Ordo ab Chao

by Integral Archer

Chapter XII: Conflictiones Incertae Ultimae

“Congress shall not use its Power to make Concessions, Agreements, Compromises, Supplications, or otherwise perform an Action resulting in an Abridgment of this Constitution.”

—Article I, Section XX of the Constitution of Meeting Tribes of Immediate Siblings

On July the twenty-eighth, 181 BC, the Friendship gained control of Fillydelphia and its surrounding boroughs.

After the long and arduous hike, taking almost two months, the Friendship had finally reached Fillydelphia, worn-down and exhausted. When they had not been walking, they were skirmishing with the Union soldiers protecting the road to Fillydelphia—and the insurrectionists had swept them aside like ants, letting nothing stop them on their march to liberate their friends from the iron clutches of Discord.

Despite these seemingly overwhelming odds, despite the fact that the rebels had looked up, with tired eyes, at the well-rested, eager federal soldiers standing on the ramparts around Fillydelphia and who were vigorously loading their rifles, the Friendship had defeated them with yet another decisive victory.

The Union Army garrisons tasked with repelling the invasion around the city had suffered nearly one hundred percent casualties—as their comrades had at the Second Battle of Ghastly Gorge, at Appleloosa, at Dodge City, and at Rambling Rock Ridge.

And, after the victory, the rebels had wasted no time in curing the city of Discord’s hex.

The residents of Fillydelphia had been stirred from their miasma by the battle cry of the Friendship. It was not until the sky had parted over the skyscrapers and they were greeted back to reality by the warm summer sun that they knew: they were free, able to breathe again after suffocating for seven months. The only thing that had kept them alive was the subconscious hope that they would be able to feel something, anything, again. And, when they finally felt something, warmth, after feeling nothing for seven months, and when they turned around to see thousands of cheering soldiers welcoming them back to life, every single resident of Fillydelphia—stallion, mare, and foal—fell to their knees, weeping with joy and gratitude. The veil which had cast them and their city in shadow had been lifted.

With the victory, the Friendship gained, not only a new city full of young and eager ponies whose hooves itched to pick up a rifle against Discord—the creature that had condemned them to their torment—but also the Union Army soldiers that they had, also, somehow managed to convince to join their cause.

General Sherbert, at this point, had given up on trying to understand how they were doing this, how they were breaking the Department’s spells and how they had persuaded thousands of Union Army soldiers to commit high treason. She had sent scouts to infiltrate the Friendship’s camps: they had sifted through the belongings of whom they believed to be the highest ranking officers and, aside from a few seemingly precious personal trinkets, nothing notable had been found.

The president, if he had found out about the general’s dejection and the abandonment of the Union Army’s subterfuge toward the war effort, who would have no doubt complained about what he would perceive to be her apathy, her carelessness with the Union which had been entrusted in her hooves, and this would all be said with that alarmist tone which politicians frequently loved to assume and to which the general had become accustomed to through her long years of service. But the president did not find out, as General Sherbert had deliberately chosen not to inform him, telling herself that the knowledge was on a need-to-know basis and that nothing the president would say would ever change anything.

When her clerk had brought the angry telegram from the president to her, she smiled, thanked him, and ordered him back to his post. When he had left, her face hit her desk, for the thought—the very real possibility—that she had been pushing out of her mind, was fast becoming a reality: the Friendship, unless something changed in their strategy which allowed the Union to push them back, or at least hold them for a while, the Friendship was going to march straight on to Ponyville and then eventually on to Canterlot. The Union Army could not afford any more one hundred percent casualties.

No matter how many simulations she ran or calculations she made, the glaring and decisive fact remained: with every victory the Friendship achieved, their military strength relative to that of the Union Army’s grew exponentially. With every victory, the Friendship increased while the Union waned as the Friendship welcomed the defectors to their ranks, while the morale of the federal soldiers that remained abated, a few of them deserting their posts—evidently, not wanting to wait for the Friendship to shoot at them.

From Fillydelphia, the Friendship then set their eyes on Baltimare and Manehattan, to the south and north respectively, and Ponyville to the west-southwest. Then, like a cell undergoing mitosis, the amorphous blob of the rebellion divided into two and then divided again, to go on their separate ways and for each to absorb any of its surroundings to grow larger in its turn: one to go to Manehattan, one to Ponyville, and one to Baltimare.

Once Baltimare would see, on the horizon, this parasitic mass sprawling toward them at an inexorable speed from the neighboring city, which they had seen the dark cloud pass over and which they had been assured was completely under control of the Union, there would be no way to control the information. General Sherbert ordered Manehattan and Baltimare to be placed under martial law, for the Union Army to put each citizen under house arrest and to shoot anypony seen outside their homes at night.

Her pen shook uncontrollably as she wrote the order and so did her hoof when she gave it to her clerk. The clerk didn’t say anything, but he could tell by her countenance and the brusque manner in which she said “You’re dismissed” that she was evading the one thought that everypony still loyal to the Union was trying to evade but who could do so no longer: the Friendship was on their doorstep, and it was banging loudly and insistently upon the shuddering wooden facade.

The Union Army, the leviathan and the titan, had now become the underdog; the Friendship, the rat and the tabby, had now become the lion.

The last hope of the Union lay in Canterlot and its single, narrow, and precarious path up the side of its mountain—but even then, Canterlot would still have to survive the relentless artillery barrage from the cannons and ammunition that the Friendship had looted on their path of attrition.

General Sherbert told the lieutenant general to go to Ponyville, to give the soldiers their instructions and to deliver one of his speeches that had earned him his prolific position. As soon as she sent the order, she immediately regretted it; even the standard military propaganda and platitudes seemed petty to her now, painfully and dishonestly shallow.

She got up from her plush seat behind her desk and approached her window. The sun lit up the chrome spires of Canterlot’s skyscrapers and seemed even more brilliant than before, as if they were determined to shine one last time, as brightly as they could, before being put out—and if they were lit again, it would be only under causes, under values, which they had not been erected for originally.

She sighed; and, for the first time in her career, spoke out loud to herself or, rather, to that invisible and unknowable figure that hovered over the rebellion, guiding its soldiers to salvation: “Well, sir, wherever you are, whoever you are: you did it. You beat me and my army. My only hope is that I can meet you when this is all over, that I may shake your hoof, look into your eyes, and fully and simply say: ‘Congratulations, you are the better pony.’”

She shut her eyes; and, for a second, she could almost hear the shells exploding around Ponyville and a lieutenant barking orders at his soldiers. And, for a fleeting instant, she could almost hear her children screaming as they saw the approaching, unmitigated storm.

She heard a clattering noise behind her, and she spun around rapidly, her eyes darting around the room and her heart beating with an intent to rip itself out of her breast.

When she saw that the breeze, coming from an open window from across the room, had knocked over a few of the gray pieces representing insurrectionist fortifications on her large map sprawled out on a table in front of her desk, she laughed with the relief and humor that comes when realizing any overreaction.

She moved toward the window, shut it firmly and locked it, and then went over to the map; she then set the pieces back up to their appropriate locations.

A thought, an odd thought, struck her, as she stepped back from the map and cocked her head to one side: the line of gray pieces from Los Pegasus to Fillydelphia, the entire front of the Army of Friendship, which started from Los Pegasus and enveloped Fillydelphia on the other side of the map, looked liked the long neck of a hungry draconequus, eagerly devouring the newly taken city.

* * *

Enforcer stood just outside the door of the Congressional Chamber. In his hoof, he held the casualty figures; and, under his breath, he was rehearsing his speech. The documents contained the obvious, the unoriginal—but what they did contain was the truth. They contained the truth about the status of the war which, up until now, had only been known to the top officers in the military.

Somepony had to say what they were all thinking. Somepony had to wake them up. Somepony had to be strong when everypony else was intimidated by an invisible giant.

Enforcer swallowed, loosened his necktie, and glanced at the clock: it had just struck 12:59. The session was scheduled to start at one.

He stared at the second hand as it began to make its ominous journey around the clock. It was only now that he was aware of the beads of sweat on his brow, as he clenched his teeth and hoped that the sheer power of his will would slow down the timepiece.

Thirty seconds to go. Enforcer began to summon his courage; he was determined that that was the only thing the delegates were permitted to see in him.

Twenty seconds to go. I can’t do it, he thought. What if nopony listens? Isn’t this attitude of truth, honesty, and certainty obsolete? Didn’t that die ages ago?

Ten seconds to go. I can’t do it; I’ll be lynched for the truth. The Union is lost! There’s no point hiding it anymore! Deal with it yourselves!

Five seconds to go. I’m a loyal soldier of the Union; I have a duty to myself, to Congress, and the COMTOIS. I say what those cowards are too scared to say. I say what the president is too apathetic or ignorant to say.

One second to go. For the Union.

At the precise moment the clock struck one o’clock, the door parted, giving entrance to the presidential assistant—who had never missed or been late to a session where he was needed, and who had never before been admitted into the Congressional Chamber with such a resolute expression on his face or such pure determinism in his stride.

He probably would have walked all the way to the speaker’s podium with all confidence, but he was stopped dead in his tracks by an unforeseeable sight, the horror he had felt before entering the hall suddenly filling himself full again despite having used his greatest efforts to push it out.

The floor was completely empty. Enforcer stepped forward and turned around to look up at the balcony seats: empty, deserted.

“Enforcer, I’m glad thou have come!” said a voice.

Enforcer spun back around and looked at the front of the hall in the direction of the voice: a brown, serpentine creature with antlers sat in the seat of honor, its legs casually crossed in front of it, a horrifying smile on its face.

“Mr. President . . .” said Enforcer, not wanting to believe the sight, “am . . . am I early?”

“Oh, not at all, my faithful assistant! Thou are neither early, nor are thou late: thou are precisely on time, and thou have always been on time.”

Enforcer’s mouth opened, but the words were delayed by his incredulity, and he stood there for some time in this ridiculous pose before finally sputtering: “But . . . but where are the delegates?”

The president squinted and rumpled his cheeks, his mouth twisting into a look of ironic puzzlement. “How should I know?” he replied. “I told them to come, but who listens to me these days? No matter: they’re traitors to the Union, just like the rest. Enforcer, put out a warrant for the arrest of each and every one of them when we’re done here.”

No, he thought. No, this can’t be happening. This is a dream, a nightmare.

The president continued: “Well, at least thou are here, because we have plenty to do today!”

Enforcer swallowed, and a painful burning sensation in his throat followed, dry as it was with fear. “What . . . would could we possibly do . . . sir?” he choked out.

“Lots, my friend! I’m about to pass this revolutionary new bill!” said the president, barely able to hold back his snickers. “This bill will completely revolutionize the way that ponies think about politics. This is history in the making, Enforcer; thou do not want to miss this!”

Enforcer dropped the papers; and the air from the beating of his wings that propelled him faster than he had ever flown before in his life, back through the door he came, scattered them across the floor of the Congressional Chamber. He beat his wings harder, despite the unbearable pain that came from them, and he put his forehooves to his ears—but even that was not enough to drown out the president’s blood-curdling laugh that followed him through the corridors.

* * *

The Battle of Ponyville took place on August the eighteenth, 181 BC. The night before, the soldiers of the Second and Twentieth Canterlot, and the Thirty-Eighth Manehattan Volunteer Infantry Regiments—three regiments, down from the original seven stationed there, since the rest had been called to other battles, where they had been swiftly defeated—had a relatively joyful night: They all left their camps around the city to meet at one location for one night of enjoyment. They drank cider, sung “The Good Fight for the Union,” and made fun of the way the lieutenant general had slurred his words during his speech when he had been there to inspire them before the attack. Even though they had made fun of his accent and his slang, they were all inspired by the sentiment that he had put into it. At first, any of them could have seen how indefensible their position was, but after they had had a lieutenant general come all the way down just to visit them, they were much more assured: the Union was forever.

They sang throughout the night. Not one of them had dared to go to sleep in fear of missing the festivities—and, subconsciously, in fear of being surprised.

At about eight thirty in the morning, on August the nineteenth, the Union soldiers started to notice the growing rumble. At first, they had ignored it, as they had heard a similar sound all night, but when they noticed that the sound was becoming louder and increasingly anti-Union, they sprang to their camps and looked to the eastern horizon.

On the plain, instead of the friendly green blades of grass, stood an entire legion, an ocean, of multicolored ponies with rifles—every fourth one adorned in a gray uniform, with a glaring red stripe running down the length of their croups. The morning sun rising in the east cast oblong angles on them and obscured their faces, like it had done for the soldiers in Los Pegasus during the first engagement of the war, and it blinded the Union Army soldiers who were just now stricken with absolute terror at what they heard: in perfect unison and harmonization, the rebels were singing “The Good Fight for the Union” with the modified lyrics.

The Union soldiers swallowed nervously and cocked the hammers on their rifles.

They had never stood a chance.

The Friendship had obliterated the entirety of every single Union Army regiment in each of their engagements, and the Battle of Ponyville was no exception. The engagement had lasted only half an hour; but, in that time, the Friendship had managed to equip the foes that they had managed to convince to betray the COMTOIS, bury the bodies of the more obstinate ones, and set up the artillery units, which they had captured on their long walk, to aim right at Canterlot. At nine o’clock in the morning, immediately after they had eaten their breakfast, they began firing.

Not even a year after the Friendship had declared secession from the Union, the first shell was launched into Canterlot, which hit the spire of the last remaining banking firm that had not closed its doors, and any citizen who hadn’t been aware of the glaring fact was suddenly brought to reality.

The second shell had hit the top of an old, rundown, building—but, in spirit, it had hit one of the support beams of the once great monolith of the Union.

And it was starting to crumble.

* * *

In the Horseshoe Office, papers were scattered all over the president’s desk, in no particular order or relevance. About a quarter of the drawers of the various filing cabinets that lined the walls of the room were placed in assorted locations around the office, some of them spilling their contents on the floor. The old janitor would have had a fit if he had seen this, for there were only a hoof-full of ponies that understood the presidential assistant’s complex filing system and who would be able to arrange these vagrant documents back to their original locations.

On a small table, a few feet from the desk, the president’s record player sat alone, playing “The Good Fight for the Union” very slowly and at its quietest volume. In the corner directly adjacent to the door leading into the office was the closet, its door wide open; various suits, with the finest of cloths, tailored precisely to the president’s figure were tossed over their rungs like towels, creases plaguing their once elegant shoulders.

Just then, an artillery round hit the west wing of the building, causing the office to shake violently, throwing one of these suits to the ground, upon where it stayed, immobile, and waiting for the next explosion to send it on its next journey. This explosion had been the closest yet to the Presidential Mansion, and it had sent the old, pristine, chandelier, that hung from the ceiling of the office, careening upwards into the ceiling, shattering its glass lamps against the concrete; the lamps rained their glass in fine, dust-like particles, which floated lazily to the ground before finally settling on the strewn papers and the carpet. The rumble also knocked the record player off the table, the needle skimming the record and making an awful scratching sound as it fell, until it hit the ground with a dull thud, whereupon it lay motionless.

However, the president didn’t see any of this, for his back was turned to this scene so that he was facing the window; a contented smile rested on his lips. As a shell obliterated the Canterlot Center of Performing Arts, a vile sneer replaced the smile, while the light from the blast cast ghostly flares across his face. The president had been standing there for around two hours now, mesmerized by this scene; and, over the explosions, he didn’t hear Princess Luna knocking at the open door, as he was too busy making squeals of joy as he watched another shell hit the Canterlot Symphony Orchestral Auditorium.

“Mr. President?” she said in a completely casual tone. The performance that masked her fear would have put the best actors in Equestria to shame.

“Hmm?” the president murmured. Princess Luna could not tell whether this remark was made to her as a sign that the president acknowledged her presence or if it was in the same vein as the sound made by an art critic enjoying a masterpiece.

“Sir?” she spoke again. “The rest of the delegates are trying to get into the war room downstairs. They were hoping that you might be able to let them in—”

“Thou are saying ‘you,’ to me,” the president said, in an oddly mirthful tone. “Have I done something to offend thee?”

Ignoring him, she continued: “So that they may take shelter from the bombardment and coordinate with the army to form a plan to repel the siege that will follow.”

Without deigning to face her, the president replied: “I’ll be there in a minute. I just want to see this a bit longer.”

On the reflected glare from the window, Princess Luna could see the president’s face: she could see each one of his yellowed teeth, bared as if in a predatory response, and she saw the light bounce off of the large one that protruded from his mouth even when it was closed.

She averted her eyes. “I thought you’d like to know that General Sherbert tendered her resignation an hour ago. She said—”

“Traitor to the Union and a deserter,” the president interrupted. “Send . . . out a . . . warr . . .” His voice trailed off as his attention was recaptured by the light and the thunder of another shell, which had landed on Canterlot City Hall.

Princess Luna ignored this comment, for there was nothing in his voice that indicated that he wished to be taken seriously or that he wished to be heard at all.

“Mr. President, we—”

“Luna,” the president interjected yet again, “what do thou know about the language from which thy name comes?”

Princess Luna’s mouth opened as if she wanted to say something; but, because of the impromptu and casual nature of the comment, thrown haphazardly like one of the shells falling around her, the only sound she could manage to make was: “Huh?”

It was only now that the president turned around to look at her. What struck Princess Luna immediately was how peaceful and serene his face was; it was like he felt that he was completely one with the destruction—like he was simply another one of those shells that had successfully hit its target. He spoke again: “Thy name: it really isn’t consonant with the names of those around thee, isn’t it?”

Princess Luna’s could feel her mental facilities shutting down as a result of the complete nonsense that was spewing out of the president’s mouth. Her involuntary and canned personality, typical in ponies with noble breeding, took over for a split second, and it deployed an equally canned response: “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” the president said, taking a step closer, not with hostility as he had done before, but with amiability, “that we have names like ‘Enforcer,’ ‘Sherbert,’ ‘Tree Root,’ and ‘Hoop’; and then we have ‘Luna,’ and ‘Celestia,’” and he pronounced this last name with only three syllables and with the hard c sound, which made Princess Luna shudder.

“Even my name is in the same vein,” he continued. “Something doesn’t match up here!”

“What is your point?”

“My point is,” replied the president, taking another step toward her, his face growing more and more stern as he continued talking, “that I’ve been reading about it. I think our names come from a completely different language, a very old language which has been dead for millenia. There are still traces of it in our language today, but I had never really thought about it until now. I couldn’t explain it then, but perhaps the meaning of my strange name has been the reason why I have always felt like an outcast with my peers, and perhaps it’s the reason why we gravitated to each other so quickly. It sounds implausible, but it’s almost as if we share a special sort of bond in the very core of our beings because of this ancient language.

“In my free time, I have been doing a bit of research. Of course, on account of it being so old, it’s hard to get a truly accurate account of the history, but it appears that the language had an unexplainable connection to the most powerful magic ever experienced by ponykind. It’s been said that each word alone had the magic to topple mountains and raze entire societies with just a single utterance. It was so dangerous, in fact, that the scholars of the time systematically destroyed any document that detailed its use and syntax. The language didn’t simply die, Luna; it was murdered. The scholars executed it, because they felt that nopony should ever be able to have that kind of power.

“The legend goes that it’s innate in some of us; one out of every million one of us are born with this power inside of us. The scholars did their best to destroy it; but, like any instinct, one can only suppress it. It still exists, to some extent, and it’s in many of the words and phrases you use today, without you even realizing it. But that is enough to kill it, because when anypony uses it, it so stripped of its meaning and context that its power is lost too. Just like you can’t rip an idea out of its context and expect it to have the same intellectual power, so you can’t use the language in its full force without using it in its appropriate syntax and grammar.

“So,” he continued, his eyes narrowing and his nostrils flaring as he spoke, “I was really interested in this lore, and I was reading about it. I wanted to ask thee, Luna: what do thou know about this language?”

Princess Luna’s left eye twitched involuntarily, her mouth still open prepared to say something, her brain searching for another trivial, canned response.

Just then, an artillery shell hit the east side of the Presidential Mansion. The shock shook the office even harder than the first one had; and, this time, the chandelier crashed right to the ground behind the president.

Princess Luna lost her balance and fell on all four of her knees—but the president remained standing with that stern look upon his face. It was like the explosion had not disturbed him in the least bit, and he looked at Princess Luna, sprawled on the floor like a newborn foal learning to walk, as if he was still expecting an answer.

Princess Luna struggled to her hooves. Her usually well-kept mane and bangs were sprayed all across her face, full of static electricity. Behind that wall of hair, Princess Luna’s brow furrowed, her teeth clenched, and she looked up at the president fully, as if expecting her expression to affect him alone. But, seeing only hair, the president still stood there, looking at her coyly.

“In what universe,” she hissed, as she shakily rose to her hooves, her voice quiet but accompanied by a great deal of breath which signaled the onset of a fit of rage, “is that question not impertinent!”

The president’s face remained unchanged for five or six seconds after she had said this—then, it relaxed, and the president bowed his head and chuckled, while darting his eyes playfully around the room. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, in the same tone as if he had just made a slightly embarrassing social faux pas at one of her family’s ball’s. “Thou are absolutely right—how rude of me. Thou must forgive my indiscretion, Luna: thou know how easily my thoughts wander and how short my attention span is.” He gave a polite bow and then turned back to assume his pose at the window, the pose in which she had found him.

Princess Luna brushed away the hair that was clinging to her face while an artillery shell finished off what remained of the National Archives, her teeth chattering in unison with the shock wave.

“Nice weather we’re having today,” said the president.

He felt his face smash into the window as his frail body was hit from behind, throwing him forwards. For a split-second, he thought he had been thrown off balance by an artillery shell; but when he peeled his face off the window and turned his body around to look behind him, he saw an indescribably fervid fire ensconced in a tall blue alicorn, who was pressing both her forehooves firmly to his chest and uncomfortably near his throat.

Her face was close enough so that he could smell every exhalation she took; her normally pleasant breath tasted, at this moment, just as rancid as any other’s. The president could see her bloodshot eyes, caused by, presumably, days lost of sleep. He could see their veins pulsating every time she took a breath; and, for the first time in his presidency, even if it was for just a brief moment, he was afraid.

He tried not to let his fear show on his face, but he couldn’t help himself as soon as she began to speak. “Disce!” she yelled. “Thou are not listening to me! Don’t thou understand what’s going on? Soon, the bombing is going to stop. Soon afterward, the Friendship is going to march up Mane Street, the whole of Canterlot in their sight. They’re going to burn, pillage, and murder anything unfortunate enough to stand in their way. They’re going to walk right through the front doors of this mansion, and they’re going to kill everypony they see, because they hate us the most, Disce. They hate us politicians: we, who showed them and their families no mercy. They’re going to kill everypony, including thee and me. I don’t care if thou are too fatuous to stay up here and get obliterated; but, downstairs, outside the war room, are the last ponies still loyal to the Union. They need thee right now! Because, Mr. President, if thou want any chance of preserving the smallest iota of the Union after this, thou need to let them into the war room!”

Throughout her rant, Princess Luna was satisfied that she was producing a feeling in him that was not callosity—the only emotion that she had seen him exhibit for the past months; but, as soon as said these last few sentences, she saw the president’s features relax and twist into those that express incredulity. Her heart sank as she realized that her worst nightmare—the one that she constantly evaded, in fear that if it was allowed to occupy her consciousness for any extended period of time, it would be too much to handle—was glaringly true.

The president made a muffled snicker. “Oh, thou think . . . thou honestly think that I . . . have any desire to—preserve the Union?” He was barely able to speak this sentence; for, after he was done, he opened his mouth as wide as it would go and let out the most nightmarish laugh that Princess Luna had ever heard. The sound constricted her heart with its icy-cold and redoubtable grip, and she felt her legs tremble as it took all of her will to stay standing.

Just then, a shell exploded in the courtyard, which the window overlooked, knocking over the statue of three Union Army soldiers under the flag of Equestria, which had been erected on the tenth anniversary of the defeat of the changeling swarm. The light from the shell cast a menacing light over the president’s face, and she could see straight down his horrible, gaping throat. Even this was too much for her strong composure to handle, and she fell backwards, releasing the president from her grasp. The president, on the other hoof, was still against the glass, apparently not even noticing the blast, and still laughing with that horrible sound. Not even the reports of the artillery could drown it out.

At length, the president’s laughter subsided, and he closed his mouth. He wiped a few tears from his eyes, while a few remaining fits of chuckles still managed to escape from his lips.

“Oh, that’s priceless—truly priceless,” he said. Then, noticing that Princess Luna was on the ground, tears welling in her eyes; and, apparently surprised that they were not tears of joy as his had been, his face undertook a somber expression, and he glared at her with those menacing eyes of his.

“Thou are serious, aren’t thou?” he said.

She said nothing.

“Thou know, I always thought thee so smart, a free thinker, but I’m sad to see that thou are as stupid as the rest of the unthinking masses.”

She crawled backwards away from him; and, looking up at him from the ground, tears flowing freely from her eyes, she said: “What happened to thee, Disce?”

The president looked sadly at the ground. “Nothing happened to me. I’ve always been a disturbed, sardonic, judgmental monster who nopony would ever talk to, nor even give a passing glance, either out of rudeness or fear. I’ve been sitting at the debate hall of the United Party for as long as I can remember; but, every day, I would sit there and see these ponies tear each other’s throats out with the most obnoxious insults I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Each day, I would find that I would wake up more cruel and remorseless than I had been yesterday. Shortly after Cadenza had been found guilty, I had promised myself that, within the week, I would burn the United Party’s debate hall to the ground with every single one of those vermin locked inside. I grew up in such abject evil and filth that is the United Party Debate Hall, in the country of Equestria. Knowing this, are thou really surprised about my view of the world?”

“But thou used to be so moral. Thou were my tiny beacon of hope, morality, and passion in a world lacking all three of those things. There was nothing thou held higher than the welfare of the country, the COMTOIS; and, above all, thyself and thy integrity.”

“I did, for a brief moment. Despite the fact that I would think nothing but atrocious thoughts of the ponies that I had worked with, all I had ever wanted was for us to live in harmony. When I had been told that I had been elected leader of the United Party, I broke down in tears, for I was overwhelmed with the fact that there was still a chance for good in the world, that I would be able to foresee its future and guide Equestria into a better tomorrow. Thou saw and met me on the peak of my naivety, when I somehow was instilled with the essence of a young creature, who can only look at the future with optimism and hope.”

“Why have thou abandoned those values? Why have thou become so indifferent?”

“Truly, if I could have kept them, I would’ve, believe me. I was genuinely ready to take on the future with a smile on my face, to forget the woes of yesterday and to give all those who had assaulted me with such evil for all those years of my life a second chance. That’s really the only thing I wanted in the world: a second chance, a fresh start.

“And then Los Pegasus declared secession from the Union. As the president, I swore to uphold the COMTOIS and to ensure that others did the same. Even though this act was such a blatant disregard for it, I was willing to look at this as an anomaly rather than the rule.

“But then came that protest. When I saw how many rats had gathered on Mane Street, when I had heard nearly unanimous support for the protest and virtually none against it, I had seen that, truly, I was the only one who had wanted peace and civility. The citizens of Equestria feed on conflict; they need it. I tried to fight this, but I found that the more I fought, the more the dissenters would take my protestations out of context, and that my efforts toward a peaceful future would be used against me to achieve a cause that was opposite of my intentions.

“I, who wanted concord, was elected to lead creatures that wanted discord—so, to please them, I became Discord.

“I threw away my fruitless efforts to fight insanity with reason, and I accepted their premises: I accepted their notion that only through conflict is it possible that we may live with each other. I had my own theories on the proper way to live in society, but I’m nothing if not open-minded. I figured that, if so many beings disagreed with me, if they were so ready to show me how wrong I was, then they must have something right.”

Princess Luna, having overcome this shock, had risen to her hooves, her eyes now burning, not with the tears of sadness, but with the imposition of defiance.

“So thou used the position of the president of the United Republic of Equestria,” she said, her voice getting louder and angrier as she went on, “this sacred position with every single one of its responsibilities to the precarious gears of the country—to indulge thyself, and every single citizen within its borders, in your insane ramblings? Because thou, the scheming individual thou are, thought that every single one of us must also be scheming individuals who always have an ulterior motive for something?”

“And they were right! I mean, just look at this!” And he turned to face the window once more, his arms outstretched in embrace to the carnage and destruction. “‘Concord is the best way to live’? How so, so, wrong I was! Isn’t it beautiful? Most of these buildings took years to build, but add a little bit of gunpowder, and they’re gone in an instant—like they never actually existed! There’s something idyllic about it, wouldn’t thou say? Gratitude is the only thing I can give to the citizens of Equestria; for, had they not elected me to this position, I would have never been able to see the beauty of what they were saying! They turned a judgmental and disapproving draconequus into a draconequus who finally realized what joy can be obtained from such utter chaos!”

“You monster,” she said through her teeth. “Thou have destroyed this beautiful country.”

“No, thou see,” the president retorted with phlegm in his throat, turning back to face her in order to drive the point home, “that’s just it. I’ve seen this chaos building up for ages, and I had realized that I wouldn’t see its climax in my lifetime—so all I did was speed it up. The boulder was already rolling down the cliff; I just gave it a little push to make it go faster—and I was hoping thou could lend me thy strong hooves.

“Why do thou think I chose thee as my vice president? I saw thee when I was debating thy sister; I saw how quiet, cold, and indifferent thou were, always having to stand by thy noxious sister. I thought that thou were being troubled by the same thoughts I had. I thought that thee, like me, had the intelligence to see society for what it was and the curiosity to want to see its conclusion, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Well, it ends now,” Princess Luna said while making an admirable effort to hold back her tears, and she nodded her head forwards as her horn began to glow.

“Oh? What are we doing now?” said the president, chuckling to himself, as he stared self-assuredly at the ball of energy beginning to accumulate on the tip of Princess Luna’s horn.

“I don’t think so,” he said, and he snapped the fingers of his paw. The ball of energy fizzled and then collapsed in on itself with a bright light.

Princess Luna let out a cry and was thrown backwards into the wall behind her. The sound of her body hitting plaster and concrete echoed through the interior of the room; and the shock wave caused the old painting of President Platinum, which hung on the north wall of the office, to fall from its mounting, face down. Princess Luna curled into the fetal position, her forehooves placed firmly on her temples, breathing through her teeth in an attempt to cope with the pain.

“Unicorn magic,” the president said condescendingly, “How primitive. All one has to do is to apply a little bit of reversal magic in the right quantity and in the right degree to a unicorn performing the spell, and the spell backfires—leaving the victim with a searing headache! I know this, because I’m a frequenter of the Canterlot Archives, Equestria’s most prized possession, and if thou apologize, perhaps I’ll consider giving thee a year’s free membership.” He laughed once more, and Princess Luna could feel the sound crawling its way through her brain and throwing itself against its membrane.

After having his fill, he walked over to Princess Luna, who was still sprawled out on the ground, and he bent down and looked at her with the most sublime look on his face.

“Maybe thou will come around,” he said. “I’ll be in the courtyard enjoying the sun, should thou want to tell me that thou has changed thy mind, but I refuse to allow thee to waste my time any longer, when I could be outside enjoying this excellent chaos.”

Princess Luna opened one of her eyes to a sliver, and the increased amount of light its retina received twisted the knife that was sticking clear through her brain, but she saw the president put on the most ostentatious red-framed sunglasses, that covered nearly half of his face, and produce a tattered pink umbrella that was turned inside out.

The president stood up, held the umbrella directly over his head, with no hint of irony about him, and strutted out of the room with his most presidential stride.

Princess Luna closed her eyes, and the only respite she received from her agony was that the president had been wrong when he said that she had believed his facade the whole time.

As for the president, he walked out from the back door of the Presidential Mansion and into the courtyard.

In addition to the grass labyrinth that spanned nearly half the area, the courtyard showcased some of the most revered monuments and exhibits in all of Equestria. At one end of the courtyard was a statue commemorating the signing of the COMTOIS; and beside it, ensconced in a glass case, was the pen that the founders had used to sign the original copy. At the other end of the courtyard, also in a glass case, was the first stain-glass window that had ever been installed in the Presidential Mansion. Halfway in between these two relics was where the aforementioned ruined statue once stood; the figures had been completely shattered and was lying in pieces around its column, smoke still rising from the ruins.

This did not seem to bother the president in the slightest, as he pranced down the length of the courtyard without a care in the world. His comment that the weather was satisfactory had been aptly made, for there was not a cloud in the sky, save for the contrails that the numerous shells had left behind.

On normal days, this courtyard would have been full of workers who decided to spend their breaks among these revered historical pieces. Despite the obvious reason for why the courtyard was deserted at this current moment in time, this would not have made it any less eerie for the casual observer, who would have seen the puzzling sight of a strange bipedal creature with antlers and a goatee, in large sunglasses and brandishing a broken umbrella, skipping through the overgrown grass.

The president looked skywards at the sound of an object moving through the air with that high-pitched screech peculiar to items moving at nearly the speed of sound, lowered his glasses slightly to see a new volley of bombs lazily arching their way toward the city, leaving their contrails in their wake, and he smiled gleefully. As soon as he heard the sound begin to drop in frequency and saw the bombs streak toward their targets, he dove under a nearby picnic table.

The bombs began to land on their targets, which were obscured by the tall leaves of the labyrinth, and even though their explosions were deafening, the president’s face lit up with glee as he thought he heard the screams of the shell’s victims and when he saw the large plume of smoke rising from behind the labyrinth. He scrambled out from under the table and stood fully erect looking skywards, not wanting to miss the next volley.

His heart raced in anticipation of the beautiful streaks of light that he longed to see twirling their long, puffy, white dresses in the sky and singing the most beautiful of operatic sopranos he had ever heard; but, as he stood there, his heart started to slow as disappointment settled over him when he realized the ensemble was over.

But then his ears perked up as a new sound reached him. It started off as a low growl, but it increasingly became louder, and the president could hear that it sounded like a blend of a choir of roosters and jubilant bar singers: It was a sound that struck fear into the hearts of anypony that would oppose its inexorable advance. It was the sound that had caused thousands of Union soldiers to drop their weapons and flee for their lives—or, even, to become part of the sound, to contribute his own voice to its making. It was the battle cry of the rebellion.

The president heard intermittent rifle shots as the sound grew louder, as if the Friendship was not stopping to have a shootout—but rather they were, like a rolling storm moving across the land, advancing without hesitance, blowing aside anything that stood in their way.

The sound grew louder as the president stood there looking in its direction, and his smile got wider and wider. At last, it sounded like it was all around him, like it was in the heart of Canterlot itself.

The president looked toward the mansion and heard sporadic rifle fire coming from the threshold, which was accompanied by flashes of light that could be seen from the outside through the windows, and he could hear screams that shook the entire building.

He shrugged, turned his back to the building and kept walking down the courtyard, using the sounds of conflict as the backdrop to his peaceful stroll.

He found a worn-down bench tucked away in a corner, its commemorative plaque caked with dirt from all the years it had watched over the mansion—so much so that the president could not make out the words on it. As he sat down in it, he heard the voices of orders being barked.

Through the gaps in the leaves of the bushes and trees, he could see a blur of motion that scattered in every direction. He followed one of these particular blurs with his eyes, a blur that seemed to be moving faster as it came closer to him; until, finally, it rounded a corner, and the president came face to face with a young white unicorn.

The unicorn was harnessed to a Trottingham Rifle, and he was outfitted in the gray uniform with the red stripe of the Army of the Friendship. When he saw the president, he leveled the rifle at him, cocked his head to one side and said, in the most stereotypical Los Pegasus accent: “Well, look what we are having here! Discord, the king of chaos, out for a stroll to be feasting his eyes on his domain!”

The president removed his glasses and lay flat on the length of the bench, putting his paw, palm up, on his forehead like a maiden in distress. In the most sardonic voice he could assume he said: “Oh, you have captured me! On August the nineteenth, be it know that the rebellion captured Discord! Truly, I am perturbed, for I am—” the president stopped himself short when he opened his eyes to look at the young unicorn. He sat up and said: “Wait a moment—don’t I know you?”

The unicorn rocked uneasily on his hoofs. He swallowed and said: “No . . . you don’t know me. Stay right there!”

The president stood up and stared intently at the unicorn with a look of inquiry and perplexity: the unicorn had said this in an upper-class Canterlot accent. “Your Los Pegasus accent was fake,” he said. “Why did you fake it?”

The unicorn shook his head and aimed down the sights of his rifle. “It’s not being fake. I am born and raised in Los Pegasus—so had my father and so had his father. You’re not being fooling anypony with your dastardly mind games.”

“No, no, you’re not,” retorted the president. “By the sound of your genuine accent, my guess is that you come from a very wealthy family, with lots of ties to Canterlot.”

At this, the president’s face lit up and the memory came back. He clapped his paw and claw together; and, with delight, he said: “Yes, yes I do know you! We had lunch that one time after my debate with Celestia—don’t you remember? You asked me who I had chosen as my running mate!” The president tapped the palm of his paw on his forehead and closed his eyes tightly, trying to force the memory back into his conscious mind. “Chrome Finish! Yes, that’s your name! I remember now!” He took a step toward the unicorn.

“Stay right where you have been,” replied the unicorn in that ridiculous Los Pegasus accent, nervously taking a step back, still keeping his rifle on the president. “I’m not going to be falling for it. We had a warning that you would try to play those mind games of yours on us, and I a’ ready. You’ve have been killed a lot o’ my friends, and you’re going to have to pay.”

The president shook his head sadly. “How did thou come to such a position as this, Chrome Finish? Thou were so full of youthful optimism. Now look at thee: fighting thine own home town. And for what?”

The unicorn’s brow furrowed, and he swallowed with difficulty as a shiver shot through his entire body. “I’ve been having enough of you right now.” And he turned his head behind him and yelled in an incredibly loud voice: “Come on over here! I have Discord!”

At once, the president heard the sounds of hoof-steps of three or five soldiers marching toward him. The unicorn turned his head back toward the president and smiled, showing a row of perfect white teeth. “They’re a’ comin’,” he whispered.

The president rocked back and forth on his hooves. “I like that uniform, Chrome,” he said in a nonchalant manner. “It looks good on thee.”

Just then, from out of the bushes, four ponies appeared, each harnessed with a Trottingham Rifle. Only one of them were outfitted with the gray and red uniform—the other three were naked. When they saw the president and the unicorn pointing his rifle at him, they stopped in their tracks and looked up and down the president for a few seconds.

“Wow,” said one naked pony with a Canterlot accent. “I knew he’d be tall—but not that tall.”

“That’s because Discord grows in strength when disharmony occurs around him,” said the uniformed pony, in a Fillydelphian accent.

The president laughed. “Please tell me you don’t actually believe that,” he sputtered, incredulous.

The uniformed pony narrowed her eyes and a malicious smile crept onto her lips. “You’ll find out what we actually believe during your impeachment, and right before you are executed, we’ll be shouting it at you while we watch with glee.”

The president snorted derisively and bent down to examine a flower at his hooves that still had managed to flourish despite the death that surrounded it. “Impeachment? What impeachment? I was fully within my power, outlined by the COMTOIS, which you thought you could destroy by burning a piece of paper. You’re going to be disappointed, but just because you disagree with what I did doesn’t mean you can impeach me.”

The uniformed pony opened her mouth to say something, but she stopped herself short. She then turned to the naked pony who had spoken first and said: “What do thou think, Barley?”

The pony named Barley scratched his chin, with a free hoof. Then his face twisted into a evil expression which rivaled those that the president was so fond of making in terms of sheer malevolence.

“Why don’t we just skip the impeachment then?” Barley said in a casual manner.

The uniformed pony turned to look at the president and was surprised to see that the president had absolutely no change of emotion on his face upon hearing this comment.

“Yes,” she said, “we’ll just say he ran, or he attacked us, or something. Who would know?” And, upon finishing this sentence, the four new rebels leveled their rifles at the president’s head.

“Stand down!” came an authoritarian voice from behind the hedge, and all five ponies turned their heads in the direction of the sound. Despite being tranquil throughout this entire encounter, at this sound, the president looked toward the direction of it; and, for a split second, felt a slight pang of apprehension when he recognized the voice.

When Princess Luna came around the corner, every rebel removed their hats, lowered their rifles, and gave polite curtseys and bows. She looked at the president, who smiled at her and gave her a cheeky wave with the fingers of his paw. She averted her eyes, pretending not to see the gesture of familiarity, and turned to the squad leader.

Princess Luna turned to the uniformed pony. “Sergeant Major, we would like you to inform us at once what you were intending to do.”

The president smiled as he saw fear strike into the sole of the officious sergeant major who had, moments ago, ordered his execution.

“Your Grace, I was—”

“You intended to execute him, is this not correct?” she hammered on. The president bared his teeth in delight, for he loved that harsh tone of hers she assumed when she wanted to control the flow of any conversation she wished and which always kept her opponents stammering and off-guard; he thought she was the perfect politician.

“But, Your Grace, it’s Discord—”

“You received explicit instructions to stay your rifle, should you encounter him. You know that our sister, Her Grace Princess Celestia, specifically decreed that he shall not come to harm.”

The sergeant major once again attempted to say something, but Princess Luna held her hoof out in front of her to signal that she wished her subject to stop talking. The sergeant major threw her rifle over her own back and gave one more polite curtsey.

“So, the royal family, using my vice president as their pawn, is responsible for the destruction of this great republic,” said the president, which caused all eyes to turn to him. “Why am I not surprised?”

“You are not allowed to speak, Discord, as long as you are under the ward of the Friendship!” snapped the sergeant major.

“What!” exclaimed the president, making a dramatic attempt at indignation. “I am the president of Equestria, of the Union! I am your president! You will address me as ‘President Cordis,’ or ‘Mr. President,’ or—”

“I do not recognize your position, nor your dominion over this land. This land belongs to the Friendship, to which I am a proud member. As long as that’s true, you’re nopony; to us, you’re only Discord,” she replied, and the president couldn’t help but think she sounded like an actor reading off of a script or a parrot simply repeating a profanity that its owner continually used.

He decided to test this theory. “What do you recognize?” he asked. “What do you believe in?”

“I believe in friendship,” the sergeant major replied, without a moment’s hesitation in her voice.

“Of course you do.”

“And I believe that you, Discord, are the antithesis of friendship.”

“All’s fine and well, but what are the fundamental principles that guide you, as an individual? And what is the philosophical base from which it is derived?

The sergeant major tapped her hoof against her chin for a second. “I don’t . . . I don’t have a philosophy as an individual. My philosophy is with, and for, my friends.”

“Thank you, my dear—that’s all I needed to know.” And the president shot a look at Princess Luna. He laughed and pointed at her with his talons when he saw her desperately try to hide a smirk.

The rebels, clueless to the meaning of this exchange, would have no doubt turned around to see their princess laughing at the values under which they had marched through thick and thin for the past eight months and possibly might have second guessed themselves, but they quickly snapped to attention and stared straight forward as another pony appeared from behind the bushes. He had the gray and red uniform, but this one had more decorations and, unlike the sergeant major’s, did not have a single crease in it.

“Lieutenant!” yelled the sergeant major, and the president recoiled his head and squinted at the loudness of her voice, with a clear intention to mock.

“Her Grace Princess Celestia requests an audience with Discord. She’s waiting for him in the middle of the courtyard. Bring him to her.”

The white unicorn poked the bayonet on the end of his rifle against the president’s tail. “Move it, Discord,” he said brusquely.

The president put his claw and paw in the air in a gesture of surrender and began to walk in the direction indicated to him.

He was guided into the open field of the courtyard. Behind him walked, in order, the white unicorn, Barley, the two other naked ponies to whom the president had not been introduced, the lieutenant, and Princess Luna brought up the rear. In other words, the president’s view was completely unobstructed as soon as they made their way out from the bushes and into the field, and he saw the summation of the past eight months of the Friendship’s struggle.

In the middle of the courtyard, among the ruined statues and back-dropped by the Presidential Mansion with its broken windows, stood Princess Celestia, surrounded by twenty soldiers all standing at attention, each one equipped with a Trottingham Rifle and fully uniformed in the gray and red of the Friendship. A few yards away stood her carriage, adorned with the laces and flowers which were such a common sight on the vehicles belonging to those of noble breeding. She was standing next to a middle-aged, brown earth-pony with a mustache and epaulets decorating his shoulders. Harnessed to his back was a diamond-plated case, a large lock hanging off its side. Behind the princess stood a young unicorn, and even further back, an aged teal pegasus. Though the president squinted, he could not make out their faces and could only recognize Princess Celestia, for she was the only alicorn in the group and towered above those around her.

The president swallowed nervously at this scene, his throat dry: despite all the times he had ran this scenario in his head and despite the number of times he had mulled over and accepted its implications, it was another thing entirely to see it fully animated. This reservation occurred only for a second and was not noticed by anypony in the vicinity, and the president soon assumed his smarmy countenance yet again.

When the president came within fifty yards of the group, the pony with the epaulets gestured in the president’s direction, and when Princess Celestia saw him approaching, she turned and looked down at him with an icy cold glare. There was no hint of weakness or hesitation in her appearance. She looked well-kept and well-groomed, as usual; and, despite the president’s attempts to break her composure with his own confidence and stare, she made no concessions, and she repelled the president’s visual attack, no matter what odd minute eccentricity he attempted to assume in an effort to change his strategy.

As the president got closer, the faces of the ponies standing around her became clear. He recognized Director Star as the unicorn, who was wearing the gray uniform, and the old pegasus as Enforcer. When observing the former, the president simply scoffed with disapproval and scorn; but when he saw Enforcer, the president’s mental machine, which was running simulations of every single way this encounter could play out, jammed, for it had not anticipated this picture.

It was only now that he saw how worn-down Enforcer was, how much he looked his age, and how much the last few months had done to him: sharp, jagged wrinkles creased his face like the Badlands to the south. His knees wobbled either out of anxiety or weakness when he saw the president approaching, and they were bent forward, giving him a hunch. His eyes stared lazily off into the distance, like those of a blind pony trying to concentrate on a nearby sound. He was still wearing that same tailcoat, which was now folded and creased like his face, and his once fastidious necktie now hung lose and impotent around his neck, which swayed along with the trembling of his legs. His mane was now completely white and was nearly gone from the scalp of his head. He truly looked like he would collapse at any second and turn into the grass and dirt beneath his hooves, to dissolve away into nature—to rid himself of his painful earthly form and to forever be at harmony and at peace.

Princess Celestia smiled when she saw the president’s features relax, for she had believed that she had won their duel of glares; in reality, the president had felt a surge of powerful emotion pierce his heart.

He had spent the last eight months robbing himself of those emotions of life that would have inhibited his ability to carry out the deed, so that he would have been able to become the creature that he had promised himself to be to the citizens of Equestria, and he had rebuilt his being to survive under such remorseless conditions, so it was not prepared for such an ardent fire to occupy such a large space in his essence at this time. At the sight of this pony—who was once so powerful, so competent, who had held the respect of the most revered leaders and who had enjoyed their awe at his expert skill, his eagerness to improve, and his youthful optimism with which he looked up to those he deemed to be heroes—the president felt tears coming to his eyes. To see this innocent soul, loyal to those around him even in the face of all odds, to be so destroyed by the weapon that the president had only intended to use on his most perfidious enemies was too much for him to handle.

He shut his eyes and tried to force his tears back with the thought that he was the president and that he could not allow the ponies under his care see him, even for a second, in a moment of weakness; but the word president had no meaning when it echoed in his mind anymore, as if it was just a collection of useless sounds, as if it was as meaningless as the animalistic jabbering the rebels made with they made to pillage a proud city. He slowed his pace, and he felt that there would be no stopping the tears, and he was convinced that he would curl into a pitiful ball on the grass and break down in front of every single one of his enemies, who would proceed to ridicule him and stab him with their bayonets, and he would die to the sound of their hideous laughter.

The president tried to fight the perceived inevitability, but he felt his legs begin to shake, and they were on the verge of giving way—until he looked back to Director Star.

At a single, brief, but more thorough glance this time, the president’s sadness instantly vanished and was replaced with the single emotion that he had been working up to and which he had prepared only to show at this moment: malice. He watched Director Star bat a fly off the shoulder of his uniform, and the president’s nostrils flared while he bared his teeth like a rabid animal. That wretched figure was just what he had needed to see: it was cowardice, evasion, and obsequiousness incarnate in a skinny pony with gaunt lips, emaciated cheeks, and glasses—who had deserted at the first sign of doubt.

The president felt a bayonet poke him in his tail a second time; and, this time, he had no problems walking fully erect and with complete confidence toward Princess Celestia. At the sight of the pitiful unicorn, he had instantly been reminded of the evil among which he was forced to live and the chaos which it brought in its wake, destroying those who fought helplessly against it and inciting glee in those who guided and welcomed it. Mere paces before Celestia, he was reminded of the being who he had become, and when his guards had told him to stop in front of her, he stared at her face to face—not as the president, but as Discord.

When Princess Celestia stared into his eyes, she saw nothing but evil and psychosis.

Around their legs lay the ruins of the Changeling War statue, and next to them stood the column on which it had originally been laid; the column itself was still intact and waiting for a new piece, a statue that would no doubt embody the value on which the society formed in the wake of the dissolution of the Union would be founded.

Though the president’s stare caused the soldiers to avert their eyes—for they did not want to admit to themselves that the repulsive creature that was standing right in front of them represented the end result of their own contentious nature—only Princess Celestia managed to keep eye contact with him with a stare of genuine righteousness, which somehow managed to hold back his.

After this thirty-second encounter, which seemed like an hour to those watching, Princess Celestia broke her eye contact and turned to the soldiers around her. She had the sweetest look on her face and, with her caressing voice which, like a mother’s, convinced anypony that listened to it of her unending love for them, said: “We wish to extend our utmost congratulations to our dear subjects, who, in precarious odds, have successfully and decisively struck, with all fury, at the core of this pernicious institution. You have liberated your homes with your honor and strength alone and have brought Discord to me—and, thanks to you, he now awaits his reeducation on the lessons of friendship and mercy. Friendship has emerged triumphant.”

The president let out a histrionic whine and sighed heavily while looking up at the sky, so that he may more easily read the script etched into his brain, and said: “Oh, what a calamity for chaos, this day is—this day, which will eternally be known as the day when the tyrant Discord and his legion of demons fell to a most baffling power, of which they could never possibly conceive! How, with all that is known, is this even possible?” And he made an impressive attempt to showcase his disgust, which involved him violently keeling over, placing his paw on the ground, and performing the most painful-sounding and accentuated dry coughs.

Princess Celestia turned to face the eager mass that encircled her, who were all leaning so far toward her that they almost toppled over—so that the wisdom that would no doubt come from her mouth would reach their ears sooner. With a haughty voice, she said: “Don’t be fooled by his inherently mendacious tongue. Discord knows, without a doubt, that Friendship is Chaos’s trump; therefore, he endeavored to divide you, to not let you realize the power that each and every one of you held. However, his efforts were in vain; for you have, perspicuously, found your friends. You have consolidated our power, and friendship has shown to be triumphant, as it always has and always will be.”

The president rubbed his face and eyes with his paw, annoyed at Princess Celestia’s verbosity, which was inherent in any noble who spoke to ponies to whom they believed to be lower in class, and he was slightly perturbed at the fact that she would not deign to address him directly. “Enforcer,” he said, using the pretense of a headache to rub his eyes to avoid them being terrified at the sight of the decaying geriatric pony, “remind me to request the permission of Congress to amend the COMTOIS to ban any titles of nobility.”

Enforcer started, but Princess Celestia held out her hoof, demanding that he be silent. “Enforcer is not Discord’s comrade any longer. He has now seen the light, after being swallowed by the bowels of the darkness of disharmony for over two score years, and he stands ready to defend his friends.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the president scoffed, still in character. “Enforcer is the most loyal pony in the Union, to the Union, and has been for the past five administrations. He exemplifies the loyalty of the Union; and if he’s defected, to join your wretched ranks, no doubt this is a sign that the Union, too, is dead.” The president still refused to look at him.

Enforcer looked nervously at Princess Celestia, and she nodded to him, signaling that he had been fortunate enough to be granted the permission to speak in her presence.

When he spoke, the words cut into the president’s ear. It was a raspy, strained voice, desperately clinging onto life, and its words spoke of a time they were trying to keep alive that, like the voice, was passing. “Mr. President—” he said, as he hesitated at a glare from Princess Celestia, “I mean, Discord, I am loyal to the Union. I have always been loyal to the Union and to the values it embodies, and I always will be; but, in our current circumstances, that means being disloyal to you.”

The president sneered and avoided eye contact with him; little did the observers know that this act was only thing standing in the way of a very un-presidential stream of tears.

Princess Celestia continued: “Some of us have succumbed to Discord’s will, our own sister being one of them, but friendship is the most powerful force in the universe, and not even our sister”—and she shot a striking glance over at Princess Luna who was standing behind the president and whom the president, even though he could not see her, could feel trembling at the intonation of her words—“under the power of the spell that has enveloped this entire country in its whim and which caused this terrible conflict, was able to fight against the love exuded from our bond. When she finally saw the error of her ways, she prudently used her eminent position among Discord’s ranks to help her friends outwit his armies of chaos.

“In addition, our family, having anticipated a cataclysm of this proportion, has utilized the previous five years researching the essence of friendship, and, with the help of Director Star—who has also once been infected by Discord’s spell, but who, by his strong nature, was able to see its evil in its early stages, who was able to resist its influence upon him with his sheer will alone, and who has now recognized importance of the battle against chaos and has generously delegated his efforts to its noble cause—it is finished. We have effectuated what Discord fears the most: friendship in its most purest form. It is the power that released many of you very guardians of harmony, who stand before me and who brandish rifles in defense of all that is good, from the ranks of the army of chaos.”

She looked lovingly at the quiet, attentive soldiers around her, but it was not the warm stare of a caregiver; instead, it was a eerie sort of smile, unsettling in the sense that it was clear that it was merely a facade, hiding what she really wanted out of them.

After the soldiers exchanged a few nervous murmurs, unsure of what to do, and after they saw her brow start to furrow, they had understood what she wanted. Obeying, they cheered and stomped her hooves on the ground. This seemed to please the princess, but the president shuddered as he heard the contrived nature of the sound in its intonation.

Five or six seconds later, when the soldiers had felt that they had followed their order long enough, they became quiet once again and looked back at the princess.

“General Buckner,” she finally said, seemingly satisfied with the her servants’ performance of their loyalty and adulation, “if you please.” And at this, she gestured toward the old pony with epaulets, beckoning him to come forwards.

General Buckner stepped forward and used his mouth to unharness the diamond-plated box from his back. With one foreleg, he held it as high as he could in front of Princess Celestia, bowing his head in respect as he did so.

Princess Celestia leaned her head down and inserted her horn into the box’s lock. The front of the box glowed with a blue light before the lid swung open. A slight burst of light emitted from the interior of the box before finally dying away to reveal six smooth stones, each one with a different symbol carved into it.

“Behold,” said Princess Celestia, turning to the president, “the Elements of Harmony.”

The soldiers of the Army of the Friendship’s eyes sparkled at the sight of these artifacts. Each one leaned in to get a closer look, and each one could feel their power coursing through their own veins. All the killing and the destruction had been worth it, since they could now see what it was that they were fighting for. They turned to each other for confirmation, and their smiles only got wider when they saw that their friends were all filled with the same wonderful feeling.

However, their smiles vanished when they looked at the president and saw that he had not suddenly dropped to his knees and begged for mercy from the Elements that would no doubt obliterate the chaos within him, as it had done for some of them; instead, all they saw was a draconequus with a fatuous look on his face, his mouth ajar in complete bewilderment.

“Rocks?” the president said, after he had collected himself. “You’ve defeated the Union Army—and all its countless hours of training, all its experiences from history, all its tactics, tools, and supplies—with rocks?”

“Discord doesn’t understand,” responded Princess Celestia with a fiery look in her eyes, and seemingly addressing him directly for the first time. “These ‘rocks’ are alive. They are living creatures with wants, hopes, and desires—and they’re not amused to see what you’ve done to this land or what you’ve done to their friends.

“Each one represents one of the six most important tenets of friendship, without which friendship cannot exist.” And, gesturing to each stone in its turn with her forehoof, she said: “Laughter, generosity, magic, loyalty, honesty, and kindness.”

At this, the president closed his mouth into a small smirk and then began to snicker and apparently felt the need to cover his mouth with his paw and claw to not let his expression of beguilement grow any larger.

“Does Discord find humor in this, in any form?” Princess Celestia snapped.

“It’s just that,” the president said between chuckles, “wow, you named the rocks? It’s just that this whole scenario . . . all of it . . . is just so ridiculous . . .”

Princess Celestia’s brow furrowed and, turning to her soldiers again, she said: “Is not this quintessentially constitutional to Discord: laughing in the midst of uncertainty and defeat? Methinks he needs a lecture on the virtues of friendship and harmony. Soldiers, if you would give us a moment of privacy.”

The rebels exchanged looks of apprehension.

“Have no fear, my subjects. Just retire into the thicket, and you will be called when you are needed. You deserve the rest, for you have achieved the greatest possible victory, and Equestria will thank you for your sacrifices for eternity.”

This assuaged their fears, for they all politely bowed, throwing in a few “Yes, Your Graces” and “Of course, Your Graces,” harnessed their rifles and walked slowly back toward the bushes, each one casting wistful glances over their shoulders back toward their leader and the president.

When they had all left, the president turned around to see Princess Luna: she had not moved from her position, but she had assumed that stone cold look that the president had seen her make in the foyers of the debate halls during the prepresidential debates. Her eyes were a dull red, and the president instantly recognized this as a sign that she was holding back some sorrowful emotions. Like he had done months prior, the president glared at her trying to unlock the secrets of her mind, like he had successfully done with anypony else that he had encountered—but this time, much to his dismay and confusion, he found that he could not break her, and he was struck with the disappointment that he would never get the opportunity to.

“You as well, my sister,” Princess Celestia said, in that stern voice that she had used when talking about her to the president.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Princess Luna made a sharp turn in the direction of the thicket, and she marched to join the soldiers. The president watched her until she was out of sight. At not one moment did she turn to look back at him.

Then, he turned to face Princess Celestia. He looked at the bare column which they were standing next to, and he looked at its ruins that were scattered ignominiously across the field; then, he looked back in the face of the pony who had ordered its destruction. He took a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and stood taller than he had ever stood before—for he needed to not only stand for himself, but also for the statue, which would never stand again.

“I can’t believe you,” he said. “I knew you were cutthroat; I knew you to be determined and austere in your actions, and I always knew that you would not hesitate to do what you wanted to do and to not hesitate in the face of dissent, regardless of difficulty. But to entice an entire country to violence, start an entire war, kill thousands of your own ponies, make up this ridiculously grandiose story which depicts what you are doing as just, overthrow the government—my government—brainwash an entire army of ponies who would rather die than live in your world, just because I insulted the nobility and your family deemed me unfit to be the president?”

“You’re wrong on two accounts,” she responded brusquely, and there was no hesitation and uncertainty in her voice, as if she had been waiting her entire life to say this. “Firstly, this was not one of those shallow personal vendettas, and the fact that you thought it was says more about your feelings than it does mine.

“Secondly, I never killed, or intended to kill, a single pony. The last thing I wanted was blood to be shed on our own soil: that’s why we developed the Elements of Harmony. We gave the Union soldiers a chance to join us or even walk away. When the clerks go over the casualty reports after this is all over, they’ll find that the number of soldiers killed in action on the Friendship’s side is more than quadruple those on the side of the Union Army.

“You can spin this any way you like: You can say that we’re the aggressors and that we were in direct violation of the COMTOIS; but you’ll never be able to evade the fact that every single lost life, including those who are dying in Baltimare and Manehattan as we speak, since they are not protected by the Elements of Harmony, rests on your shoulders. All the bloodshed in this conflict is the fault of the Union, that naive amalgam of conflicting ideologies that, somehow, was guaranteed by its founders to effect everlasting peace and tranquility.”

The president groaned, rolled his eyes backwards, and put the palm of his paw on his forehead.“What interest could you possibly have in all of this?”

“How can you be so blind?” she retorted, and a genuine look of concern appeared on her face. “A republic is simply unsustainable; the only reason it worked so well for so many years was that everypony was riding on the hope and faith still emanating from Unification. When they realized that the founders’ promises were empty, that they said anything to keep themselves and their subjects from starving to death, they revolted. This is the crucial flaw in republicanism: it assumes that the common pony is a free-thinker, can recognize his surroundings, and can identify and neutralize any problems that are affecting him.

“Can you honestly not see the self-evident falsehood of this axiom? Have you spoken with any of my soldiers? Have you asked them what they were fighting for? They would not have been able to give you a straight answer and they never will be. They’re like bats caught in a mist net: they know something is wrong, that something is impeding their welfare and happiness, but they have not the mental capabilities to make the connection that they have been tangled, so they angrily thrash around haphazardly and will only become more ensnared in the process unless a guiding, intelligent hoof calmly and deliberately untangles and frees them. You remember that protest all those months ago, no doubt, but can anypony among us even name one thing against which they were protesting?

“We, my family, have accepted the republicans as an inevitability, a necessary evil, a consequence of the Union—but never have we encountered such a willful a republican as you. You made no concessions to the thoughts and feelings of others and were incorrigible in your ways and policies. The other republicans recognized the need for there to be somewhat of an understanding between them and their citizens—but for you, there was absolutely none. You saw them crying, and all you said was: ‘Such is life.’”

The president scoffed and waved his paw in a dismissive motion in front of his face. “There’s a painting,” he said, “or, rather, was a painting, that sat above my desk throughout my entire presidency. Do you know who it was? It was the first president of Equestria, your great ancestor President Platinum, who every president in history has aspired to emulate in terms of honor and valor. Ironically, she was my favorite president and the most virtuous republican that had ever sat in the Horseshoe Office. She penned my favorite sections of the COMTOIS, the sections that I used to protect this country. Do you want to know what I and her had in common? We both knew that thoughts and feelings meant nothing in the face of uncompromising reality. All the founders knew that, and every republican knows that. There is nothing more dangerous than the capricious whim of a monarch.”

Barely had the president time to say this last sentence before Princess Celestia, obviously having rehearsed this conversation before, said, without a single stutter or pause: “She had a difficult position, my ancestor. She knew that the monarchy was desirable, but had she not agreed to the earth-pony’s terms of republicanism, Unification would’ve never happened, and they all would’ve starved to death. That’s why she formed the Royal Party: to make sure that at least the spirit of the monarchy remained, if not the body. Regarding the commoner, even though she had to repress the knowledge she had for the sake of the Union, she knew that their feelings reflected connections they observed in nature, but they were too ignorant to realize it. They were too ignorant to realize that they needed a benevolent leader, a monarch, who they can worship and fear—not a scraggly, mendacious president, who is on the same socioeconomic level as they are and whom they feel they have the right to challenge.

“This conflict was inevitable: the republicans embrace it, while the monarchists shy away from it.”

“How convenient that you can ascribe the thoughts and feelings to a pony who’s been dead for hundreds of years, despite the fact that all her work, her writings, and her speeches prove the opposite of what you’re saying,” said the president, as he absentmindedly, and with an ironic sort of manner, as ironic as the tone he had just assumed, scratched the nail of one of his talons against the white column. “So, let me recount: you and your family are carrying this cumbersome task”—and he emphasized these last two words in an attempt to ridicule her—“of being too smart for the average pony. So, you felt that you had the right to brainwash them.” Now, the president’s expression changed from its affected, sardonic manner to one of sternness and austerity.

A small grunt of amusement came from the princess’s throat, accompanied by a shaking of her head. She knew that the president understood the meaning of this gesture too well, even before she saw its affect upon him manifesting in the form of a silent groan of dismissal: it was the gesture one makes when one wants to let her adversary know, without indiscreetly and impolitely saying outright, that she feels superior, in every way, to her opponent. “If calling it that it makes you feel any better about your current actions, if painting me as some insane revolutionary makes you feel that you’re a vessel of justice, then go ahead,” she said. “But know that the Elements of Harmony aren’t one of those curses that your Department of Magic and Defense are so fond of utilizing: all the Elements do is show its followers the beauty of friendship, and that sight is too wonderful for a pony to not instantly devote his life to it.”

“You’re deluding yourself!” said the president, giving a loud laugh of condescension. “Did you not see my assistant, Enforcer? A noble, healthy, old republican—and your spells, which you now attempt to disguise under the veil of logic and necessity, turned him into a walking corpse. It’s a spell; it’s magic; it’s not the purity of logic and reason.”

“Are you any different, really? Do you use different tactics? You attempted to instantiate fear in the hearts of any dissenters. You called anypony that disagreed with you ‘traitors,’ ‘elitists,’ and ‘rebels.’ You’re also wrong in one more respect: unlike many of the soldiers you’ve just seen, there was no spell used on your assistant. When my soldiers raided the mansion just now, he had barricaded himself and a few of your workers in a secure room and was firing back with small arms against my soldiers. After they had failed to breach the room and after they had listened to his demands, the soldiers finally called me up to him, saying that he had wanted to talk to their commander, and I explained everything to him.

“I’ve talked to him before, and I know that he’s extremely reasonable. I explained what we were doing, the virtues of monarchism. I explained the flaws of republicanism. I used the tool of reason, of which you try to depict me as being so devoid, and he opened the door to me. You, on the other hoof, didn’t present any of your precious arguments or logic, didn’t use the tools that you so vehemently now praise, despite all evidence to the contrary that you actually believe in their effectiveness; you simply scared them, him, into believing you. His aging is the fact that the fire in his heart that kept him alive was extinguished by you.

“You’re a hypocrite in the largest sense of the word; it was only when I realized this glaring fact that I understood why they call you ‘Discord.’”

The president felt his fur rustle. The juvenile insult, when it came out of her mouth, when she said it with such conviction, suddenly seemed more potent, more effectual—and, most disturbingly of all, more true. He shook his head, trying to force the thought out of his mind. “I didn’t need to say anything,” he said, after he saw that Princess Celestia had interpreted his tic as an expression of disagreement and was waiting eagerly for him to say something so she could say what she had planned to say next—apparently having learned her lesson the first time as to what happens when he is interrupted by his opponent. “Their acts were explicitly prohibited by the COMTOIS, and I was fully within my powers as the head of state. I was ignoring the feelings of the dissenters, those feelings which have no relation to reality but which are still used in place of arguments. I have no time to waste on ponies who feel that I’m wrong, when I know that I’m right.”

“Typical republican,” snorted Princess Celestia. “Everything is so glaringly obvious to you, that you cannot even possibly conceive of the idea that it might be obscured to others. That’s why you’re always doomed to fail: family disputes are always inevitable, and no measures are taken to correct them.”

The president made an ugly sneer. “There you go again: telling yourself that this is somehow a United Party versus Royal Party issue. I can tell that you yearn for those days. Want to know a secret? We all do—I above anypony else. I miss those days when I would laugh at your childish arguments and your pretentious pontifications, and we concerned ourselves with such trivial issues, that it was almost like we were children arguing over who destroyed our house of blocks. Those were the days before insurrection and before anypony had died for some cause which they had no conception of.

“But you, Celestia, have shrouded this entire issue under the banner of ‘friendship’ because you can’t face the fact that you’ve been overcome by the most primitive of emotions, an emotion that you’ve considered yourself too high and mighty to ever feel: jealousy.

“Don’t interrupt, because any words you say would be fruitless; unlike your minions, I will never substitute your own judgment for mine.

“What I do know is that, when I sat in the Congressional Chamber for the first time as president, nothing angered you more than to see me sitting in what you believed to be your rightful seat. In an unforeseen turn of events, a slimy serpent, who quite a few ponies recoil in disgust at the sight of, sat in the most sacred position of this country—when, in normal times, it should have gone to you.

“This is the crucial flaw in your argument, dear Celestia: Its core, once exposed, dissolves away leaving only one fact. If the republic is so inherently flawed, if disputes were inevitable no matter who was in what position, then why were you so determined to become the head of its state? Why haven’t you extolled the virtues of monarchism before? It’s not like you wouldn’t have had any supporters. In fact, had you done so earlier, you probably would’ve beaten me. The fact is that you don’t believe a word of what you’ve said to me, and this whole insurrection that you’ve spearheaded is all designed to disguise your feeling that you should have been president and I should have faded into obscurity.

“And do you want to know something? I absolutely agree. You are loved by almost everypony, and I am a disturbed, disgruntled creature. You and your nobility are worshiped as gods, and ponies would bow in your presence, while I was shunned like a demon, and those same ponies would recoil in horror, just at my appearance.

“I tell you, Celestia—and if there’s anything you take away from this conversation, be it this: in all my months of presidency, the thing I enjoyed the most was watching how angry you were at me, especially during that first congressional session. I loved how loud your cries of dissent were but how impotent and weak they became in my presence. I could see the righteousness and indignation in your eyes when you objected to any topic I tried to introduce, and those moments were the reason I looked forward to the sessions. You are part of the nobility, an ancient heritage that should have died out upon Unification; and it felt too good for me, a simple serf, to wield the highest power in this country over you, while you were helpless to my whim.”

The president took a step closer toward Princess Celestia; and, for the first time, a look of terror appeared on her face. She gave ground as he took a second step closer. At this, the president’s horrifying smile only grew wider; and, to drive the point home, he said: “Do you hear me, Celestia? This was my prime motivator for my presidential actions, and the basis of all my war policies: there was nothing that gave me more pleasure than to watch you squirm.”

“I’ve had enough of this insanity!” she screamed, as she stumbled backwards. “Soldiers, I call you!”

No sooner had she said this than a flurry of gray and red leapt out from the thicket. Obviously sensing the urgency in her voice, they, with efficiency and expedition of professionals, assembled in front of her, forming a wall with their bodies to protect her from harm.

Behind them, walking casually, was Princess Luna and General Buckner; the latter was still carrying the Elements of Harmony in their diamond-plated case. When these two got closer, they saw the expression of dread on Princess Celestia’s face, and they kicked up their pace to a quick jog, their feeling of dread increasing with every step they took.

“Our sister!” Princess Luna was the first to speak. “Pray tell, what is the cause of your ire?”

Sweat was forming on Princess Celestia’s temples as her eyes darted around the courtyard. “General Buckner,” she snapped, addressing the pony with epaulets, “we delegate our authority to you at this current point in time. Beckon to us when your deed is done.” And she made off toward the mansion and kept walking until she was out of sight behind one of the walls.

Immediately, General Buckner turned to face the president, who was left alone standing among the rubble of the statue. The president scratched his goatee and flicked his tail in anticipation, as he assumed a puzzled look on his face.

“The prisoner will stand to!” General Buckner yelled.

The president leaned against the cracked column. “I was born to stand to,” he replied, in a snark manner.

Without a moment’s hesitation or emotion in his voice, the general barked: “Make ready, and present arms!”

At this, every single pony in the line cocked the hammers on their rifles and leveled them at the president. Princess Luna averted her eyes.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold your horses!” yelped the president, his eyes bulging wide with surprise. He held out his paw and claw with their palms facing the line, urging them to stop.

“There is nothing that you can say that will abort or delay the inevitable,” General Buckner said, his voice icy-cold.

“That’s fine, and I accept that. However, regardless of the dubious legality concerning a summary execution, there are still unwritten conventions that must be followed, especially considering my eminent position.”

“Such as?”

“Well, for one thing, aren’t I entitled to speak my last words?”

The general hesitated. Then he said: “I suppose so. Out with it, then. My colts are impatient.”

“I wish to address them only to Luna. May she approach me?”

The general looked nervously at Princess Luna, who looked back at him with the same expression. Upon a tentative nod from her, he turned to the president and said: “Fine, I grant your request. But be warned: my colts are excellent sharpshooters; and, if you try to pull a fast one on the princess, they’ll be able to put you down in a second, without even leaving a scratch on her.”

“Come now, Colonel,” said the president, emphasizing the rank with a cheeky grin. “You are—or, rather, were—a professor at the Republican Military College. You’re a soldier of the Union Army, first and foremost, and an RMC one at that: a teacher, a role model, of that university which emphasizes the virtues of loyalty and honor. If I were to assault Luna—if I were to take advantage of the right of the condemned to have his last words, which you, the honorable and loyal soldier you are, had been so noble to uphold—that would be rather dishonorable, wouldn’t you say? I’m surprised your expectations of me are so low, Colonel.”

The soldiers looked with incredulity at their general—who was now starting to shake in his boots. They exchanged worried glances with each other, no doubt each one of them having second thoughts about their fearless leader—who had spoken so passionately about the need to stop the Union Army, those empty shells of soldiers who had been brainwashed by Discord.

A bead of sweat dripped from General Buckner’s neck onto the gray fabric of his shoulder pad and then ran in a stream through his epaulets. He glanced nervously around at the prying eyes, each one questioning and judging him silently.

In an effort to deter their attention, he gestured his hoof under the pretense of making an order; and, instantly, the soldiers resumed their professional countenances, obeying the general and ceasing to devote any more time in thinking about the president’s comment—like they had been trained to do. They parted, like a wave or like an amorphous single piece of mass, to make a path between Princess Luna and the president.

They looked at her eagerly, as she slowly walked between them. She had reassumed that expressionless look of hers; and, as she got closer to the president, she saw that snarky grin dissolve into one of complete sublimity—the one she knew he was capable of doing and the one that she had always longed to see but rarely did.

When she came within three feet of him, he slouched to meet her at her height. He said nothing.

“I just want you to know that none of this was personal,” she said at length, emotionlessly. “You brought this upon yourself, and you should have seen it coming a long time ago.”

“I know,” said the president, in a completely calm and assuring voice. “And, for what it’s worth, I forgive thee.”

“Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell me?”

“Yes, there is. This is only for thine ears. You must promise to not tell anypony else. Do thou understand?”

“What is it?”

The president leaned over, just for a second, and whispered something incredibly brief into her ear. The soldiers tilted their heads toward the pair, hoping they could catch something, but all they heard was a short, muffled whisper. However, when the president leaned back, they saw that Princess Luna’s calm and reserved countenance had been replaced by one with pure shock and horror. She stepped back and looked at the president, who was looking at her slyly.

“What . . . what does that even mean?”

The president nodded for a second with his smile of contentment and assurance—before instantly assuming that deranged look of his; and Princess Luna, along with the soldiers, recoiled with surprise.

“It means nothing!” he hissed. “Absolutely nothing! You should see the look on your faces! Too funny!”

After Princess Luna had overcome the initial shock, she looked back at him with that implacable stare of hers; and, without a single shred of fear, she said: “Your scary faces don’t work on me anymore, Discord. You look ridiculous. You’re just an overgrown infant who is crying for attention. Grow up.”

She could see the exact moment when her words had sunk into him, and his eyes drooped to show that pathetic stare he was constantly trying to hide.

His weakly held out his claw, begging her to stay by his side for an instant longer, but she refused. Princess Luna turned around and walked back toward the firing line, giving them a clear line of sight to him. She did not even grant him the privilege of a second look back.

“Make ready and present arms!” the general yelled again, and the soldiers assumed their original stance. Princess Luna stared straight at the president this time.

“Wait, wait. Wait!” the president yelled a second time.

“What is it this time?” said General Buckner in a tired voice filled with impatience. “You’ve had your last words. What more do you want?”

In a monotone voice and with an accompanying blank expression, he stared straight at the general—not as an adversary, but as a colleague—and said: “I am the president of the United Republic of Equestria. I deserve not be shot like a rabid dog. It’s only right that I am permitted to choose the method of my execution.”

“I’m not going to delay the execution any longer to find you a more intricate manner of death just because you’re afraid of bullets.”

“No need. You defeated my army, the most powerful military force on the planet, with technologies that I cannot possibly fathom. I, too, am a soldier, and I wish to be granted the same death as my soldiers did. I want to see the power of the Elements of Harmony.”

At this, the general, once again, looked at Princess Luna. She did not deviate her gaze or shift her eyes nervously. She stared straight at the president and said: “Fine. Grant him this one thing. He deserves at least this.”

General Buckner nodded and unharnessed the case from his back. It was still unlocked from the time Princess Celestia had showed them to the president, and the lid swung open easily, exposing the six smooth stones. The general tapped on one gently with his hoof, and he said, speaking to the stones as a foal speaks to a doll: “Hello, dear Elements. Do you see that creature over there? That’s Discord; he’s responsible for all the damage done to your friends. He’s ready to face his punishment, and I hope you have something special in store for him.”

The stones remained motionless.

The general looked up nervously at the president; the latter crossed his forearms, leaned on the destroyed column, and looked at the box skeptically.

“Give them a second; they’re exhausted,” the general said.

“Oh, by all means, take your time, Colonel,” the president replied. “Believe me when I say that I am literally the last creature on the face of the earth who wants you to rush this process. I’ll be right over here when you’re ready.” And the president slithered up onto the broken column and stood straight, tall, and proud. He then launched into the first verse of “The Good Fight for the Union.”

As soon as he began to sing, the stones began to glow.

The soldiers harnessed their rifles and put their forehooves to their ears; the president was singing the tenor part of the song wildly off-key and in a manner which would cause pain to anypony present with even the smallest amount of taste in music. The louder and more cacophonic the president became, the brighter the stones glowed. When the president reached the refrain, he threw his head back and put all his horrible passion into it, and many of the soldiers dropped to their knees and pushed their heads to the ground, making low humming noises from the bottom of their throats, trying to drown the horrible sound out.

When the president attempted to sing the highest note, which resulted in the most discordant sound so far, an incredibly bright flash drowned out the scene in its light, and the soldiers moved their forehooves from their ears to their eyes.

Down in Ponyville, the soldiers of the rebellion still stationed there stopped polishing their rifles and looked up the mountain at Canterlot. They saw the brilliant light erupt from the center of the city, and they threw their caps in the air while shouting many hurrahs in victory. The flash lasted for nearly ten seconds and burned into the retinas of everypony observing it.

When the light finally started to die away, the rebels in Canterlot who were fortunate enough to be at the epicenter of this fantastical event slowly opened their eyes and rubbed them vigorously with their forehooves.

When they finally looked at the column upon which the president had stood, they rubbed their eyes a second time, for they could not believe it: the president, on the highest note in his most victorious song, stood upon the podium completely petrified, as stone as the ruins of the statue around the column’s base—frozen in time, to be singing his song of hope in vain for forever.

The ponies looked at each other with expressions of amazement; even General Buckner and Princess Luna could not hide their awe. The Elements of Harmony had simply reeducated most of them; never had they done such a strange thing with their power. Even though this was on everypony’s mind, nopony spoke it, for it was not their place to question the intent of the Elements of Harmony.

Princess Celestia came out from her hiding place and her eyes were instantly drawn to the remnants of the president. After spending ten or twenty seconds simply staring in shock at the result, she finally managed to speak. “What has occurred here?” she asked, and every single pony mutter a silent thanks toward her, for prompting the question that was on all their minds.

General Buckner walked over to the statue and tapped on it. His hoof made a sonorous sound against the stone, music to the ears of everypony around—especially after hearing Discord destroy even music itself. He then turned to Princess Celestia, puffed out his chest, and said: “We’ve destroyed Discord with the Elements of Harmony—a fitting end for such a creature, if I do say so myself.”

Princess Celestia swallowed nervously and brushed a tangled piece of her mane that had fallen in front of her face out of the way. “Good . . . good. You’ve done satisfactorily, General. All of you have preformed satisfactorily. You have won. Now is the time for celebrations.”

The rebels yelled hurrahs, in the same manner as their comrades had done shortly before in Ponyville, and tossed their caps into the air.

Princess Luna did not join in and just stared at the statue in contemplation. One of the soldiers took notice of her and stopped his boisterous cheering. He looked pleadingly at Princess Luna in the same manner as a newborn foal does when it wants something from its mother. Princess Luna, noticing this gesture, looked kindly at him and said: “You are permitted to speak.”

“Princess,” he said, “what did Discord say to you?”

Even through the loud cheering, the other soldiers still somehow managed to hear this almost whispered voice. Their minds had been actively searching for anything that had even remotely sounded like that phrase; and, upon sensing it being spoken verbatim, they stopped and turned their attention to Princess Luna, eagerly expecting an answer.

Princess Celestia heard it too, and she cut the rest of them off. “Sister? Did Discord utter something to you?”

Princess Luna looked at her sister hesitatingly. “We’d . . . we’d rather not repeat.”

This resulted in murmurs of confusion echoing through the entire ranks.

“Elucidate your position,” Princess Celestia responded.

“We have made a promise to the condemned, right before he was executed, and the condemned’s final request is sacred,” Princess Luna said, speaking to her sister with righteousness.

“Sister, we are disappointed that you would choose to hide grave information, passed on to you by our greatest enemy, that would no doubt be beneficial should it be given to the Friendship.”

“‘Twas nothing of importance. Complete nonsense.”

“Then you should have no compunctions recounting it.”

Princess Luna sighed. “If that is thy wish, my sister, then we shall say it; however, thou has been warned that it is useless.” And she, in front of every pony there, repeated the exact assortment of sounds the president had whispered in her ears.

Her listeners looked at her with complete confusion. The sounds were unconnected gibberish syllables, with no relation to any experiences they had had before. They sounded exactly the same as the sounds made by a chipmunk. They were completely meaningless, and the soldiers stood there scratching their heads, trying to figure out the importance the president had placed on them and why he felt the need to convey them in secrecy.

But even though nopony there had understood it, upon hearing it being said, it produced an indescribable effect on them: they felt their knees trembling beneath them and felt their hearts pounding furiously and vigorously to the point where everypony who had heard Princess Luna repeat the president’s last words could hear the pulse of their heart in their ears, drowning out any other noise in the world. The sounds produced a feeling of utmost terror in its listeners, as it had with Princess Luna when she had heard it from the president’s mouth—and which she had felt again upon repeating his words.

General Buckner loosened his collar and summoned up the courage to speak. He swallowed nervously and, with sweat pouring down his temples, said: “Princess Luna, if you don’t mind me asking: what does that even mean?”

“We have no idea,” she responded, not making eye contact with him and expertly hiding her emotions.

The general let out a dry cough and turned to Princess Celestia. “Your Grace, what do you make of it?”

Princess Celestia said nothing.

“Your Grace?” the general said again.

Princess Celestia’s eyes snapped to his, as if out of a trance. She stared at him blankly for a few seconds. Then, she assumed that warm smile she was so commonly seen exhibiting in public and said: “Who among us knows? And who cares? It was the rantings of a mad creature, who desired nothing but to plunge this beautiful world in chaos. If you try to ascribe a meaning to these rantings, you will find that you will grow as insane as he was. But no matter: the friendship is victorious.” Princess Celestia, noticeably breathing much heavier than she did normally, added: “Soldiers, rejoice! You have driven chaos from this land. You are now dismissed to enjoy yourselves. Go celebrate.”

The soldiers looked at each other in bewilderment and, instead of gallivanting away in a manner as soldiers who had just found victory on the battlefield and who had all their limbs intact should do, walked slowly and cautiously off the field, looking over their shoulders worriedly, their eyes jumping at the slightest movement.

One soldier did not join the others; instead, he went right up to Enforcer, who had stood silent for this entire scene. He put a forehoof gently on the assistant’s shoulder and then immediately took it off when Enforcer stumbled beneath its weight.

“Hey, Enforcer,” he said, soothingly and affectionately, “want me to make you a drink?”

Enforcer looked up at the soldier’s face, smiled weakly, and, with tears forming in his eyes, said: “Oh, Barley—you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that.”

Comments

[_Rainbow_Swag_]

1438663

Maybe because your OC is an all red alicorn...

[Organized Chaos]

This is epicly epic and I have an appropriately epic cover for this, though I need to find a way to send it to you...

[Meanderer]

You could have written this exact story, with exception to the more magical bits, in a setting with perfectly ordinary humans. It would be no great stretch of the imagination to see it published as a short novel. And yet, I find myself glad that you chose to write this story in the MLP:FiM setting, for I would have been unlikely to discover it otherwise.

What we have here is not, in fact, a story about magical talking ponies. It is a story about an old, jaded politician being given a second chance to work towards an idealistic vision for the land he loves. Backed by the few strong allies he gathers, the charisma with which he gathers them, and perhaps above all else, his unshakable belief in rightness and justice, he stands poised to lead the country into a new golden age.

And we get to witness as everything that makes him a noble hero is stripped away and leaves nothing but a villain with no allies who still firmly believes he is in the right. This is one of the most beautiful fall-from-grace stories I have ever read. Stories this good remind me why I started writing in the first place. Thank you for creating this work of art.