The Morrigan Crown

by Perpetually Confused

The Rose of Steppe 1

(The first matter that should perhaps be addressed in my works is their very nature: it seems to comprise entirely of personal anecdotes, thoughts, a matter of hindsight written well after the events they speak of occured. The languages also cover an entire plethora of nationalities and regions to the point of obscurism, rarely written in Equestrian or done in any particular sense of record keeping, but rather addressing ponies and pegasus in particular. After reading the first, that of Rose of Steppe and the conflict it mentions seems to match up with initial aura workings. From my numbers and checks, this writing, while not hers, was done by a scribe and again by chronological study magic it seems this was then copied and distributed to a almost paranoid degree. Unlike, say, books I run magic over that carry the printing press in its past, this has hundreds of ponies writing over a hundred desks... and all of them hold the same terrified souls. Something had happened and they were unsure to the point of lacking focus.

As for the speaker whom the scribe is writing for, Rose is a rather hard mare to find in record. The pegasus are meticulous history keepers, and from we have in the aftermath of Brights rebellion, she was indeed a hero of her era, but was also something of a decided emberassment. They recognized her accomplishments, but made clear their contempt. She had, surprisingly, left the tribe to seek her child, a earth pony sent into their care from her clan. Her reasons were simply a concern and a deep seated sense of responsiblity whatever law or culture said, and sought her our to see if she was cared for and in good care. From there... she disappears. Just, gone. Then years later, shes wandering the Steppe lands seemingly in no particular desire to return to the tribes. As for her... I feel it needed to intercede at times in regards to events and the ponies and people themselves to provide some form of context for future readers. I shall begin then with her opening entry

So... fair colt, you've asked me here, and here I am, and in my chambers no less. Perhaps we might...

(at this point the quill seemed to have jerked in response to her request. Pegasus, it seems, become more shameless as the years pass and the chance of foals lessen. Rose, in her fifties from my guess, appears to be particularly... willing in this regard, and at times outright brazen and wanton.)

Pax, pax son! I meant no harm! Heavens in storm scribe, one thinks you addlepate with such disdain to ones own desires! Hmm, oh aye, tis no matter. Feel free to write this as well, no secrets. So, what are you here for?

My life? My colt, life is a thing lived, not a thing of ink and parchment. And a lie regardless. You wish to hear about our war, hmm? How my glorious stallion gathered about the armies of the world beneath one banner, for a time, united in our great crusade! You want to hear of glory, of our valorous resolve and the wickedness of Om! You want to hear of war in all its blood soaked beauty!

No. I will not speak of the war itself. I... I thought I had known war. I truly did. We all, my tribe, thought we knew of it in our slaying of warlocks and bandits and our brothers and sister gryphons. But... no. What I shall say war is that their is no glory in such a thing. Honor, Law, right and wrong... all cease to be in war. Our bouts, my bouts, in clan and country... were always personal things. I faced equals, or was the gleaming star come down from Pegasopolis to dash mine enemy across the rocks or slit them open... It was fun.

But war... war is a cold, impersonal thing my fair stallion. I, my stallion, our army and our allies... the battle hardened and once proud in our slaying fools that we were... Our war with Om and her army of soldiers, loyal and sellsword... they was no honor, no glory to be had. Ours was a crusade.

I suppose I will speak of some matters... of our allies who offered arms and soldiers and joined us, of moments before and of our wars end... but first, I wish to speak of what my stallion spoke of my first morning as a mare of the Steppe... when I ran out to slay ones who had done us, my clan and town, ill.

I was out in my stallions armory, preparing my barding. It was... strange, their barding. So different from the plate mail of ours. I had, of course, retained my wingblades as I had earned them (1) but had, due to circumstances we'll speak of, been required to bear it. It did not bear the marks of craft like ours, the swirling decorations of wind and clouds, and indeed, bore no decoration aside from rank and house sigil. I was to stand at my stallions champions side and to oversee our forces for our quarry. It was tanned leather over chain mail, the pauldrons colored the blue of my stallions eyes and bearing a hawk with a dagger in one claw and an olive branch in the other. The mail itself was simple steel, the back of the chains adjusted to accomodate my wings. Heavy, aye, but I had grown stronger since I left the augmented mithril of my nation behind.

1) A rather interesting custom of her and Hurricane's era: pegasus left the clans and tribe one of three ways: clipped and in disgrace, free and bearing barding and arms to face foes but still in obligation to Pegasopolis... or freed entirely of barding and obligation, to live lives as they saw fit. These pegasus were regarded as even beyond the elites, ones whose skill was such that blade was all they needed, and even that was seen as a courtesy since even unarmed a freed pegasus was a terror in their era.

I had taken upon my duty, my armor, and was adjusting my belts and harnesses, when he came. My stallion. I still thrill at the sight of him even now, after all of our time, and am glad to call him mine. You seem bemused colt... oh, my desire for you. Think naught of it unless you wish to reciprocate, and fret not over our Broken King 2). He and I are not as husband and wife and he has given his word not to raise cain over my desires. If I want to rutt another, it is so, and I have given him the same. But our love is always first and foremost, before all things. I might fuck you addled colt, but do not think I truly seek you. His eyes were always his best feature, but I had never seen such an ebon coat on any... and my colt, you may think him a specimen now... oh feh! I seek mare and stallion in matters carnal, aye, but even in my tribe, for those who desire but one, we see the glory in both forms. Tis no matter to admit and declare anothers beauty in our eyes. Oh come now, surely you have at least peeked! Ah, see! And is he not fair? Not as you, my beauty, but in gait and standing, the way he holds himself... a true king all say, and are moments told by their lord they need no king. Have you heard him sing my good scribe? I know he rarely speaks, but in song...

Aye, my stallion has aged beautifully, but fourty winters. His mane has grayed, his coat lost some luster, but this has only seen him taken from his beauty as a youthful stud to one strong as steel and one whom all mares would see fuck a foal into them, to one they'd kill to raise their foal. And how they seeth and envy our colt, my Arban... no, I did not bear him, but he is mine all the same. My stallion had four wives, and many children. How I saw them? Well... I was always cordial, and they warmed, but I was always the whore. A beloved, trusted, and by two of my herd a sire whore, but a whore the same. Our pairing had no standing there, and my foals of my mares were my stallions and theirs, not mine. I was a guard to all, but after the novelty wore away, the foals tended to avoid me, not in fear, but respect. Except Arban.

I had been... dozing, I suppose, in their house garden. My stallion, as Khan, had been granted a manse and trading post, which was how much our the houses coin was made. As such, to show his power, certain luxuries had accrued, much to my poor mates utter annoyance. Nay, my love is not given to fineries or silk when wool and simple materials will more then suffice, and is as content with a tin cup for his tea as the finest bone. He admires their craft and work, but wished his coin could find better uses elsewhere. Alas, house and Steppe mares have certain needs of care, and he must, then and now, keep up appearances. Thankfully, for the most part, my herd and our alpha desired little past the expected save for the occassional showering of affections from him, though I nearly laughed myself ill at their faces when he came to me and asked if I desired anything from his trade journey.3) Apparently I might have asked for much by asking for a pair of rahj folded wing blades 4).

2)Her stallions (name unknown) unofficial title. Its fairly obscure in text, but it seems he desired not only the fall of Om, but of all royalty. That is not to say he sought anarchy, but rather desired that the rulers of this world have as little power as feasible, relegating their positions to near mere figurehead status, to break the hold the notion of monarchy had, thus Broken King. Research also suggests he did , and wished it commonplace, for much of the power of a nation to be in the hands of the common as much as could be done, as though he thought that they had a better notion of how to govern themselves then nobles! Imagine such a thing, a nation ruled by peasants! Mother has suggested, of course, a House of Nobles and a House of Commons, but ones maintained by proper ponies, not the rabble! Ah me, what a silly stallion.

3) Oh dear... In Steppe culture, only family is asked such a thing. And given she did indeed recieve her gift, and its utter worth, this suggests the Broken King saw her as dear to him as his head wife, if not more. Politically, this mattered little since she had no standing of family in his house, but since his wife seemed to applaud the gesture, Rose was probably held in the same regard. She deferred to the head wife as alpha, mind, but still...

4) The rahj never sell their blades. The technique they use creates some of, if not the, finest weapons in the world, and have the weight of kingdoms as their price. Shadow's blades were such gifts, though I know not how this is so. She has had little to do with them before her current companion, so why they offered up such things I cannot say. A rahj blade is a thing as precious as ones lover and foals, as dear to them as their flowers, and any stolen are best said returned before they are taken back. Shadow and Rose are the only two mares I've found who bear such blades, albeit one was a gift from the Broken King, as was his right. Truly the rahj are strange.

Ah, but I do wander in my words... pray forgive me my beauty, I grew sentimental. Alban, yes, our first meeting. I was laying next to the gardens kao pool, eyes closed when he lay next to me. I raised my head to look at him, and he smiled at me, unsure but not skittish. He was merely... there. He is much like his sire in that regard, ones who but for duty are content to watch and listen then mingle and socialize, offering their support and love in their silence. But Alban, the Prince, he is one more inclined to scholarly pursuits and matters politic. He wishes to be a teacher, he says, or as one who works in his father's court. He wants as my stallion does... to see the world changed.

But that day, he merely lay next to me. I laid my head back down, and watched as the kao fish had begun to gather. Snickering, Alban pulled out a half loaf of old bread, and breaking it up in his aura, began to toss the crumbs and scraps out into the water. As the fish took their feed, I snorted.

"You shouldn't waste food colt."

He shook his head, and looked back at me.

"I'm not! See, they're eating it!"

I raised my head again, and scowled. He merely tilted his head at that, still happy.

"Surely colt that could go to, I don't know, a pony! The fish need not such things, they are cared for! Why spoil them?"

His smiled lessened a moment, then sighing, he looked back at the pond, and continued to toss them their treat.

"Because... maybe they'd like a treat too. And they work very hard in their little pond making us happy, don't they? They don't have to swim up to us, or show us their pretty fins and tails, or anything. They don't have to greet us, they could just ignore me or hide away or just go about doing kao things and pay us no mind. But they came up to visit. And... and sometimes one of them dies when father has guests."

I snorted, and rolling my eyes, regarded the fish as they, finding no more bread coming, turned back and swam away.

"They're just fish Alban. Surely your time and food is best spent in things of worth."

He shifted himself, and I twitched as he snuggled next to me. I merely looked at the pond, not saying anything.

"But Rose... they're our fish. The Maker made them for the world, and for us."

I looked back at him, and as so many times before and after, was stunned at how much he looked like his sire. His coat and mane are more grey, and his eyes green like his mothers, but he's so much like his father in personality and speech its frightening. And right then, as his father was the day of my initiation as a mare of Steppe, firm in his conviction. Not stubborn, resolute. Like he was speaking an absolute truth. I looked at him then, how disappointed he was at me, like I'd erred...

"We're supposed to take care of them, their as much the Maker's as we. And, for all the joy and good things our little kao bring us ponies, shouldn't they be treated with at least a bit of kindness?"

I merely looked at my... my son. I realized then that's what he was too me. I had a foal of course, I'd birthed a filly earth pony... and had seen her in proper care, but I had never figured myself a mother. Oh, I fancied one day siring or bearing a pegasus, one who would earn my love, and make me proud to have seen made into steel heart and iron body a warrior of Pegasopolis... but not like this. Alban, by just being himself in the first days in that house, had shown himself a fine and dutiful son. All of them were good colts, largely due too their mothers switch and firmness, but Alban... he showed an insight and kindness, a quiet way to his brothers boisterous running about. He trained in blade and bow, but did so as mere duty, lacking the bragging and scuffles his siblings demanded. He loved books and I had taken to teaching him Equestrian, and he had tried to speak to me of my own tribe only to be told I would not speak of it. Such things were not for his ears, were my words.

But... I loved him. I loved that stubborn little unicorn and would have raised him as my own in Equestria whatever my tribe said. I would have left my tribe, I realized, for my colt and stallion... such a thing nearly broke me. I didn't realize it, but when he leaned forward and nuzzled my cheek, I realized I'd been crying.

"Rose? Oh no, I'm sorry! I... I didn't mean too..."

I kissed his forehead then, and took him under wing. Aye scribe, such was my feelings... ah, you have a pegasus mother then? Of what clan? A Charger... my word colt, your mother spoiled you if thats her clan! Ah, I see... more often inclined to whack you then hug you with one was she? Aye, tis good you see her in such a light. She, as all ponies, only wants whats best for her foals, and the only reason for her harshness was her belief in you. Is she still... oh colt, I'm sorry. Did you have much trouble taking a tithe from my tribe? I know inheritance is not something oft done, but...

Ahh! You're her favored foal then! Left you nothing? Good colt! You didn't worry her then! Or, well, you didn't trouble her with foolish ways. I worry always for Alban... Hmm? Oh, his youth. I spent it teaching him Equestrian, sparring and the art of blade... Ah, as did yours then. And your initiation. Write it down colt. Speak of our ways.

As you will, my Queen... My mother woke me in the night, and I was terrified by her expression. Not angry, or troubled... despairing. I had rarely seen her have any expression outside of her usual stoic frown, but now... She ordered me to arise, and to follow. I did, and we left my fathers house. She led me down the city streets in utter silence, and I felt to afraid to ask anything. We came to the gates, and she whispered to the keeper, an older pegasus with one wing. He lifted his lamp to look at me better, revealing his scarred visage, and his sadness caused my own heart to ache.

"It... it will be all right lad. Aye? A foal of ours, raised up our way... is raised strong and good. Just... just come back safe colt."

He patted my head then, and turned back to the gates levers. The gates opened, and I followed mother out into the night. We traveled not far, I could still see the gates from where we stood, but had traveled miles... and stopped at the woods edge. Mother walked to their edge, and softly spoke.

"My own, one comes for the rite. Will you see him made in ours in full?"

And from the shadows of the woods, pegasus walked, all without barding, and all bearing the same somber expression. The eldest, a mare, walked up to me, regarding me a moment, then walking around me to examine me in full.

"Aye, he seems strong of body..."

Coming up to me full circle, she leaned forward, her voice cold.

"... but what of will? What manner of stallion has been made by you whore?"

I felt my ichor flare in an instant, and snarling, I shoved the mare back. She took two steps, eyes widening before narrowing, her wings flexing at her sides causing the blades there to clink in their wing brace.

"My mother is mare of integrity, and has remained faithful in exclusion to my father since her youth. As loyal to him as Pegasopolis, as firm in their love as her oath to our Empress."

I loomed forward, having height over the mare, and snarled "And at least I know who my sire is, you degenerate feather sack bastard."

The mare merely looked at me a moment, then laughed. She barked in her mirth, then putting a hoof behind my head, pressed our foreheads together.

"You've a studs soul colt! After our rite, I'd have you warm my furs in celebration! What say you to this, hmm?"

Snorting, I pulled away from the pegasus, and scowled.

"Like her, I am no whore nor harlot, and am promised to another."

Smirking, the mare turned, and I looked down as she flicked her tail to the side. Snickering, she walked back to mother, and nodded.

"I'd say you've raised a fine stallion..."

She looked back to me... and her smile was gone.

"But this colt... this is the rite."

Two more pegasus broke from the others, one bearing chains and the other a whip. Mother took the whip from one, and walking to me, sighed.

"There is one last passage to be a pony of Pegasopolis..."

She told me what it would take: to be of their tribe, it took sacrifice. To be of them, it meant I would have to bleed and risk death and agony, and they would be the ones who would have to ask it of me, my clan, my tribe, my family. And it would begin here: I was to be chained down and lashed ten times by her. It was a cruelty done to see if I could bear knowing what was being done... and bear knowing I was allowing one beloved to do so. It was killing not only her, but all the pegasus there, to do this, it was clear. But a pegasus was made by the Maker for this. They, she said, they could bear it, the lashing, the tears, the broken hearts and knowing what was being done... because it meant their fellow ponies were safe. They were hard... so their earth kin and arcana would not suffer, or would not suffer long. It pained them that they insisted to join the Legion, they shouldn't feel such a thing was needed... but they did. And no pegasus could bear to tell them otherwise. Who were they to deny anothers will?

But for a pegasus foals... often if we are born of another tribe, we are given over to them, but sometimes... sometimes they simply can't. Its selfish, and cruel to impose on them such a parent, but the very thought of surrendering them is another thing unbearable to their hearts. But mother... mother was unforgiveably self centered. She had raised me as she had been raised... taught me their ways and customs, raised me as a warrior. Yes I was a scholar, a noble, but I was of Pegasopolis too...

But now, I could leave. A pegasus couldn't, she said. Her tribe could not allow such weakness, and would see them clipped before disgrace. And in the rite, they were expected to take their lashes in silence. A bit would be in their mouths, and they would be lashed like a caribous slave, stripped of all... save pride. For pegasus were proud. Bite hard on thine bit, and surprise them with a laugh after, my mother said.

But I could leave, and none their would think less of me. I would be of their tribe, of clan... I stepped up to the stallion with chain and collar and held up my fetlocks.

My mother acted in disgrace that night. At the fifth, she broke down and begged me to stop. I did not, and she redeemed herself in our eyes by finishing...

You're a scoundrel then. Aye colt, a scoundrel I call you for that. Still fair, one I'd rutt, but a scoundrel. Do you know why? Because my father did not break, but if he had, I would have disgraced myself in begging. Not for my sake, but his. Even if he hated me for it, and I would have had to prove myself over a lifetime to be held in their eyes, I would have done so.

But my stallion... he had been raised by a Striker. A cruel and demanding a sire as any, if not more so. He had left his tribe to raise the damned colt, so he had better be worth his time.... and love. He loved my stallion and his mother. Gave up everything, and if my love had wanted it otherwise, would have supported any path in life chosen. But he wanted to be a warrior... he was to be Khan one day. He had to be ready.

But when his rite came... his father added a new condition. That once his ten were done... he had to give his sire ten in return. He was a colt of fifteen winters, strong and hale, but when his father said that... he wept. He put his hooves on his eyes, and wept in shame. He couldn't do that to his own sire. He was too weak, he said. His father embraced him then, and cried with him... in pride.

"Colt... my son, you do me proud today. Before our ways, before clan, before honor... you chose your family, you kept your integrity. You are no pony of Pegasopolis... you are greater then any of our tribe of kin has ever been."

As I prepared to become a mare of the Steppe, he came to the armory... and shook his head. We had argued over this before, and I snorted as he looked out the window to the land outside.

"Spare me thy glares... I have naught a word to say more. I must show myself of skill cuckold, and will do so."

He snarled, and whipping his head around shouted "And do you not think I wish I was out there with you Rose?"

I looked up again, hiding my shock quite well if I do say so, and smiled.

"That so? Then come, there is barding and blade too..."

"But this isn't about me."

I sighed, and ran my hoof through my mane. I had heard this before, and it still vexes me, his ways. He looked back out into our homeland, and sighed.

"I love battle, and drink, and mares... I want to be with you my friend, to revel and take to task those who've stolen and abused us. But... But I have to do better. Not because I'm Khan... but because I can't bear this world. We seek to merely... exist. Such things are important, but we do not progress, and the world rots around us. And always, we and the people of the world, suffer. Its not enough to exist anymore Rose. The world... its people, they deserve better. Need to be better. We have a duty... no, a duty can be forsaken. We have a responsiblity to make ourselves, our homes, our world, so much more then it could be without us here."

He walked away from the window and made his way to door, and paused a moment.

"We were meant to do, to be, to... to build and create so much wonderful, beautiful things Rose."

I had been adjusting my wingblade as he spoke, and looking at myself into the cold grey of its edge, I scowled.

"And terrible things as well."

"Sometimes... but we can choose to not do those as well. And that's what I'm doing Rose... I'm making a choice. I may have to run to some terrible thing, some horrible conflict by necessity... but will not do so for my enjoyment even if I desire so. Because such a thing is wrong Rose. Whether its for amusement... or honor."

I jerked my head up at that, and tried to speak. He merely looked back at me, the same firm resolve that morning as it was in the Court of Om... and I knew he would not yield.

"It starts when we decide friend Rose. I believe in you... even if you don't do so yourself."

I hated him so much then... Who was he to judge me after all? Aye, I thrill in battle, and love it, I thought. What of it? Why should I not relish the vanquishing of a foe, a villian? What matters the wicked's life, I fumed.

That day, I became one of the Steppe. But it would be years before I became a better mare, a person of integrity.

Comments

[Starlight Nova]

If the main OCs in this story were voiced, what would they sound like?

[Perpetually Confused]

9477273
It should of note I sort of did the first chapter bag of Vicodin style... Sorry, I may have flubbed the whole thing

But no, you don't have to read Lunar Rebellion to get this one. I think I'm going to do a fairly decent job explaining the clans, politics, so on and so forth as is. That was more a plug then anything. While it is set in the same verse, its another era (in short, you can appreciate this for its own thing, I pray and hope and dream)

As for the rest... Thank you, oh God, thank you! This is the sort of helpful criticism I want, and by your accounts, need! You've earned a follower, good sir or madam!

[Poke-A-Dot]

Interesting way to format your story description; is it in verse? The writing style is nice but the meaning of the words are somewhat unclear.

[Perpetually Confused]

9521016
Will do, thanks for the comment!

[Perpetually Confused]

9521023
Done! And thank you for the assist.

And, yes, in the Era they're in, they lean heavily on the olde time stuff. I expand on that more here
https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/803573/in-regards-to-dialect

but the subsequent will be somewhat easier to read. Sorry about that