The Sparrow in the Storm

by The 24th Pegasus

2-14

The farmstead at the crossroads north of Dry Fens had not been lived in for some time. In the center of the fields covering the hills, a small building with a door, four windows, and a small porch held a timid command over the surrounding land, claiming an impressive piece of topography to sit on while not being particularly impressive to the eye. The grasses around its porch were wildly overgrown and the curtains were drawn behind dusty glass. In one corner of the porch, a simple wooden rocking chair had been overturned, and dead leaves gathered in the crook of its arm.

Sparrow took all this in as she hiked up the hillside, following Typhoon just off of the old soldier’s shoulder. She wondered why Legate Singing Sparrow had chosen this particular location for the meeting. If she looked off to the right, she saw the town of Dry Fens sleepily sitting in the midmorning sun, far enough away that she couldn’t identify the damage or blemishes that she had seen when she visited the town on her mission two days prior. The sentry clouds of its defenders hovered over the town, casting distant shadows on the ground below them, and Sparrow was certain that the defenders’ sentries were watching them from somewhere hidden in the sky. But why meet so far away from the town, so far from the legion’s nerve center, when brokering a peace to end the fighting?

On Typhoon’s other side, Centurion Tern and Legate Winds similarly scrutinized the area, though it was Tern that felt the need to voice his thoughts aloud. “If Singing Sparrow wanted to meet at a neutral site, we should have forced him to meet at one that’s truly neutral,” he grumbled. “And if he wanted to kill us, why wouldn’t he pick the center of town?” He glared in Sparrow’s direction, and though she was taller than Typhoon, Sparrow still instinctively tried to hide behind the pegasus to avoid his gaze. “Well? He tell you anything, deserter?”

“He didn’t say. And I am not a deserter… sir,” she remembered to add at the legate’s look. She had to remind herself that technically she had been through Tern’s training, which technically made her one of his legionaries, and so she technically needed to address him with the honorific. Leave it to him to suck all the pride she should have been feeling out of ostensibly fulfilling her life’s ambition. She had expected to feel something, excitement and apprehension, maybe, but not this. Not the hollow feeling in her gut that told her she didn’t belong, that she shouldn’t even be here, that she’d made a mistake.

“Perhaps it’s as far as he feels comfortable flying, knowing what Sparrow impressed upon him,” Lost Winds quietly observed as he surveyed the surrounding area. “This is close enough to Dry Fens that he could feel confident in not being ambushed, and if we brought our army along, he’d have plenty of time to prepare. A mouse won’t stray too far from its hole if it knows a hawk roosts nearby.”

But Typhoon just shrugged. “I think it’s more than that,” the old soldier gruffly commented, but apart from that statement she had nothing else to say. Instead, she chose to walk up the steps of the porch, wrap the feathers of her wingtip around the doorknob, and hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside when it surprisingly turned.

Winds gave his head a little shake and shrugged. “If Typhoon doesn’t sense anything off about it…” he quipped in his soft voice, and he beckoned with his wing for Tern and Sparrow to follow. Sparrow deferred to her centurion, letting him proceed first after Winds, and after one last look at the sky, she brought up the rear, using her magic to lodge a door stop under the muntin to keep it open.

After a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim light inside, Sparrow observed Typhoon and Lost Winds looking over the sparse furniture and few belongings inside, at least until Tern gestured for her to take care of the window curtains. This she did with her magic, drawing back the curtains to let the midday light illuminate the interior, and she took her time to look around the rooms as she did so. ‘Rooms’ may have been a misnomer, though. There were no doors that partitioned the house, only simple wooden plank walls that suggested divisions into rooms rather than enforced them. There was the entryway, a half-wall to the left that sectioned off a bedroom, a small sitting area to the right, and a simple kitchen and dining room on the other side of the wall that supported the middle of the house. There were few decorations, if any, to speak of, and the furniture was simple and utilitarian. All of it abandoned, all of it untouched for quite some time.

“Typical frontier home,” Tern muttered with a bored shrug. Then he turned his attention to Sparrow, who stiffened at the eye contact. “Go and stand watch outside,” he ordered her. “Let us know if you see anything. And if you wander off again, I’ll make sure you don’t get very far.”

Sparrow’s eyes momentarily glanced toward Typhoon at the threat, but the older mare gave her head a small shake behind Tern’s back and shrugged her wings before turning away. The unicorn shifted her attention back to her centurion and nodded, knowing Typhoon thought little of his words, and gave him a quick (albeit strained) “Sir,” of acknowledgement before turning around and walking back outside.

She momentarily considered righting the rocking chair on the porch and sitting under the shade while looking out toward Dry Fens, but she doubted Tern would find that acceptable, so she walked down the stairs and stood on the grass under the sun. Only there did she let out a long and forceful blow of air between her lips and frowned off into the distance. Consequences be damned, she was really tempted to just disappear down the road and leave her irritable commanding officer behind. But that temptation lasted only a moment; in addition to Tern being right and that she wouldn’t be able to outrun a pegasi on her hooves if she were to do something that stupid, she didn’t really have anywhere to go. Plus, she wasn’t about to abandon Typhoon, and she really didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to Chinook…

She sighed and remembered how he had pressed her for any details about her conversation with Singing Sparrow on their walk back to camp when they left the town behind. She had just been happy he hadn’t started any fights with the defenders or done something stupid and gotten himself hurt. And she was doubly happy when Tern’s pickets had spotted and intercepted them when they got close to Camp Stratopolis and he was able to vouch for her. If she had just been by herself, she wondered if they just would have killed her on sight. And would they have even bothered to tell Typhoon, or would they cover it up?

It was all pointless worrying about hypotheticals in the end, though. Though Tern had chewed her out and threatened to punish her mercilessly for desertion, Typhoon’s and Winds’ intervention had at least saved her from that fate. And it was worth it when, after some explaining, Typhoon was able to convince the legate to meet with Singing Sparrow. Tern had insisted he accompany the legate despite Singing Sparrow’s instructions, and Typhoon had allowed it on the condition that the centurion not participate in the negotiations. This was a matter that would be resolved between the two legates and mediated by their former commander, and neither Tern nor Sparrow were expected to participate. Sparrow was just happy that Typhoon had decided to bring her along instead of leaving her behind in camp.

Sparrow hadn’t been standing outside for too long before she noticed activity in the direction of Dry Fens. She blinked, then narrowed her eyes when she saw several tufts of cloud rise up and spread out from the city. They were barely visible against the sky, not much larger than a couple of ponies standing flank to flank, and they arranged themselves at varying distances and heights from the center of town. Sparrow chewed on her scarred lip, wondering if this was the kind of thing she needed to report back on, until she noticed one of the clouds seemed to be heading in her direction. This time she turned tail and trotted back up the steps to the open door, where after rapping against the jamb with her hoof to catch the attention of the ponies inside, she announced “Something’s coming.”

“Be more specific,” was Tern’s response as the three ponies inside broke off their conversation. “The legate? A messenger? An army?”

“Clouds?” Sparrow asked, her confusion adding a questioning inflection to the word. “A bunch came out of the town and one’s coming this way.”

Thankfully, Typhoon had the explanation. “Sentry posts, most likely,” she said as she made her way to the door. “They’re checking to see if you brought your army before the legate arrives. Let’s present ourselves and show that we’ve arrived already.”

Typhoon stepped past her and into the morning sunlight, followed by the other three legionaries in order of descending rank. When the aging soldier came to a stop a few paces from the porch stairs, they arranged themselves at her sides in the same orientation they had arrived at the house and waited as the cloud drew near. Even though it was only one cloud, Sparrow still felt a claw of apprehension squeeze her gut, especially as the other sentry posts continued to fan out and drift overhead. Tern felt the same, judging by the way his wingtips twitched as if he was envisioning using the blades on their crests to fight his way out of an ambush, but the legate remained calm and measured, and Typhoon herself seemed practically relaxed. Of all ponies, Sparrow figured she had the least to fear; who was going to attack Commander Hurricane’s daughter, both out of the foolishness of crossing swords with somepony of her skill and magical prowess, and out of respect for the daughter of the savior of the pegasus race?

The cloud descended soon enough, and though Tern all but flinched when it changed its course, it soon revealed little to fear. Two pegasi Sparrow recognized—Crane on the left, Thermal on the right—closed their wings as they guided the cloud down to the ground, using the capricious magic of the pegasi to control the intangible vapor. Standing between them was the pony Sparrow had ostensibly met in a dim tent two days prior, but today looked like a completely different stallion in his gleaming armor and Cirran-blue cloak draped over his shoulders.

Legate Singing Sparrow waited until the cloud came to a stop on the ground before stepping off of it, standing tall on the dirt ground under his own strength. At a glance, he looked the picture of health, with a freshly cut mane, a clean, groomed coat, and feathers preened into neat, razor-like lines in his wings. But Sparrow had seen him ailing, and when she looked, she could still see the signs: a redness around the eyes, red marks and scabs along his neck, the way the thinned musculature around his neck left a noticeable void between the collar of his armor and his coat. Appearances were a strength all their own, Sparrow realized, but when she spared a glance at the three ponies to her left, she wondered how easily they saw through them.

The first words were not spoken by either legate nor their subordinates, but by Typhoon. “Legate Singing Sparrow,” she said, offering the legate a respectful nod of acknowledgement. “My apologies if we’ve spoken face to face before and I have forgotten. I was never the best with faces. It caused me more problems than you can imagine back in Everfree.”

Legate Sparrow answered that with a shrug. “Perhaps that’s for the best for a commander. It’s easier to do what needs to be done when a legion is five thousand faceless ponies and not a collection of friends.” Then he looked beyond her shoulders at the ponies standing around her and frowned. “I made it clear that I would only speak with you and Legate Winds. Nopony else.”

“I didn’t bring them to speak. They will hold their tongues,” Legate Winds said, and he stepped forward to get a closer look at his counterpart. The two stallions seemed to take a few moments to size each other up, and for a moment, Sparrow worried if pegasi could shoot lightning between their eyes from the intensity. But after a moment, Lost Winds yielded and opened his wings in salute. “Legate Singing Sparrow. My scouts thought it was you leading the defense of Dry Fens, but nopony ever saw you on the front.”

It took Sparrow a moment to recognize the barb buried in those words, made doubly difficult by how effortlessly Singing Sparrow didn’t let it stick him. “A competent officer doesn’t need to lead skirmish parties,” he said, and he returned the quick salute with his wings. “If you’d come closer to cracking my defenses, you’d have seen me.”

Sparrow was the only one close enough to Typhoon to hear the aging mare mutter “Stallions…” under her breath, and she moved beside the two legates and gestured with her wing back toward the house. “We arrived some time before you did, Legate Sparrow, and swept the building. I made sure none of your things were disturbed.”

Sparrow mouthed an “Oh…” in understanding, and Tern gave the house a quick glance over his shoulder, but Singing Sparrow gave his once-Commander an appreciative dip of his head. “Thank you, Ma’am. Things being what they’ve been lately, it hasn’t been safe to go back to my little farmstead. It’s good to come home.” He looked back at Crane and Thermal and angled his head toward the house. “Well, if Winds gets two, I get two. Fair’s fair.”

“Fair’s fair,” Typhoon echoed in agreement, and she started walking back toward Singing’s little farm house. Both legates and their companions followed her, though both sides kept a wary distance from each other, and when Typhoon stepped inside, there was even a moment’s hesitation of which legate would enter the house first. It all felt like stupid power games to Sparrow, and when the two legates only resolved it on the compromise argument that Winds would enter first on account of being welcomed in as a guest to Singing’s home, Sparrow felt like she was starting to understand Typhoon’s earlier utterance under her breath.

It did afford her the opportunity to share a few hushed words with Crane as the two mares stood side-by-side waiting for their superiors to sort out something as infinitely complex as entering a door. “I still don’t know how you got the legate to agree to this,” Crane whispered out the side of her muzzle. “Even though you had Typhoon’s sword, a part of me thought for sure this would be some kind of trap set by Lost Winds. And I’m sure my legate thought the same.”

“I guess I can be pretty persuasive from time to time,” Sparrow whispered back, adding a breathy chuckle to the end of her words. “If I didn’t have a history with him, I don’t think I’d be able to convince him.”

Crane’s eyebrow swooped up her forehead like her namesake. “How do you have a history with the legate?” Then she blinked and frowned in thought. “It’s because of your name, isn’t it?”

“Something like that,” Sparrow said, and she couldn’t help but let a little smirk turn the corners of her lips as she teased Crane with her history. “Maybe he’ll tell you about it later,” she added, stepping away from the legionary and following Centurion Tern inside the little farmstead. Crane just huffed and rolled her eyes in her wake.

Once everypony was inside, Sparrow found the small farmhouse to feel just a little cramped, even with only seven ponies standing around—though perhaps in fairness to Singing Sparrow, making the room wide enough for seven heavily armored ponies was likely not a consideration in the building plans. While Typhoon sat at the head of the small dining table on the other side of the wall from the entryway, the opposing camps arranged themselves on opposite sides of the house. Lost Winds sat at the seat to Typhoon’s right while Tern stood behind him and Sparrow stood by the window, and Singing Sparrow sat opposite his counterpart while his two soldiers stood behind his shoulders. There wasn’t much room for anypony who didn’t have a seat at the table, and Sparrow would have liked to go outside and get a little more shoulder room, but she was obligated to stand by her centurion, and even more importantly, she didn’t want to miss anything that was about to be said in the little house.

Before the two stallions could spend more than a few seconds leering at each other from their seats, Typhoon launched right into the heart of the matter. Looking first at Lost Winds, then at Singing Sparrow, she put her hooves together on the table, touching her frigid metal one against her flesh and blood one without wincing from the cold. “So. I’m going to be blunt about this. This war in the frontier cannot continue. Your fighting goes against everything the Legion stood for. You've broken the oaths you swore to protect the ponies of Equestria. You’re destroying the dream my father had for Equestria, and the legacy I tried to uphold while serving as your Commander.” She took a moment to let those words sink in, perhaps trying to gauge any responses from the stone-faced legates sitting at her sides, before continuing. “It is true that the Legion is no more, and the oaths you swore to it might not mean anything to you. But in your oath you also swore loyalty to me, and to Equestria. I am still here. Equestria is still here. Neither of us are as strong as we used to be when you made those oaths. But we’re not dead.” Taking a breath, she tapped her metal hoof against the table, leaving a faint frosty outline on the wood. “The fighting ends today. Am I understood?”

“Ma’am, I never wanted to pick up a sword again after the Legion was disbanded,” Singing Sparrow said. He shifted in his seat, perhaps trying to find a more comfortable position in his armor, and Sparrow watched his face closely for any signs of pain given how sick she had seen him in Dry Fens. But if he felt pain or fatigue, his ability to cover it up was impeccable, and though his voice was a little raspy and raw, it didn’t scour his words. “Dry Fens is my home. When Legate Winds threatened it, I felt compelled to defend it. I have resisted him from the moment his first scouts entered the town and demanded tribute. If he leaves, we can hammer our swords back into ploughshares. It’s as simple as that.”

“Did you even ask your neighbors before you took up ‘defending’ them, ‘Legate’?” Lost Winds accused in his plain and soft-spoken voice; even though it was quiet in the house and the surrounding fields save for the wind rustling through the grasses outside, Sparrow had to keep her ears trained on the table to make out his words clearly. “Did you give them an option to join us? My scouts have seen what you’ve done to the town. You accuse me of threats while you rule like an occupying force. The earth ponies and unicorns who live there are starving, sick, and filthy while your makeshift legion hovers in camps over them like a hoof poised to step on an insect. You expect me to believe they chose this? At any point, you could have taken the fight to me if you had the stomach for it, you could have submitted and gone back to tilling your fields, or you could have left. Keeping your soldiers fed is starving your neighbors. Is the tribute they give you that different from what I ask?"

“It is not tribute. Ponies need to eat, and soldiers especially so,” the ailing legate countered. He crossed his forelegs as he added, “There would be no problem with keeping Dry Fens fed if you didn’t burn down our fields!”

Legate Winds scoffed. “I wouldn’t have to resort to starving you out if you would surrender. I needn’t have burned your fields had you worked with me. There are monsters prowling the frontier that our legions used to hunt, there are bandits and buffalo and rogue free states beyond our borders that we used to contain, and I have tried to use my soldiers to fill in the gap we left behind when the Commander disbanded us. You are making my job very difficult and getting a lot of ponies killed in the process.”

“Do not lecture me about choices and causes,” Singing Sparrow spat back. “Your scouts demanded we give your army food, weapons, and ‘volunteers’ for your fight. Where was your noble cause then? Because for all your talk about guarding against bandits, the only ones we ever saw were your soldiers. We wanted to be left alone. We had a militia that could deal with bandits and were close enough to Boiling Springs we could get help from them if something more dangerous pressed us. You came along and demanded tribute and submission in the name of a new Cirra, and when we weren’t interested, you made it clear that you were willing to resort to violence to get what you wanted. If violence is the only language you understand, Legate, you should remember I’ve been speaking it longer than you.”

Typhoon sharply frowned as the two legates traded insults and grievances, and she bared her teeth in a moment of frustration before intervening. “After today, violence will be a dead language,” she insisted, and her wings momentarily flitted open at her sides, rattling the scaled blades lining their crests. “There is one thing I want in the Frontier, and that is the safety of everypony who lives here. Until Gale—” Typhoon winced in plain view of the two Legates, and then forced herself to continue before they could press, “—until Equestria sorts out its problems in Everfree and makes peace with the earth pony merchant cities, that responsibility falls on old soldiers like us. I don’t want the soldiers who used to serve under me making the situation worse.”

“Ma’am, we have been trying to do exactly that,” Lost Winds insisted. “If you’ll forgive my being blunt, I am trying to salvage the disaster you made for us when you disbanded the Legion and left a vacuum of responsibility for the Frontier. Platinum is a disgrace, the Royal Guard is a joke, and as much as I respect your father’s dream, Equestria is a failed state without the Legion. Everything I’ve seen tells me the earth ponies are never going to submit. The Royal Guard simply can’t move fast enough to police a country the size of Equestria, and we both know they'll abandon the frontier long before they give up on Everfree. We're on our own out here, and a bunch of isolated town militias aren’t going to keep anyone safe. Somepony has to be willing to pick up the pieces of the Frontier. That’s what I want to do. Not banditry or whatever else Legate Sparrow is accusing me of. I know it's not pretty, but it’s the reality I’ve seen, everywhere I’ve been since Platinum destroyed Equestria.”

After meeting Typhoon’s ruby red gaze to plead his case, he narrowed his eyes at his enemy. “We should be cooperating, Legate. Not fighting. But in your delusion to cling to what you call peace, you’ve killed far more ponies than I have. If you don't stand down, there will be more deaths on your head, and more blood on your hooves. Not just of the ponies in our legions, but in all the ponies who will be preyed on by bandits and monsters because the Legion wasn't there to save them.”

“You think seizing towns and forcing innocents into your empire is protection?” Legate Sparrow asked, outraged. “You were a colt during Cyclone’s coup, but I was a young milite. I flew in the skies of Cloudsdale. I killed a fellow Cirran when I clipped off her wing with my blades and watched her plummet to the icy ground below. So much violence and death for nothing. Now I see the same thing happening again.” The stallion shivered, though Sparrow wasn’t sure if it was from the memories or the sickness, and the muscles in his neck flexed for a moment as if he was trying to suppress a cough. “You’re a pretender, Winds, pretending to fight in the name of the Frontier when you just want to be the next Emperor Cyclone. I will never submit to you. If you really want to protect the Frontier, disperse your legion and let ponies ask for your help instead of forcing them under your hoof.”

Though Sparrow could barely see it from where she stood behind him, Lost Wind’s muzzle was angled just enough in her direction to see the sharpening frown on it. “Militias and a dispersed legion can't keep the Frontier safe. Could your militia kill a hydra if it attacked Dry Fens? Do you have anypony with fire empatha to stop the heads regrowing? A century in my legion is all that’s left of Horseshoe Marsh. A bonded pair of hydras devoured the town and all they could do was watch. And there are threats more dangerous than monsters out there. I know an old soldier like you knows the truth of that.”

“Elaborate,” Typhoon interjected, and she leaned in a little closer in both interest and concern. “I know that we used to keep bandit clans under control, but it has been some time since I’ve read an official scouting report of the uncharted lands beyond the furthest settlement in the Frontier. Even still, if you’re talking about bandits, most won’t test even a loosely organized militia. There’s always easier prey.”

“With respect, ma’am, that was only true because the Legion dealt with them quickly. Without an established military, and with so many villages still struggling since the war with the spiders, for a lot of the scum, banditry looks like a better—and longer—life than farming or plying some trade in a backwater town. And there are powerful clans that have organized further west and south. The remnants of Gloriosa Everfree’s clan, some crystals who don’t respect Smart Cookie’s rule, the list is long and won’t get shorter on its own.” Lost Winds explained. “They’ve been bolstered by former legionaries who joined their ranks, giving them formal training, better tactics, discipline… of a sort. The Mustang Clans are some of the strongest; they prey on the more ambitious frontier settlements that are isolated by distance, enslaving anypony they can get their hooves on and leaving ruined towns in their wake. And some of the so-called free cities that exist beyond Equestria, cities that have existed here even during the time of the Three Tribes like Marekech and Brayrut, pay them handsomely for slaves. They’re organized, dangerous, and militias don’t scare them.”

“So you're asking Typhoon to trade bandit clans for a tyrant Commander? Ma’am, for what it’s worth, I’ve never heard of these slavers either. The only conquering force here is Lost’s Legion.” Singing Sparrow stated.

“You can call me a ‘tyrant’ if it soothes your conscience, Sparrow, but don’t you dare call me a liar,” Winds growled, and his quiet voice lended an unnerving menace to his anger. “Talk to any of my soldiers. Maybe even talk to those who flew in to help you. Listen to what they’ve lost. Then call me a liar again.” Once again, he shifted his attention away from his counterpart and toward Typhoon, and Sparrow concluded the legate was using the opportunity to negotiate more with the latter than the former, despite the supposed purpose of the meeting. “I will state my position in the plainest possible matter, Ma’am. The Frontier will never be safe as a scattering of small towns and militias. Monsters will destroy settlements. Bandits and the free cities will enslave our ponies. The more they succeed, the worse they’ll get. Militias and dispersed legions might win a few victories, but they can never solve the root of the problem. Only an organized, systemic, collective approach will. We need a nation, and the Frontier won’t accept Equestria again. Only Cirra has the strength and unity to succeed. A state based on the discipline and memory of our ancestors will succeed where Equestria is failing. I’ve done much of the groundwork already. I’ve aligned two dozen small towns and settlements toward the establishment of a state capable of defending us all. But Legate Sparrow has raised an army of his own to stop me from protecting it. The only way I can fulfill my task is if he stops fighting me and joins me instead, or at least stands aside to let me do my work.”

“Even if he is telling the truth, or the truth as much as he believes his own words, I do not trust him to lead,” Singing Sparrow insisted, and the two legates glared at each other, wings opening slightly in anger and frustration. “If you had come to negotiate Dry Fens’ acceptance into his partnership, then perhaps it would have been considered. But you did not. Your soldiers demanded fealty, they did not negotiate, did not compromise. If you want a new Cirra, we need a new Commander Hurricane. Not a Cyclone.”

Singing Sparrow’s chair squeaked across the floor as he stood up, surprising Sparrow and the other soldiers gathered in the room. Though the legate’s action was resolute, he still had to use his hooves on the edge of the table to help him stand. Instead of addressing Winds, he spoke to Typhoon. “If Lost Winds will not leave Dry Fens, then there can be no compromise. I will return to the town and prepare for what must be done. If he truly cares about the fate of the frontier, then he will use his army against the Mustang Clans and the actual threats beyond it. Until then, he will never have my loyalty, nor my respect.”

Lost Winds only watched his counterpart in silence; perhaps he had expected the outcome, maybe even desired it, and saw no interest in trying to bring Singing Sparrow back to the table. But Typhoon closed her eyes and her lips pressed into a thin line. Sparrow cocked her head as she noted the old soldier’s strained expression, just able to make out her whispered words. “Father… forgive me.” The words were loud enough that Typhoon brought pause to the leaving legate, and when Sparrow's ears twitched back, Typhoon stopped the room—perhaps the entire world—with a single question. “Would you pledge your loyalty to me?”

Singing Sparrow slowly turned back to Typhoon, and after a moment to puzzle over the question, he gave her an unsure, angled tilt of his head. “You were my commander for the best years of my life. I fought under your leadership at the fields of Everfree, and in the badlands campaign. I would have followed you into the great ravine if you’d asked. Had you chosen my legion to be the tip of your spear, I would have considered it the highest honor. You already have my loyalty, ma’am.” he said. “But I cannot serve you if there is nothing for me to serve, and the Legion is no more. You cannot be a Commander without a Legion to command.”

Typhoon took a strained breath, and she finally opened her eyes. “If I become the Empress of Cirra, will you serve me then?”

Stunned silence filled the room, and it took Sparrow a moment to realize her jaw hung agape. Even Tern and Lost Winds seemed shocked by the suggestion, and Crane and Thermal glanced at each other from behind their legate. Singing Sparrow seemed frozen in place, and it took his mouth a few false starts to finally find his voice. “I thought you did not want that? How many ponies asked you to take that title instead of dissolving the Legion?”

“Too many,” Typhoon admitted, only adding more confusion to the room. “You’re right, I don’t want this. But if it will stop the fighting, if it will protect the Frontier, if it is the only way for me to save lives, then I will do it.” She turned to her right and looked at Lost Winds. “Do you pledge your loyalty to me? Will you swear an oath to obey my orders?”

“I… of course, ma’am,” Legate Winds said, and in what Sparrow considered abrupt for the calm and measured stallion, the legate first stood up and then bowed before her, swiftly mimicked by his centurion. “You have my loyalty. You always have.”

“Then I order your legion to stand down. They can return to their homes, or report to me and join the Legion proper to deal with these threats you've described.” The order given, Typhoon turned back to Singing Sparrow. “Lost Winds’ legion will no longer bother your town. But you have a capable army and I need it. More importantly, you have a good head and a good heart. I will not demand your obedience or your fealty. But if this is going to work, if I’m going to undo the damage I’ve done to the Frontier, then I would appreciate your cooperation.”

Uncertainty crossed Singing Sparrow’s weary face, and he glanced at several ponies around the room—Crane and Thermal, Lost Winds, and lastly, Sparrow. The two made eye contact, but Sparrow wasn’t sure what she saw in her namesake’s expression. A question, perhaps? Did Typhoon plan this? Sparrow didn’t know, and perhaps it was that honest admission in her mismatched eyes that finally bent Singing Sparrow’s knees.

“I cannot speak for my town,” he admitted. “The choice will be theirs to make. But if there is one mare who can do what she says and bring peace to the Frontier, then it is you… Empress.”

After another glance at each other, Crane and Thermal hesitantly knelt as Typhoon stood up, and then it was only Typhoon and Sparrow still standing. The two exchanged a look, and soon Sparrow found her knees bending, almost without thought. Their eyes met for one last time, and before Sparrow averted hers, she could see pain, resignation, and maybe a little fear in the ruby red of the new Empress.

Comments

[Rawislon03]

Things are leaning in interesting directions for Typhoon, I’m already imagining the confusion and panic in Everfree when they start hearing reports of a revived Cirran Empire.

[RoboRed]

That was...certainly an unexpected turn of events.
And knowing what I know from one of the other books, a little bit worrying. Where will this lead to?

[CopperTop]

The die is cast...

But could this merely be a 'permanent solution to a temporary problem' kind of situation? Typhoon certainly has a lot to be worried/fearful about. Especially if this New Cirra isn't merely going to be an 'empire' in name only. Empires, historically, can't exist without constant expansion and the collection of external resources. Especially when they're supporting a large, and very resource-intensive, professional military. This need to expand and exploit, and their oppression of the griffons as a result, was what ultimately led to the downfall of Old Cirra in Dioda.

What will happen when New Cirra's need for territory and resources inevitably brings them into competition with Equestria? Maybe Typhoon would never think to take up arms against her half-sister or her heirs, but how does Ty keep her budding empire in check following her inevitable death? Tempest isn't going to be succeeding her, after all. Without a clear line of succession, New Cirra would almost certainly fracture between competing legates. 'Best' case, they turn on each other and plunge the frontier into civil war. 'Worst' case (arguably), they unite and turn on Equestria and drag the whole continent into conflict. Ty needs a properly-groomed successor in place, lest her actions doom those she now seeks to protect.

While Ty's certainly too old to produce any new blood heirs herself(nor would she be interested in taking on a stallion for that purpose anyway...), there is the option for her to adopt and legitimize an heir of her choosing...

I'm thinking Sparrow's training might expand beyond merely 'soldiering' in the near future...

That is, if Typhoon is actually serious about creating a stable empire long-term, anyway. Otherwise, she's just risking unleashing a powerful rogue military on Equestria when she passes on in ~20 years.

A lot to fear indeed. And also a lot of possibilities for this story that have me positively giddy with anticipation!

[JustFalcon]

Quite an interesting development, it will be interesting to see how this eventually resolves itself concerning Equestria. My theory is that Typhoon will leave the Cirran Empire to Platinum once she dies so that the two can be merged again.

[Queen Sinari]

Thats going to be one heck of a migration of lost pegasi leaving equestria to join her banner once again.