• Published 11th Nov 2018
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Memoirs of My War - Antiquarian



Years after the end of the Great War, a journalist interviews some of its greatest heroes. Veterans Day Tribute.

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Nightmares

Interview Excerpt: Princess Luna, Diarch of Equestria

I detest this modern era of war.

It is not that I am under any illusions or mistaken nostalgia for the old era of warfare. I’ve heard the opinions of plenty of stallions and mares who win imagined battles from cozy chairs and assert that there was a greater refinement to the older eras of war. Not because of how ponies conducted themselves, mind you, but simply because sword and spear are somehow more elegant than tanks and guns.

This line of thinking is utter folly. Any war will have its nobility and its depravity, regardless of the era. Culture and creed make a far greater impact on the conduct of an army than weapons. After all, shooting somepony can hardly be considered morally inferior to thrusting a blade through somepony’s heart. There were wars wherein there was a greater sense of honor amongst enemies than in the Great War. And there were wars wherein there was less honor as well. The weapons may impact the ease with which we kill one another, but the choice of virtue and vice remains fundamentally in the realm of the soul and the flesh, not fire and steel.

No, the reason I detest this modern era of war is its mechanical nature. Ponies don’t ride to battle as they did in the old days. They charge into a meat grinder.

It used to be that ponies faced an enemy they could see and understand. Flesh against flesh. Now, it feels more like they face merely Juggernaut: a featureless entity of gears and guns that can be neither understood nor killed.

When the War first visited our fair land, I was eager to rain justice upon our foe in blood and steel; to repay them for the atrocities they had committed against us. But Celestia, wisely in retrospect, recognized that my desire to blood our enemy so personally would be a liability on the battlefield. So I remained in Canterlot, to manage affairs at home and ensure that the kingdom rallied behind its bold defenders. But my war was not merely the soft war of politics in those early years. It was also one of minds.

As the Guardian of Dreams, I am not unfamiliar with the devastation that war can wreak upon the mind. Intellectually, I knew that, with the larger armies of today, I would have far more ponies to whom I must minister in the night.

But I… I had not accounted for the horror of it.

What I saw in those ravaged dreamscapes as my ponies were introduced to a new and cruel era of war… even now I shudder at the thought. You of the younger generation only know this modern sort of war, so it is impossible for you to understand what an utter shock it was to our sensibilities. None of us had ever conceived anything like this waking nightmare.

How could we? Before then, it simply did not exist.

Worst of all were the dreams of the prisoners of war. I was not unfamiliar with using my gift to offer succor to the victims of torture. The means by which ponies deliberately inflict pain on each other in prisons have proven to be rather similar from age to age.

But… there were just so many. So many soldiers. So many civilians. So many innocent souls, and among them so many children and I…

Ashamed though I am to admit it, there was a part of me that was relieved when the Equalists broke through the lines to threaten Canterlot. Guardian of Dreams or no, there are times when I prefer a tangible enemy.

Know this. When ponies tell you of the terrible wrath of Luna, the princess who threw the Equalists back from the Pelenneigh Fields with such fire and fury that the day was blackened with the smoke of guns, that was merely me venting the pent-up, helpless rage of generation of mothers weeping for lost children. It was the innocent dead of Equestria who carried that day, not I.

Most ponies think of the War as something which ended many years ago. But it didn’t. Not for me. As long as there is even one stallion or mare alive who remembers the horrors of that conflict and brings such grief to the land of slumber, my war will continue.

And, as my sister and I do not age… I suppose my Great War will last for a very long time.

Author's Note:

“I wouldn’t have lasted without her. I was ready to give up. To just… end. She helped me to realize that I had to live for them. To take my sorrow and let it turn into something that would make their deaths more than just six tallies on a chart. She comforts me in the night so, when the next day comes, I have the strength to face it without them. Because of her, I can go on. I can live. For all of us.”

—Floral Blossom, widowed wife and mother, sole survivor of the Rollingbrook Massacre