily.

“Why, there must be something you can do for a wretched soul in the same situation as yourself,” the bard pled, “I won’t only take; I can give something in return as well.”

“What could you possibly give us?” a mare holding her twin foals close demanded, “Songs?”

“And stories,” the bard said with a brisk nod, “I am Lilian, troubadour extraordinaire, and I have many tales to tell. Have you ever heard the story of the Lady mi Amore Cadenza, heir to Celestia of Cant’r Laht?”

“No, should we have?” a young mare asked, intrigued and not entirely unimpressed by the stranger.

“Oh, it is quite a tale,” Lilian said as he trotted over and sat by the fire, noticing that nopony stopped him, “Abandonment, forgiveness, anger; it has it all. It is the story of a pony lifted from the depths to be seated at the right hoof of Celestia herself.”

“Okay, storyteller, let’s hear it,” the old stallion who’d tried to turn him away before grunted.

“But of course,” Lilian said as he took his lute out and strummed a few notes to set the mood, “My throat is a bit dry and there is much to tell. I would appreciate something to drink, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Somepony passed the minstrel a flask and he took a swig.

“Ah, much obliged,” he said, sitting the flask down next to him, “Now, this story begins, as many do, years ago in the midst of a storm …”

Comments

[Evastarfall]

and im hooked