> Glory > by Rune Soldier Dan > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- > Like a Sunset > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Blueblood had thought himself smart. Smarter than the crowd, smart enough to see the way things really were. Nothing you could do would ever matter. Not in the long run, anyway. The princesses mattered. But you? A farmer might get ambitious and go into a bigger business. He’d sell things that were already sold by others, and somepony else would till his crops. Nothing would change. A pony might invent a better wagon. If she didn’t, another would. She wasn’t special, no matter who told her otherwise. A doctor might cure the vilest disease known to ponykind, saving thousands. Those thousands would die later. He saved nothing. You didn’t matter. Princesses, they mattered. But you? One of a million ponies, no more special than the pony next to you. You could try. You could struggle, you could create, you could invent. And for all your pain and labor, you’d achieve nothing. Whatever you did, another pony had done before. Or would do later. Maybe nopony else would ever do what you do. And when the dust settled from your completely unique creation or idea, you’d still just be one among many. Artists and thinkers and scientists, all pretending to be brilliant. All unique in their own mind, all soon to die and be forgotten. He liked farmers. They were the only ones who seemed to get it. They’d die. Their kids would die. The farm would remain. They’re farmers, and don’t see the need to be anything else. Routine. Predictability. Planting season and harvest season. Colts and fillies being born, old grandparents dying. They knew how it worked. You could change, sure. You could change for the worse. You could follow your dreams, just like the countless little nobodies around you. You could fail and be miserable, or you could succeed. You could succeed, achieve your common little ambition, and die in the end anyway. That’s why the farmers were smart. They were happy with what they were. They didn’t try to be anything else. They didn’t try to be important. They didn’t pretend their dreams were special. They worked the farm. He had met very few farmers, but honestly liked each and every one of them. Of course, Prince Blueblood didn’t say this to anypony. Especially the part about the farmers. Nobles didn’t like farmers, and he was a noble. There was no reason to be anything else. Clink glasses with dukes and ladies. Admire whatever art is ‘in’ this season. Waste money on fashion, for reasons he had long stopped pondering. Drink the wine. No reason not to. Drink a second glass, too, because we’re all dead in sixty years anyway. Enjoy the ride. A guilty pleasure when some mare decided to make a move on him. Never a close friend. He didn’t have any. Always some stranger, looking to kiss her way into riches. Crush her. Go home, go home, go home. I don’t know you, I don’t want to know you. You’re not important. You’ll never be important. Every minute you waste chasing a better life is a minute lost from your own. A minute that belongs to the Reaper. You’re not getting it back. Go home. I don’t care how dolled up you are, or how much you want to change. Go home. Home. ‘Home’ is a strange word, now. With the chains wrapped around Canterlot’s spires and the animate suits of armor patrolling the streets. Does this still count as ‘home?’ That was another thing. A second part to Blueblood’s philosophy. Unless you were a princess, you couldn’t change much, and you couldn’t change anything permanently. Unless you were changing things for the worse. Then, change was very, very easy. It was a unicorn researcher with the worst dreams of change. Dreams of soulless ambition. Dreams of a tyranny with himself at its head. A silver tongue to gain him access to darker vaults of knowledge. A steel-trap mind capable of mastering the spells within. An iron heart that did not flinch when the time came to betray. Funny, all these metal analogies. Blueblood smiled, though he was gasping for air. He was running, at times leaping the chains crisscrossing the streets. They were winding their way around buildings, around numb ponies. Comparisons to metal were appropriate. The one-time researcher now called himself Lord Ironshod, and claimed this city as the capital of the Greyshod Empire. ‘Greyshod.’ That was appropriate, too. The chains were so dull they may have been made of stone rather than metal. They were sprouting, growing, twisting around everything. Sometimes melting into suits of animate plate mail, but mostly just growing. The walking armors herded ponies indoors, the chains wrapped up the buildings, and the work began. ‘Greyshod.’ It wasn’t just the chains and the armors. The colors themselves were fading. Where their magic was touching, every scrap of pink and green and everything were turning to mute, dull grey. It was especially noticeable on the banners. The great purple pennants. The deep blues of Luna’s flags. The golden images of the sun. All grey. Even the pictures on them were vanishing. No sun. Not even a grey sun. Just grey. No sun. Blueblood’s mouth twisted in anger. He felt the hate. The HATE HATE HATE well up in him. It drowned out his ragged breaths. No more pain in his chest and legs as he pushed his gallop onwards. No more fear. No sun. Ironshod? How dare you. Blueblood didn’t have the breath to say it, so he thought it as loud as he could. How DARE you? ---------- Princesses. Now they mattered. They could change the world, even if they had to do it one pony at a time. And they could change it for the better. Forever. Widespread hunger. Discord between pony races. Old diseases, and older evils. Across their long centuries, the princesses banished these things. A force for good. Striving for so long to make things better, and succeeding in so many ways. They hadn’t solved everything. But the princesses had all the time in the world, and were at it every day. Blueblood liked to think that one day they’d finish. There would be no more evil, and they’d take a long, well-earned vacation. Especially Celestia. So old. So wise. So tireless. How easy it would have been for Celestia to despair after her sister’s banishment! To sleep for a thousand years and leave Equestria to rot. Or to embrace her loneliness and depart, convinced of her own failure. Or even to shrug and allow Nightmare Moon a few centuries of night. The ponies would have died out, but nothing of consequence would have been lost. But she didn’t. Celestia cared for the ponies. Not just ‘the ponies.’ Each pony. Every one. Including Blueblood. No sun. He had called her “Aunt Celly” before teaching himself not to. It was like a dust mite claiming kinship with a pony. It wasn’t even silly, just stupid. Kids are like that. As time passed, she began to guess why Blueblood made himself so distant. Of course she did. Celestia must have met dozens like him before. She met him over tea one day after a cricket match. He won the trophy for his team. No matter. “You’re special,” she had said, smiling perfectly at him. “You’re unique. And don’t tell yourself otherwise.” Blueblood’s words were, “I know. Thank you.” Even though he knew it wasn’t the truth. She was just saying that because she cared. Princess Celestia took his affirmation with a frown. She wasn’t fooled. Of course she wasn’t. But she had things to do. Diseases to stamp out. A kingdom to rule with ever-growing justice. A newly-saved sister – a fellow immortal – to embrace. Blueblood’s smile was genuine as he watched her depart. He loved her. More than that, he loved watching her go. She would make real changes. Lasting changes. Changes for the better. ”Go!” He had thought. Go do the great things only you can do. Don’t waste time with me. I’ll be gone soon, anyway. No sun. Ironshod wasn’t a princess. He was never, would never, NEVER NEVER NEVER be a princess. But he had a steel-trap mind and a silver tongue. He invited those who could stop him to a dinner to present the “amazing results of his research.” The wine was drugged. The chains rose from the floor. And Celestia, Luna, and the Elements were overwhelmed. Blueblood skidded to a stop. It was in here, of course. The Royal Palace. Almost unrecognizable, with all the chains wrapping around it, and the grey banners from every parapet. He crouched down, gasping for breath. He felt the aching in his chest and legs. How far had he run? When the chains began choking the palace, he fled with all the others. Blueblood had watched the guards make their stand. The slithering chains shrugged off their magic. The walking armors ignored their blows, and soon the overrun was complete. The chains sealed the city gates, and the armors began rounding up the populace. Why did I come back? There was no real point, one way or another. Blueblood wasn’t a princess. He wasn’t even a fleeting, mortal hero. Nothing would change. He always knew he would never change anything. Lord Ironshod would win. He had already won. Maybe he would kill the young prince for his impudence. Maybe he would clap him in chains with the others, and Blueblood would die later. No real difference. The palace gates were open. Chains crossed the entrance, but there were holes big enough for a pony to slip through. Blueblood stepped cautiously inside, careful not to touch any of the chains. He had seen what happened to ponies who did. Even without touching any chains, he felt their magic wrap around his soul. The air felt heavy. Not from moisture or heat, just…heavy. Pointless. Blueblood had already known that, but now he felt it like a slap in the face. Words forced their way into his thoughts, stern and forceful. Ironshod won. He is the tyrant of all Canterlot. You have to give in. You don’t have to like it, but there’s nothing you can do. Numbing. Draining. Hard to move. That’s okay. Ironshod will give you permission when it’s time to move. In a thousand chain-wrapped buildings, ponies were frantically trying to escape. But their limbs were growing leaden and their thoughts were going numb. It was even worse for the ones in the street, physically bound around the neck and hooves. Resist? That’s okay. When you give in – and you will give in – You can rest until Ironshod gives you your orders. Though he probably won’t ask for much. Just your obedience. Your will. These things will feed the chains, and they’ll grow. They’ll grow long enough to stretch to other towns, then from those towns to other towns and cities. Until Equestria is Greyshod, and Greyshod is Equestria. That’s how this is going to play out. There’s nothing you can do. “Tell me something I don’t know,” Blueblood growled, forcing his conscience from the unbidden thoughts. No, there was no point. He already knew this. The hard, oppressive fact washed off of him, and he walked forward. So why? That one was easy. Celestia. Ironshod had no right to touch her. No right to defeat her. NO RIGHT. She’s a princess. The greatest princess. The kindest princess. At worst, Ironshod was a fool researcher with maniac ambitions. At best, he was a petty tyrant, the likes of which she might depose on a slow Tuesday. Ironshod and Celestia? It was like comparing a dust mite to a pony. AND HE HAS HER! The hate drove back the grey numbness clamoring for his soul. Celestia is eternal. Ironshod has her. Is Ironshod eternal now? A dust mite RULING a pony. It couldn’t happen. It could, but Blueblood would never accept that. He would go mad first. Maybe he was already mad. He could feel the thought dancing at the edge of his mind, needling him to consider the damning truth. It wasn’t even the chains’ magic; just a piece of reality he was desperately trying to ignore. The more he tried to ignore it, the more it invaded his thoughts. Celestia fallen. A pony ruling a princess. The despair, the hate, the swirling confusion…all these formed a maddened, screaming defense against the chains’ magic. Blueblood howled, caring not for who might hear. Walking down the Grand Hallway, the prince levitated a sword from its place on a wall. At the touch of his magic, purple sigils raced up its length. The greyness it had faded to vanished, leaving gleaming silver and a bejeweled pommel. A blade forged with magic. A relic from a once-great, now forgotten hero. It was alright to be forgotten. We all will be, one day. But not Celestia. A numbness engulfing the land? Fine. All ambition, all desire for change, robbed from its inhabitants? Fine. The ponies doomed to a grey world of meek submission? That was fine, too. Hay, that’s really not so bad. Routine. Predictability. No pony reaching beyond their station, wasting their life pining for things out of their reach. Blueblood’s life honestly might not change much. Lord Ironshod wanted to be a king. Every king needed a horde of sycophant nobles nodding at his every word. But not Celestia. Never Celestia. He floated another sword to his side, almost smiling as its blade came alight with yellow fire. Wielding two blades took intense skill. He had no skill even with one, so two probably wouldn’t hurt. His steps took him right to the throne room. Of course the damn pretender would be there. The doorway wasn’t closed. The chains even drew back as Blueblood approached, permitting him entry. Ironshod was there, perched on Celestia’s throne. One more insult. He was smiling as Blueblood approached. A simple, happy smile. He wasn’t impressive looking. Ironshod fancied himself a tyrant, but was nothing if not a functional one. The only ornament he wore was a mute brass crown. He seemed athletic, but only slightly moreso than Blueblood. Mane, body and horn were the same dull grey, almost giving him the impression of being bald. As Blueblood stepped into the room, he saw the chains. They were piled in tiny hills to each side of the red carpet, like a dragon might pile its wealth. Shifting. Clinking. Growing. There were three piles on each side, and each one had a bound pony at its top. The Elements of Harmony. Only a few specks of each were visible. A pink hoof. A spiraling purple tail. In one of them, a head was poking out. An orange mare with a blonde mane, somehow still struggling against the numbing magic. She stopped her futile wiggling and stared as Blueblood walked past her. When he caught her eye, he just gave a quiet shake of the head. Nope. No rescue, here. No hero. A rustle from above caused Blueblood to glance up. Luna, lashed to the ceiling by chains. Like vines they had climbed the arched walls and held her fast. While the Elements were buried, she was just held by the hooves and neck. Her will was waning, but not gone yet. She had barely enough energy to tilt her head and look down at him. With hope. That arrested him in his tracks. He met her gaze, somehow unable to walk past. It was too strange. The latest break in Blueblood’s reality. A princess. Looking to me with those eyes. Hoping, pleading, for ME. A princess! He didn’t quite know what to think. Not anymore. So he broke eye contact and pressed on, pushing the encounter to the back of his mind. Through all that, Ironshod waited for him. Smiling. Still not a cruel smile, but a happy one. And there she was. Princess Celestia. Held at the throne’s side by a single chain, sprouting from the ground and wrapped tight around her throat. The chain was low and taught, forcing her to kneel at her own throne. His throne. It was Ironshod’s, now. She turned her head to look at him. The movement was slow. The chain dug into her neck, and she coughed weakly. There was nothing but sadness in those eyes. No hope. A mad vindication flared in Blueblood’s heart. Old Celestia. Wise Celestia. She knew. She knew they were doomed. It would make this last part easier. Go with the flow. Play your role, and bow when the curtain falls. Just as always. “It’s fitting, I think.” The clipped, loud words snapped Blueblood’s attention back to the usurper. He blinked, needing a few seconds to comprehend them. It was strange to hear another voice, after all that happened. “A plan, no matter how brilliantly executed, is useless without the might to enforce it.” Ironshod still spoke loudly, stressing every word. Like he was talking to a crowd, rather than a lone noble. A resigned noble, with two swords in a wobbly magic grip. Ironshod drew his own blade, holding it with a brackish magic glow. The sword was unadorned, barely even having a hilt. “After all,” he continued. “If my self-enchantments are imperfect, any assassin could slay me one day. I mean to rule for eternity! Not six or sixty years, but eternity! If I am to die, let it be today so destiny taunts me no longer!” The tyrant raised his sword in a warrior’s salute. “’Fitting,’ I say again. A last duel for the fate of the kingdom.” Blueblood actually vomited a little inside his mouth. Rising through the despair, his long-entrenched cynicism reasserted itself. “You’re joking.” Ironshod smiled, humored. A very smug look was coming to his face. “Oh, but I am not. In fact, I invite you to strike me first. It does me no good to beat you if I’ll just die to the next one.” He waved his sword to the side and thrust up his nose. The left foreleg was raised as well, fully presenting his bare chest and throat to Blueblood. Adrenaline roared in the prince’s chest, drowning out everything else. ”Cut the stupid bastard down!” The flaming blade twitched happily as he swung it forwards. But the blow was pathetic. The prince aimed too low and it scraped into the ground at Ironshod’s hooves. Ironshod didn’t move. He didn’t even roll his eyes at the incompetent swing. Still magically gripping the sword’s hilt, Blueblood raised it and swung again. This time it was a horizontal blow, striking true into Ironshod’s neck. It didn’t work. Honestly, Blueblood had known it wouldn’t. A clang of metal on metal sounded as sword met flesh. Blueblood’s sword didn’t bounce back, though. It remained held onto the tyrant’s neck. Like dribbling water, the grey from his coat leaked into the blade and ran along its length. The enchanted flame guttered and died. The greyness began creeping into Blueblood’s magic, but he dropped the spell before it could get far. The sword clattered to the ground, dull and featureless. Ironshod’s smile grew, and he raised his hoof in salute. Blueblood knew that should have been the end. His curiosity sated, Ironshod had no reason to match blades. He could just have one of the chain-hills lash out, and that would have been that. Instead, Ironshod twirled his blade and began advancing. He promised a duel, and was delivering. Some twisted, tyrant’s honor bid him fight. Honor? A harsh laugh rumbled in Blueblood’s throat. Where was Ironshod’s honor when he struck the Elements from ambush? When he dared shackle the princesses? Celestia! Celestia who saved and nurtured his ancestors! Celestia who protected him in his womb, and his mother in hers! Celestia who was chained at the foot of her own throne. Ironshod’s throne. Celestia who was looking to the ground, knowing what Blueblood knew. This was the end. Tyrant’s honor? It was a lie. But it was a lie the bastard had started to believe. So no chains assailed Blueblood as he readied his last blade. The purple runes along its length flickered eagerly. He could feel its warmth. Its hope. Hope. Blueblood glanced upwards. There was Luna, still looking down at him. Her eyes full of fear and hope. Begging him to triumph, to save them all. Princesses aren’t always right. Any child would agree, knowing the legend of Nightmare Moon. But it was a bit different to see it in the flesh. It was discomfiting, to see such a wise, good creature be so wrong. The hope was wasted. Ironshod would kill him, and she was fool enough to watch. I’m sorry. Blueblood raised the sword in a high guard above his head, hiding Luna from view. He brought his gaze to ground level. Ironshod was advancing, holding his blade in a lower, fencing position. Their swords met once, then again. Blueblood’s parries were clumsy, but Ironshod fought with utmost caution. He ignored the holes in Blueblood’s guard to maintain a perfect defense. The two circled, carefully dueling. Sometimes they were over a dozen paces apart, their magic-held swords meeting in the middle. Ironshod kept smiling. He was enjoying this. The realization made Blueblood’s lips draw back in a snarl. Ironshod could kill him at any moment. Even if Blueblood somehow struck him, his magic wards would turn the offending blade to his own side. There was barely any reason for the duel, and certainly no reason to fight so cautiously. But he was ENJOYING this. Ironshod was living out his own damn fairy tale. This was the grand finale. The last champion of the old power, dueling the new lord with eternity at stake. Champion? What a joke. He was only a champion in Ironshod’s imagination. Blueblood wasn’t special. The special ones were clapped in chains around them. The distance grew yet again as the two skirmished. Ironshod just wouldn’t end it, no matter how much his opponent willed him to. Blueblood slashed one of the chain piles, roaring in frustration. He half expected the sword to fade – a fitting end to the stupidity. Instead, it severed the few chains it connected with. Woefully inadequate to free the prisoner inside, but the tiny victory made him feel a little better He set his gaze back to Ironshod. The bastard had stepped back and allowed him his temper. Behind him was the throne, and to the side- Celestia. Kneeling there, with her eyes closed. She knows what will happen. Luna, hanging above. She thinks it might end differently. Princesses aren’t always right. This was torture. Blueblood HATED this. Let it end. He wanted to die and be done with it. Be done with this farce of a duel. Be done with this farce of reality. Celestia overthrown? He didn’t want to live in a world where that was possible. Strange, but that was exactly what kept him fighting. What stopped Blueblood from falling on his own sword, or leaping at Ironshod’s. What made him parry and dodge, always careful not to step on a loose chain. Ironshod won. Celestia lost. Now and forever. But maybe that wasn’t reality. Maybe that wasn’t the way this would play out. The notion brought a tiny ember of hope. Blueblood didn’t recognize it consciously. It was instinct. His hooves and sword moved without thought. His eyes darted around, seeking advantage without him even realizing it. Deny reality. Celestia was perfect. She didn’t fail. He knew it to be so, even as the facts mocked him. There she was, chained at the neck. Her eyes closed because she knew what came next. Blueblood’s death. That was okay. Ponies failed. Ponies died. But you, Celestia? Never. The hope inside of him did not grow, but it joined the riot of emotions in his chest. The hate, despair and denial now jostled with this warm new feeling. And together, they released a jolt. A drawn line that connected what he saw and what he knew. It became an inkling, and then a thought. A plan. Blueblood swept his sword out wide, thrusting his nose to the air. True to form, Ironshod did not seize the opening. “One strike!” The prince shouted, as bold as his parched throat could muster. “The next strike ends this!” Ironshod smiled and nodded, thrusting his own blade out wide. A last trade of blows. How gallant. How fitting. Nevermind that Blueblood’s swing would mean nothing. Blueblood dashed forward. Ironshod followed suit. A few paces away, they both swung their blades in wide arcs. Both swords changed directions very suddenly. Ironshod wanted a clean kill. The blade shifted as his sweep became a stab, thrusting towards Blueblood’s unprotected side. It slid perfectly between two ribs – buried over halfway into his chest, but with only a bare trickle of blood creeping out. Blueblood’s? It didn’t even come close to Ironshod. It changed from a slash to a stab as well, shooting past the tyrant with purple runes blazing. The young prince smiled. It was over. This stupid farce was over. He felt nauseous, but there wasn’t much pain. It just felt like somepony was pinching him. He coughed and blood came out. It felt cold in here. His vision swam out of focus, but he forced it back. He had to see. It’d make no difference, but he wanted to see so badly. There. There. The forgotten hero’s sword had shot forward like a cannonball, far wide of Ironshod and his blade. It sped past them to the back of the room. It pierced the chain stretching from Celestia’s neck to the floor. There was a crack. Her head jerked back, suddenly freed. The motion sent the remaining links clattering to the ground. Princess Celestia opened her eyes. They glowed pure white, brilliant enough to fill the room. Her horn lit and vanished in its own radiance. She stood tall, blinding to look upon. Blueblood fell. It hurt bad as the sword jostled inside of him, but he barely whimpered. The pain turned to a dull ache within a few seconds. Then even that began to fade. Blood filled his mouth, so he coughed it out. It filled it again, so he coughed again. No good. The blood kept coming. It filled his mouth a third time and he let it be. The world was dimming, letting him watch without shielding his eyes. Even now, he had to squint against Celestia’s brightness. Her eyes were white. Her mane was white. She was floating in the air now, a miniature sun above her throne. Her throne. Ironshod roared, gesturing wildly with his hooves. Like an army of snakes, the chains attacked. If just one of them could connect, it would be over. The oppressive submission would return. The dull, numb defeat. They fried to ash as they drew near her. Ironshod’s chance was gone. The light grew even brighter. Celestia’s aura expanded, swallowing the pretender. He appeared a last time, fleeing the Celestia-Sun. His brush with her corona left his body breaking. Not burning like a pony should, but flaking, twisting and melting like scorched metal. His rear legs fused to the floor. Ironshod screamed as his fore legs scrambled on the smoking red carpet, trying to flee. The white aura grew again, swallowing the would-be tyrant. His reign was over. Celestia’s would go on. Blueblood smiled. It didn’t hurt at all. Celestia. Her mane and eyes returned to normal. It was still white all around her. Or maybe it was just in his head? She had given up hope. She had thought it was the end. Princesses aren’t always right. Even Celestia. Somehow, that made him love her even more. It felt good. To be… a hero? The thought would have made him frown if he still had the strength. No, not a hero. I just got lucky. Is that what it takes to be a hero? Luck? Maybe it is. Maybe I am. Maybe not. But it feels good. Whatever I am, It is, Exactly what I’m supposed to be. Celestia Lives. ---------- Luna had already gotten to work freeing the others. She was staggered with exhaustion, and the Elements were all but unconscious. But it wasn’t hard work. The chains crumpled like paper as she tore through them, not even leaving dust behind. Sustained by a strange metal magic, they were nothing at all without it. And, across the city, nothing was what they were becoming. A few of the girls were mobile enough to help. Wobbling drunkenly through the feeble chains to pull their friends free. The Night Princess took a steadying breath and looked to the entrance. The chains across the doorway fluttered in the draft, already ripped by a fast-moving force. Celestia had dashed out, speaking not a word. Hoping with all her might to find a doctor who could help. Before it was too late. On her back, balanced by her magic, a sad, bloody bundle lay. Where, weak and faint, a heart was still beating. > Epilogue A: To Leave Behind > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- When a new stained-glass window is unveiled in the palace, it’s usually an excuse for a party. Not a large party, but an informal get-together as ponies mingle. A chance for princesses to chat with their maids, nobles to compare notes with soldiers, and everypony to learn a bit more about the event depicted. Some might take the opportunity to wheedle Celestia for her own views, while others would simply admire the craftsmanship. A few saw it as a pleasant ritual. The windows often marked some crisis, and the little celebration felt like the official ‘end’ of whatever bad times lay behind. Not this time, though. The window stood in the middle of one of the great antechambers, well-lit from the stylized sunroofs above. When the glassworker lowered the velvet curtain, only two ponies looked on. Two alicorns, both with faces in tight frowns. The artisan quickly bowed and made his exit. Neither sister looked at each other. For several minutes, neither spoke. They just watched the colored glass, taking in the details. It was… nice. A blue background, different from the yellows and pinks more commonly used. The only figures on it were Blueblood in radiant white and Ironshod in grey, stabbing into each other with swords. It was simple and obvious. The tyrant fell. The sisters’ reign would go on. “So that’s it.” Luna’s words broke the silence, stern and unhappy. Celestia glanced to the side, seeing her sibling still looking at the window. “He saves us all,” she continued, bitterness tainting the words. “The country. The future. Everything. And in exchange, we give him a glass picture in the East Wing. That’s fair.” Celestia opened her mouth to say, ”It’s all we can give.” But they both already knew it, so she said nothing. Luna turned her head, looking to her older sister. She was angry. There was accusation in her eyes. “What happened, Tia? He was alive.” Celestia willed herself to look back, but her gaze quickly returned to the window. She sighed, reluctantly pulling up the memories. “The hospital was still in chaos when I got there. The chains were fading, but everypony was barely conscious. Their limbs and magic were still numb. The doctors and nurses did the best they could, but they kept fumbling the instruments, and…” “So YOU could’ve held them!” Luna snapped back. Celestia flinched backwards, ears flat. Her words tumbled out in a babble. “I, I tried, but my grip was shaky, too. It was hard to focus. You know how it was. Summoning my corona took all I had left, I couldn’t…” She shook her head violently, eyes clenched closed. A few tears flew off with the motion. Luna’s expression softened in an instant. She took Celestia’s neck in a foreleg, pulling her close for a tight embrace. “I’m sorry! I’m… sorry.” She held the grip a moment before drawing back. The hug was hasty, awkward. Now it was Luna’s turn to look away. “It just feels so wrong. I didn’t know him, but it’s wrong all the same. This is how we reward heroes? We make them part of the scenery? A year from now, not one castle bureaucrat will think twice as they brush past this.” That was the way life worked. But they both knew that too, so Celestia said nothing. She blinked out the last tears, returning unsteadily to her practiced composure. Luna approached the window, peering into it with narrowed eyes. “I like this not.” She abruptly turned about, looking back to Celestia. It wasn’t accusatory anymore, but still probing. “So why aren’t you in this scene?” “Hm?” Celestia tilted her head, frowning. “Because I’m not the subject.” “Don’t be you.” The blame was gone from Luna’s voice, but questions remained. “This isn’t how it happened.” She reached a hoof up to rap none-too-gently on Blueblood’s sword, now and forever stabbing into the glass Ironshod. “I saw it. He threw the blade and cut your bonds.” Her hoof snapped forward, rapping the glass even harder. It held firm, but might not if she did it again. “Why the lie, Tia? Why the immortalized, useless lie? Are you simplifying it for the masses? ‘Bluelood kills Ironshod,’ easier to follow than ‘Blueblood frees Celestia, who does the same?’” Luna looked to the side, seeing Celestia’s tail recede. The sun princess was walking away. Anger twisted onto Luna’s face. “TIA!” Celestia halted at the command. She turned her head back, peering through her mane. The eye was wide, and the pupil small. She looked haunted. Hunted. She wasn’t being haughty, or dismissing her sister out of hoof. Luna understood that. Tia was scared. Doubting herself. She didn’t want to answer, so she was leaving. But Luna needed an answer. “Sister-mine. Tell me.” Luna’s words were gentle, but they brooked no debate. Celestia swallowed, and gave a nervous little smile. “I think…” she trailed off, swallowed again, and went on. “I think I have quite enough stained glass windows of myself. Too many, really. I should get rid of some. Then maybe ponies will stop-“ She caught herself, falling once more into silence. She was still looking back at Luna, eyes begging for that to be ‘enough.’ It was. Luna nodded. She didn’t know what her sister was thinking, but no sense lay in pressing the issue. There would be time later. Luna cocked her head, a thought coming to her. “The Elements will be here soon. I don’t know if you know this, but Applejack was awake for the fight. She may take poorly to the falsehood.” Celestia winced at that last word, hesitating a second before offering a weak “oh.” The Sun Princess kept staring back, eyes frightened. As if waiting for dismissal. It was not a side of her Luna was used to seeing. The younger sister bit her lip, anger fading to worry. “Tia?” “Yes, Sister?” “Are you going to be okay?” Celestia looked at her for a last second before turning away. “Yes. Eventually.” Head bowed slightly, Celestia trod out of the room. ‘Okay’ would take a while. Composure would come by the time she reached her throne. It wasn’t here yet, though. Another tear fell. She breathed in, and exhaled in a sob. So wrong. So abrupt. A month ago, she thought she had time. Time to show her many-times removed nephew how wrong he was. About himself, and her, and so many things. There wasn’t time, after all. Another tear. Just one more. I wish you had listened when I said you were special. I wish you saw it. I wish I could say it again. And again, until you believed me. ‘I wish, I wish, I wish.’ They never did any good. Celestia stopped herself. Blueblood was gone. Wishing did nothing. Her composure returned, as it always did. Celestia paused her steps and breathed again. No sobbing this time. No tears. She pushed open the last door, returning once more to the throne room. Goodbye, my dear. I’ll love you forever. Thank you. > Epilogue B: Before I Go > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- A single, low pitched beep. Every second, on the second. A stable, predictable line of noise, continuing without pause into the past and future. For an eternity, that was the only thing he knew. The only constant in the world. Sometimes he could feel the pain in his side. Sometimes he couldn’t. Sometimes there was darkness all around. Sometimes there were fevered dreams of bright colors and cooing mares. He felt enough to remember he was a pony. But then he would feel and remember nothing. Sometimes there were voices. Sometimes the whole world was silent. Except for the beeping. Even when there was nothing, there was the beeping. It always had been, and always will be. One day, the eternity came to an end. He began to hear and feel again. Not dreams, but truths. His limbs ached. He was on a bed. The air was dry, and voices could be heard in the hallway. A realization struck him, his first conscious thought in weeks. If that beeping doesn’t stop *now* I am going to go insane. His eyes opened, and he squinted them immediately. Too bright. It reminded him of somepony. Right, Celestia. He had…forgotten. And his name was Blueblood. His still-muddled mind thought to grope for a snooze button. Anything to turn the beeping off. He lifted a leg, but it felt like it was made of lead. He stubbornly forced it upwards, higher above him. No good. It fell down hard across his side, slapping the dressing on his chest. Blueblood gave a parched groan. It hurt, but not as much as the damn beeping did. The noise got the attention of the ponies in the hallway. A mare leaned into his view: a very young, very pretty unicorn in nursing scrubs. Her green face was split in a wide grin. Her voice was loud, and far and away too perky. “Well, look who’s finally up!” Blueblood groaned again and closed his eyes. ---------- They turned off the beeping, and Blueblood’s world grew very quiet. He couldn’t have visitors yet. Something about germs. That was fine. He didn’t feel like talking. Instead, he listened. To hear the doctors tell it, Celestia had raced him to the hospital. Things were touch and go, but he had pulled through. That got a smile from him, his first since waking up. Celestia saved him. She saved them all. The world still made sense. He’d be laid up for another month or two. Blueblood’s lung had been pierced, but they were able to drain the blood and seal the wound. The sword had reached his heart, too. Luck alone made it hit the muscle, and not the crucial blood vessels. He’d be weak for the rest of his life. When they told him, Blueblood just shrugged. Being a noble didn’t take much strength. It was pretty easy, actually. ---------- A package came one day. He opened it with listless curiosity, not knowing or much caring what lay inside. A plate of cookies. Yay. He immediately passed them off to the too-perky nurse. It bought him a little more time alone. Beneath the plate was a small pile of colored papers. No…cards. Six of them, to be precise. Along with a photograph of six smiling mares, holding up a sign that read “Get Well Soon!” The Elements of Harmony. A smile sneaked its way onto his face, but he quickly suppressed it. They were strangers. Princess Celestia probably asked them to do this. He began pulling out the cards, but didn’t open any. Their token sympathy meant nothing. But it was a little interesting how each card was different. His bored mind tried to connect them to the right author based on what little he knew of them. One was obvious: a letter with a waxen seal, bearing the mark of the Element of Magic. There was a bright pink get-well card, decorated with a picture of three balloons. Glitter had been applied liberally to the cover, and leaking from inside the fold was…fudge? Laughter. Another easy one. Probably that pink pony doing a hoofstand in the photo. Beneath it, two stock cards. Inside would lay some printed message for the sender to sign their name to. One had kittens and puppies cuddling on the front. The other had “You’re Awesome!” emblazoned like some eight year-old’s birthday card. No real clue. Close to the bottom wasn’t a ‘card’ per se, but a folded sheet of paper. “Blueblood” was crudely written on the front, along with an awkward dirt smear running down the side. He didn’t know which, but he did know one of the Elements was a farmer. The dirt, the pen-in-mouth writing, and the lack of his title all pointed to that one. Farmer means earth pony, which means probably the orange one. Standing in the picture solid and practical, a stark contrast to the pink mare. Farmers are smart. They know what they are. The old notion passed through his mind, and he gave a blink of a smile before setting the letter to the side. Not even his magic touched the dirt. Couldn’t stand the stuff. The last one…Rarity. And now that he saw her image, he remembered. She tried to make him her road to nobility, he shut her down with guilty, gleeful pleasure. It seemed kind of silly now, with all that lay behind them. Maybe she agreed. She had sent a sealed letter clearly stamped “From the Desk of Rarity Belle.” The envelope bulged with what had to have been over a dozen pages within. Rather than a card, Rarity appeared to have sent a novella. He tossed it onto the night stand with the rest. The girls wrote them either because Celestia asked them, or to make themselves feel better. Either way, the purpose was done. The clock said 4 P.M. Good a time as any to go to sleep. ---------- The door opening woke him up. Blueblood had always been a light sleeper. 8 P.M. Not a bad pre-sleep nap. He sat up, fumbling for the lamp. “Allow me,” a motherly voice spoke. Celestia flicked the switch at the doorway, bathing the room in light. It wasn’t a big surprise. Celestia cared. Blueblood smiled and bowed his head. “I came as soon as I could.” Celestia strode into the room, smiling gently. “Today they said you could start getting visitors and packages. I see you’ve already gotten…” Her magic picked up Twilight’s letter. The smile turned to a soft frown as she turned it over, noting the intact seal. “You’re not going to read these?” “Not really, no.” Blueblood shook his head. “I can if you want me to.” Celestia gave a quick laugh, like she could scarcely believe it. “Blueblood, these are ‘get well soon’ and ‘thank you’ cards! Why don’t you want to read them?” “Your Highness, we’re strangers.” Blueblood shrugged. “I don’t need a stranger’s fake gratitude.” She tilted her head, looking to him with confusion. “’Fake’ gratitude?” Blueblood frowned at the disapproval in her voice. Celestia went on, smiling like it was a joke with a tired punchline. “Blueblood, stranger or no, is it ‘fake’ to be grateful to the one who saved their lives?” Blueblood smiled blankly. “That was you, Princess.” She reared her head back a little bit, looking at him with surprise. Then the shock faded to a quiet, resigned frown. Celestia closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. “Oh, Blueblood. Have you really learned nothing?” She opened them again and looked right at him. “Can you not even acknowledge your own triumph?” They weren’t seeing eye to eye at all. “That was your triumph, Princess. You do me too much credit, I-“ A gold-shod hoof slammed to the ground, bringing a noise like a powder bomb. The bed leapt and rattled, along with its startled occupant. In the space of a second, Celestia crossed the room and leaned down over him. Blueblood tried to shirk into the bed, but she just leaned down closer. Her pink eyes held his gaze fast, angry and sad and stern. “I don’t know why ponies do this.” Her words were fast, and laden with contained frustration. “To yourselves and to me. To waste yourself in blind faith. To embrace insignificance. I don’t want that. I lay in defeat, saved only by your own hooves. And still you cling to this, to this…” She breathed a sharp sigh and looked away, drawing back from him. “Idiocy.” Her gaze returned to him, softer and sadder, and Blueblood’s darted away. “’Princess’ this, and ‘highness’ that. What happened to ‘Aunt Celly?’ What’s wrong with that?” “Because, because…” Blueblood’s eyes remained on the wall. “Because it’s not right. Compared to you, the rest of us are…well, dead. Not this time, but soon enough. Whatever I did, you would have eventually triumphed anyway. Another pony would have helped, or you would have broken out with your own power. Because you’re Princess Celestia. You’re not a pony, you’re forever. You’ll always be, and the rest of us won’t. Blink, and I’m gone. And that’s okay, because ponies die. But not you. You’ll still be here. You're the important one.” Celestia looked at him carefully for a moment. Slowly, a fragile, tender smile came to her face. “Forever.” She said the word, and settled a forehoof very softly on his own. “I don’t want a religion, Blueblood. It would be misplaced. I don’t live in forever.” Her own death was not a subject she discussed often. Celestia took a steadying breath and went on. “I can die, you know. By magic or force. Each time disaster loomed, it was not some divine will or great destiny that saved me. It was my subjects. It was you.” “I draw power from the Sun, nephew. All power runs out eventually. All suns fade away. Even if no violence claims me, a billion years will pass…and I’ll be dust.” “That’s still a long time,” Blueblood noted. “To you, yes.” Celestia’s soft smile went on. “To the universe? Not even the time it takes to draw a breath. One day, someone will blink. And I’ll be dead when their eyes open.” Blueblood tried to form a response, but she went on before he could. Celestia touched his chin, tilting his head to look at her. “But I’m not dead now. No more than you are, and you are not. We are alive. One day we won’t be, and that’s okay. But today we are. Today we have potential – to grow, to change, to wonder, to love. And that’s why I…” She tapped her chest, then passed a hoof gently over his bandaged side. “And you…” The hoof returned to its place on the ground. “And all the rest of us are special. Are ‘worth it.’ Are all going our own way, doing the best we know how.” “So do the best you know how. Enjoy life. Seek happiness. If that means changing nothing, that’s fine. If it means changing everything, that’s fine too.” She took a step back, away from the bedside. The last words came in a whisper. “Whatever you choose to do, I want you to value your life as much as I do.” ---------- That was it. Celestia waited a few minutes for a response, but none came. She sighed, patted his hoof a last time, and made her exit. Blueblood did exchange a last, tiny smile with her before she left. He sighed and settled back as the door closed, eyes on the ceiling. The world didn’t make sense, after all. Celestia will die. A deep breath in. A long breath out. She was lying. She wanted to make me feel special, so she made up that story about the sun going out. She’s forever. The words passed through his mind, utterly without conviction. Nothing but a fantasy asking to be duct-taped over reality. No, the belief was gone. The world was complicated. He hated ‘complicated.’ ”Seek happiness.” That’s what she said. I’ve been content. Is that enough? It wasn’t. He frowned. Contentment came from knowing his place. From knowing he might as well be content with what he has. Like a farmer. A farmer’s content to be a farmer. No need to be anything else. Except an Element of Harmony. Another sigh. He really didn’t like this. Happiness. Enjoyment. Would it come from a life of idle nobility? Probably not. He’d always… just sort of gone with the flow. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t enjoyable. To go to those boring garden parties and spend his life tutting along with the others about fashion and lineage… no. He could be content with that. He couldn’t be happy. And he sort of wanted to be… useful. The thought sat well with him. Useful like Celestia. Using her… limited.… Yes, ‘limited.’ Using her limited time to help others. What, though? Pursue science? Spellcasting? No, neither interested him. Become a bureaucrat? Feh. Spending his life writing unread reports didn’t seem like a road to happiness. Travel? No, he never liked to travel. He liked things predictable. He liked to be settled. His eyes drifted to the side, where the unread cards lay. There was Rarity’s overfilled envelope. A strand of purple hair had been caught in the seal when she closed it. Look for love? He actually snorted at that one. No, love isn’t something you go looking for. I think. Never really learned about it. The pink card lay next to it. A few crumbs of fudge had fallen out onto the nightstand. Blueblood lit his horn and hastily brushed the mess into the garbage. Cook? Nothing really wrong with it, except for a lack of interest. To the side of that one, the folded, dirt-stained letter. Farm? “Pfft.” It was funny even thinking about it. Settled. Useful. Blueblood forced the smile from his face. It was stupid. A fop urban noble who was scared of dirt. And crippled to boot. What a stupid idea. Stupid. The smile returned. He forced it down again, but it came right back. Just ‘Blueblood’ written on the front. No ‘Prince.’ And that smear on the side. Probably from her hoof, when she folded it. He reached over and – very gingerly – tapped the smudge. It wasn’t so bad. Though he did wipe his hoof off on the bedsheet. Settled. Useful. Don’t have to talk a lot. Don’t have to pretend to enjoy champagne or fashion shows. The smile grew. He tapped the smear again, actually letting out a giggle. Stupid. What a stupid idea. He tried to force the smile down again, but this time couldn’t even finish. A third tap on the dirt smear. This time he pressed his hoof down a little bit. Not so bad. He could get used to it. Blueblood glanced to the clock and groaned. 10 o’clock and he wasn’t even tired. At least he could pass the time. With a soft glow of his horn, Blueblood levitated Twilight’s letter over to his side. He slit the seal neatly with his magic, removed the paper, and began to read.