> Guardians of Harmony
>  by BunkerBuster
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Loyalty
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



Do not let loyalty and faithfulness forsake you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart.
-Proverbs 3:3



It was that feeling of a cold wind, the strange shiver that shot up and down the spine despite a thick cloak and warm fire, that made nights on the front line the worst. Even during the hundred degree days, the wind was ice on the fur. Clouds or not, the landscape was dark and shadowed. At night, it was the blackest cave even with a full moon beaming light. The fires from the camp shed little light, barely enough to see the pony in front of you. Cold, darkness, death. That was all the Griffon Lands held for him.
Or, perhaps, that was just in his mind.
Sleipnir, General of the Army, was pacing about during another sleepless night, wondering if perhaps he should even bother trying to sleep anymore. The fires of the camp burned through the night, too many soldiers having the same trouble he had for the past year. Those still awake snapped barely-passable salutes, eyes drooping. He nodded in greeting. He knew every name by now. Five years of war will do that to anypony. 
It was war nopony wanted, and he was given the worst seat for the show: front row. No, he knew exactly why the Council had appointed him: he was the only ranking general to truly see combat. The only one who had fought on the front lines with the rest of his stallions. It was something he forced himself to do; if the weakest grunt had to live in the trenches, why shouldn't he? It worked wonders for morale.
Morale that had long-since vanished. 
He spotted his tent off in the distance, a great red banner bearing the crossed wing-and-horn of the Republic. He spat at that thought. A Republic whose government was too busy arguing to make any move. His army waited at the very edge of the Griffon Lands, an arrow's flight away from Stormbringer, with their collective hooves rammed firmly in their plots while the politicians bickered. Even the Consuls couldn't do anything. It was absolutely-
"General!" a low-ranked soldier trotted up to him, saluting wearily. "The messenger has arrived."
Sleipnir tensed. He had sent word for supplies and reinforcements weeks ago. Only now the almighty politicians decided to respond? At least it was better than silence. "Speak," he thought for a moment; bright blonde mane, silver coat. "Golden Thrust."
Golden Thrust smiled weakly before quickly dashing the expression away. With what energy remained, he stood at attention. "My lord General," he spoke as if he was the Consul himself. "We regret to inform you that our resources are too scarce to resupply and reinforce your position. We will, however, send what we can with due haste." The soldier relaxed again, looking rather dejectedly at his commander.
Sleipnir released a deep sigh. Even after preparing for the obvious answer, hearing it was something entirely different. "I see. Allow the messenger to rest in one of the guest tents. Send him off in the morning. Dismissed." He turned back to his tent without another word as the soldier galloped away to his duties. The wind blew harder, causing the general to bring his long cloak tighter about his body. It was always so windy. Entering the tent brought little heat to his bones, despite the roaring fire. Beside the fire sat a sturdy stallion with a wispy white mane and a vibrant blue-green coat, his own cloak barely covering his form. The general huddled to the fire, smelling a sweet, delicate smell wafting up. Cervidaean rosegrass. A special treat he purchased too long ago.
"Insomnia?" The other stallion asked.
Sleipnir just shook his head. "I forgot when I last slept, my friend. Sometime last year, I think. And you?" His companion sighed, never looking away from the fire or the slowly roasting rosegrass. "The life of a soldier, Emerald."
Emerald took a deep sniff of the air, allowing a slight smile. "I much prefer the life of a general, Mist. You get special treats." He plucked one of the stems from the fire, offering it to his friend. He left his own on the fire just a moment longer before munching on the vaguely burnt leaves. "It's been a long time since Cervidae. Seventeen years? Nineteen? I forget. This war has gone on far too long."
The gentle crunching of the treat was all that filled the room, save the crackling of a barely-warm fire. Sleipnir looked around the sparse lodging he had: a simple cot, a desk with ink and quill and parchment, a fire pit, and a chest in the corner for his armor and sword. It was the lodging of a soldier ready to move, ready to go to war. These had never even twitched in five years. "Stormbringer sends his griffons in waves to mock us. We cannot move without orders. Our illustrious leaders cannot give orders without consensus," he scoffed. "I hear too often about when the Consuls had power. The Republic is barely a century old and already they speak of 'good-ole-days.'"
"They had power when we were in Cervidae."
"It was the Union back then. We fought on a united front with allies on all sides. Alcesians and Cervidaeans were a single people. Now they bicker and fight like-"
"The Republic?" Emerald offered, chuckling quietly.
Sleipnir allowed the slimmest of smiles, the muscles aching from such a workout, as he glanced over. "Like the Republic." He looked back to the fire. The flames danced in to a music only it could hear. "I miss Cervidae."
Emerald laughed heartily at that comment. "You miss the mares! What was her name? Emalind? Rosalind? Something like that anyway. You miss being Commander Misty Sky, the Maverick, the Savior, the Lover." He waggled his eyebrows, earning a punch in the shoulder. "Hey, they loved us earth ponies."
He couldn't deny it though. It was different before he was a general, before he was Sleipnir the Pale. Back when his loyalty to the Republic was all that mattered. Now though, there was barely a Republic to be loyal to. Corruption and greed held it back. How could he be loyal to that? It hardly mattered though. He would fight for his Republic, even if it had passed so long ago. A biting wind blew into the tent, ruffling their cloaks and jostling the fire, stirring him from his thoughts. 
"Perhaps the time has come to take matters into our own hooves," he said idly. Looking up to Emerald, he could see the little glint in his pale blue eyes, the glint that was nothing if not mischievous. "Would you follow me if I did something truly foolish?" His friend rolled his eyes. "If it meant disobeying the Republic?"
"Please," Emerald snorted. "when was the last time I ever said no to one of your schemes? They put you in charge for a reason, right?"
Sleipnir nodded slowly, the gears turning in his head. It was an insane idea, disobeying the Council, but staying to die in their forsaken camp was far more insane. "Well then, Commander, ready your stallions. Tomorrow night, we gallop to war." He locked eyes with a pumped Emerald. "It's time to show Stormbringer what ponies can do."

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The sun rose high into the sky before the attack hit. A wave of griffons crashed into the defenses of the camp, the spiked barriers impaling most of the first group. Those right behind were brought down, screeching, by the line of mages launching spells into the air. They didn't even have to aim: the griffons filled the air like so many gnats. Sleipnir watched from the higher hill that his tent was pitched on, flanked by Emerald and the unicorn mare Billow. Emerald, like his leader, wore the traditional officer uniform of golden plate across his chest and back, a long brown cloak resting over him. Billow had decided not to wear her magician robes saying something about stark white being too obvious on a battlefield. Sleipnir had long since forgone wearing the general's red cloak and crested helm, opting for a simple red hood. It protected little, but it didn't make him a target either.
"I told you so," Billow gloated, a self-satisfied smile firmly place on her muzzle.
"Probably a griffon spy," Emerald mumbled quietly, poking at his much lighter coin purse. 
Sleipnir watched kept his eye on the battle- massacre- against the griffon raiders. "And I remember a rule against gambling. Or was I the only one who payed attention in training?"
"I just copied off you anyway," Emerald replied, shooting a look at the mare who earned his ire. "It was her idea."
Billow just shrugged. Her mages had been placed right behind the defenses on a hunch; she thought the griffons would try a midday attack since the morning ones had so often failed. The griffons had magic too, but nothing like the power of a full century of unicorns. "It was a hunch. Misty knows all about my hunches."
The battle was dying down. Fewer griffons made for the camp, instead circling just outside the range of the spellcasters. The general half considered setting up the longbows for his archers to remove a few more of the pests, but they would be gone by the time the archers were ready. He began the slow walk to the battlefield closely followed by his two officers. 
"Your hunch was right yet again, Billow. If I hadn't known you for so long, I might think you were a griffon spy." He looked over to Emerald. "But we can't have him be right." The pony in question huffed to himself.
"Ah yes, I was assigned to you right after you refused to the Consulship. I still remember the Council's reactions."
"They seemed so upset that I didn't want to rule."
Billow chuckled. "They were upset because you told them where they could stick the position."
"Same thing."
The mages' spellslinging had stopped, watching the circling enemies closely for openings. It was impressive how the physically weaker unicorns could pack such a wallop in battle. He'd still bet on his earth pony veterans any day though.
"Sir," a earth pony snapped to attention as the trio passed.
Sleipnir stopped. "Ferrous Spear, how fare the defenses?" Ferrous Spear was an adequate soldier but a better magistrate. Leaving him in charge of supply and construction had been one of the general's better decisions.
"The buzzards haven't made a dent in the walls, my lord General," he said proudly. "And only one mage was injured in their attack. She is being healed as we speak."
The general nodded. Successful as usual. It was almost as if the griffons were running out of warriors worth using. But he knew better. Stormbringer was just biding his time. "What of the rest of the stallions? How go the preparations?"
"They shall be ready within the hour." The soldier's resolute look cracked, if only for a moment, long enough for his commander to catch. At a curious look, he relented. "There's a rumor running through the camp, sir. They worry about what the Republic will do when they find out we're breaking for Wyrmscrag."
Sleipnir placed a hoof on Ferrous' shoulder. "Any punishment will be mine. I will not let the Council harm any of my stallions. Tell the gossips that." After a salute and barely-hidden grin, he left the soldier to his duties. The mages ahead had started to disperse, only a couple remaining to watch for any more movement. The griffons still circled.
Another wind blew harshly over their hillside, rustling what few trees survived in the stony earth. In the sky, clouds gathered. A shadow descended over the camp, muffling what little noise there had already been. The wind bit savagely into the general's hide despite the padded armor, even tossing the hood back over his withers. His dull grey mane tossed about as well in the wind. Emerald even huddled ever so slightly closer to his friend and leader. There was a soft glow in Billow's horn as well. Something ached, an old wound perhaps.
Though, again, this could all be his imagination.
A loud call echoed over through the air. With it, the griffon raiders that had been circling like vultures fled back towards the far mountains. The clap of thunder rolled from a storm cloud in the distance.
"Ready yourselves," Sleipnir gruffly spoke. "We leave in two hours."

It wasn't the sudden storm that made the march terrible, nor was it the fear of ambush by the craven buzzards. It was the tight passes and low valleys of the Griffon Lands. Without the rain, seeing from one hilltop to another was simple. A scout could even spy on the Wyrmcrags from miles away. In the rain, the same scout could barely seen his hooves. Weather in the south was worse the farther you went. From the lush Republican forests to windy, wet hills to snow-covered mountains to arid desert. No pony explorer ventured past the mountains of the griffon tribes, not that any had wanted to, even if they could weather the storms.
Sleipnir brought up the very front of the march, as he always had. Emerald- and even Billow and a few other officers- offered to take his place, but the general refused to allow it. A good general leads from the front.Does a good general also die and leave his stallions shattered? he had been asked once. He cast a glance behind at the column steadily following. A beige pegasus, whose face was hidden behind wings, towing supplies was all he could see. He trudged forward, the cool steel of his prized blade bumped against his hip waiting to be drawn in battle. The name his army called it flashed into his mind, bringing a sour smile. His Other Four Legs was a bit too long for a name. 
It had been a long nine hour march. Even in the darkness of the storm, it was easy to tell just how much the daylight waned. They could not continue marching forever, but the bottom of a valley was hardly the place to make camp. A prodding at his hip brought garnered his attention. It was the captain of his scouts, Whispering Night.
The black-coated stallion looked as dour as ever. "To the east. There is a copse atop a large hill. It will do for the night, my lord General."
"Go speak with the other officers. Let them know where we are going." As silently as he had appeared, Whisper was gone. In an arching curve, Sleipnir turned his men toward the east, hoping to hit the copse sooner rather than later. 
The wind had slowed during the march, the rain had not. It was of little solace that the water was fit to drop on their heads rather than down their throats. Despite the screen of water, the general thought he could see the distant mountains of the Wyrmscrag looming over them in taunting arrogance. The valley steadily rose through the air then back down again into the muddy ground. Each dip was becoming more like a river than the last. the pegasus soldier slipped down the last bit of hillside and into his leader with a soft apology. Neither of them thought much of it. It was surprising enough that none had gone missing in the tumult. Somewhere from the column, somepony was singing a hearty marching tune, voice straining to get over the pounding of the rain. Whatever kept their hooves moving. It was a recognizable as something the old veterans once sang on campaign those years ago. He couldn't remember all the words though, and the singer's voice couldn't beat the rain.
In front of him, Sleipnir noticed shadows looming over the hill. As they drew closer, he could tell they were trees. With a burst of energy he didn't know he had, the general had bounded into the partial cover offered by the woods. Not even a moment later, the pegasus and remainder of the column burst through with happy cheers. Sometimes, it was the little things that mattered.

The fires that night were warm. Not just the kind of warm that keeps away cold, but the warmth that brings happiness and light despite any sorrow outside the fire's light. It was a revelry made unique after five years at war. The massive legion was not huddled around separate campfires, small groups huddled together, as they had been for so long. No, this was a single fire in amidst the thick tree cover that blocked the rain from coming down. The storm would keep the griffons away, that was certain. In the morning, the legion would begin marching towards them once again, renewed. 
Sleipnir, the stalwart general, however, was not enjoying himself nearly as fully as the rest. He stood outside the group, watching calmly, stoically almost, as the stallions he lead were back to their old selves. For him, it was a somber moment. His company did not see it as such.
"And why aren't you in there?" Billow asked.
"I am enjoying this moment in my own way."
"Misty wants to be all Mister Serious tonight. As usual," Emerald added, a mug filled with some sort of concoction he had created in his hooves. There was a redness to his cheeks, and he seemed to find sitting still difficult.
"I'm not being 'Mister Serious,'" the general replied sternly. "I just don't enjoy partying."
His unicorn companion cocked an eyebrow. Slowly, a knowing smile crossed her features and she gave him a bump on the shoulder. "Remembering an act of dalliance you regretted, eh?" she teased. "Perhaps sometime, oh, maybe twenty years ago with a mare twice your size and half your intelligence?"
Sleipnir scowled at her, but he couldn't bring the venom to his eyes. "The mares of Cervidae are not stupid." He paused, looking back at the celebrating soldiers. "And she was only one and a half times my size."
"They grow 'em big out there," Emerald chimed in, rather annoyed he was getting left out by his best friend and... the unicorn. 
They didn't talk for a moment, allowing their ears to be filled with the happy chatter of the others whose minds were more on tall tales of their exploits and laughing it up with the unicorn mares. According to a good half of them, it was quite easy to defeat a griffon bare-hooved and unarmored during a lightning storm. The others told half-remembered naughty limericks they had heard one time in the capitol from some Crystal Empire trader. 
"How many do you think will return home?" the general finally asked upon overhearing one of his stallions mention a large family.
The question sobered up Emerald. He looked to his friend, the cocky grin he so commonly had gone. "Not enough." He looked down into the mug before swigging the last of his concoction.
"We're walking right into them. The griffons will have every advantage. Surviving, let alone winning..." Billow trailed off, quietly mumbling something to herself.
"It'll be a massacre," Sleipnir finished for her. "And I am going to take them to it."
"There is one thing those buzzards won't have," Emerald chuckled.
"What's that?"
"You."
Sleipnir, for the second time in a long time, smiled. "Cheesy little shit."
The stallion slapped him across the back, probably harder than he intended. "That's what you keep me around for, iddnit? Now come on, I think one of those mages is making eyes at me." He trotted into the crowd and was swallowed up by it.
The general didn't move any closer to the party. They all looked so happy and care-free. They must know what danger they are walking into! Or was there something that kept the dark thoughts at bay? Did his army truly have that must trust in him? There was a pressure on his side and a sweet smelling mane tickling his chin.
"You think too much, you know that?"
"Part of the job. I have to remain alert. Always thinking about the next move."
Billow nuzzled his neck, sending a jolt up his spine. Unicorns... "Always so serious. I've known you for a decade, and I've only seen you smile, truly smile, four times." Her horn glowed softly, accented all the more by the roaring campfire that seemed more distant than ever. "You can't take your mind off the job for one minute." Another jolt of electricity. "One night."
Sleipnir was a stallion of iron will. He knew his limitations and how far those limits could be pushed. For some reason though, something about unicorns... "Perhaps one night of rest. Only one." He started walking towards a corner of the copse untouched by the light of the fire. An area that allowed just to tiniest glimpse at the moon up high through the canopy. Beside him, tails intertwined, was Billow. 
"Rest is the last thing on my mind."

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Four days of forced march through the hills had barely diminished the morale of The Pale Legion. Four hours of sleep for three nights hadn't even made a single soldier grumpy. Slim rations hadn't made a single stomach rumble. Stone looks of determination were carved into the faces of every one of the stallions and even in the faces of the mages. Finally, after five years, they were taking the war to Stormbringer. For all four days, not a feather was seen of the griffons. The only tell was the sharp calls and ticking of claws against stone as the army drew closer to their home base. They were being watched very closely. 
The general halted the march. Rising above the craggy hills and sparse, spiny trees were the Wyrmscrag mountains. Their peaks were covered in snow and piercing the clouds. At their feet were the deep valleys that had once been dangerous trading routes to the Dragons. In their recesses dwelt the scattered fledgling tribes of griffons, fearful and unused to war. Only those peaks remained the same. 
"Spitting distance," he said quietly, snarling despite himself. It was a feeling both of anger and joy that filled him. The thought of finally being able to put a stop to the Storm's Talon once and for all. No more united griffons killing innocents. No more watching his stallions die from the deep gashes razor talons raked. Stormbringer would die by his hoof. And he was only an arrow's flight away.
"Griffons!" the call rose up from within the ranks, ponies sending their supplies to he ground and grabbing whatever weapon they found first. In the air, not to far away, a mass of wings and feathers was making its way towards them at breakneck speeds. Finally, the war was back on.
"Mages, hold them back! Archers, set-up the bows! Aim high! Lancers, pike square!" The general rattled off ordered into the chaos. Of course, he didn't need too. This was The Pale Legion, his legion. Everypony knew exactly what to do. He stepped into the center of the forming square of spears. While this tactic was designed for defense against charges, tightening the square and turning the last few rows of spears inward made it excellent against aerial attacks as well.
But the charge of griffons never came. Instead, they formed a line just outside arrow range. Sleipnir tried looking through the spear but to no avail. He stepped out of the square. Something was truly different about the griffon army. They always operated in raids, unorganized groups trying their weight into the target. They had destroyed three legions that way. These were organized, which meant they were dangerous. And there was one other thing that made them different than the normal griffon raider.
Armor.
A massive griffon decked out in black and gold came out of the army, head held high above his soldiers in a regal way. He didn't even have to introduce himself. Otto Stormbringer. "You have come! I have been waiting for a long time to meet you, general." He swung a claw out over this army. "We were getting rather bored. Entertainment is in such short supply." The army laughed a sharp, cawing laugh. "How did you like the Razorbeak clan? You know, their chief is not happy that you killed so many of his griffons."
Sleipnir ground his teeth together. It was Stormbringer, without a question. He spat his reformation orders to his troops while the griffon leader spoke. The legion moved into normal battle formation: lancers in front, archer right behind, mages in the rear, pegasus outriders on the wings. Emerald dashed up to join his commander.
"Billow has the mages ready. Whatever she's planning, I wouldn't want to be in its way."
"Good. I want to take him out quickly. Whatever it is, aim it at Stormbringer." Emerald snapped a salute and disappeared back into the legion. The soldiers were shuffling nervously.
"I thought it was time though, general, for you to meet my pride: the Lightningtalon clan, my clan." The griffon army whooped and cheered. "It was only fair. After all, you should know who it is who will gut you."
Now it was Sleipnir's turn. With a wicked look, he knew only one thing he had to say. "Fire."
It was silent, eerily silent, when the giant ball of glowing death fell from the sky. Even after it had hit, there was no noise. It was as if the entire world had been muted in awe of the magical power they held. Suddenly it was impossibly bright on the other side of the field. A miniature sun had fallen on the enemy. The clouds seemed to flow into the magical attack, as if it were a funnel. When it finally exploded, all the sound and light came rushing back in an instant. The general covered his eyes but didn't cower from the blast, letting the heat wash over him.
However, Stormbringer still stood on the other side of the battlefield, warhammer held high above his head. Around him, his griffons, singed though alive, howled at their enemy. Even though the distance was great, Sleipnir thought he could see the rage in the griffon leader's eagle eyes. Otto thrust his hammer forward and let out a piercing cry. The griffon army charged.
"It's never that easy." Sleipnir drew his blade, the silver metal reflecting some unseen light. His truest friend. "Lancers, charge!" There was barely a moment's hesitation before all around him, the gallop of heavy hooves made the earth tremble. The sky filled with arrows and magic blasts. The pegasus outriders could be seen zipping through the air, sparks of lightning dancing around their bodies.
It was day one.

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"Come one then! Don't hold back!" Emerald was a sight behold, weaving through the bolts of lightning sent out by the griffon soldiers. His dancing was as beautiful as it was deadly. The four griffons never stood a chance. He closed, still avoided their attacks like a leaf on the wind. When he was close enough, there was a flash. One of the griffons had a spear through its chest. 
The others backed away, still zapping their lightning whenever they could. It was obvious just how tired they were. Even the unicorns' magic was beginning to wane. No matter how strong the griffons were, they could never beat the magic of a unicorn. Or the dance of Emerald. Another flash, another dead griffon. The two remaining didn't waste time with more bolts. Moving as quickly as their magic, they dove at their prey, talons extended like blades. It was deadly, efficient, impossible to dodge.
Two flashes of steel, two dead griffons.
Emerald was panting lightly at the exertion. Even with all his training and ability, the years were beginning to weigh him down. There was a time something like that wouldn't have even made him sweat. Now he felt winded after ten hours. Getting old was never fun. He looked around the battlefield at the littered bodies of both pony and griffon. Nearby, a young pegasus lay, his body mostly burnt black by griffon lightning. Only his cutie mark could be seen: a winged lance. War Glider. He was only nineteen.
He looked away, knowing that the time for mourning the dead would be later. Around him, the battle raged on as it had. Slowly, very slowly, the griffons were gaining the upper hand. How long could they keep fighting? A pony lancer dodged away from a talon sweep before jamming his spear into the griffon's heart. Three pegasi dive-bombed a battered griffon warrior, jamming him into the ground. A fireball flew in a wide arc over the field before finding its mark somewhere near Stormbringer. The scream from a magical death was always the worst.
The captain shook his head clear of those sounds and images. His mind had to be on the battle. Though he couldn't help but wonder, as he raced to rally a group of weary soldiers, if the messenger would get to the Republic in time. Or if the Republic would even send aid for a defiant legion.
It was day four.

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After days of near constant warfare, even the strongest magic user tires. Despite her power, Billow could feel her magic control ebb and flow, slowly dwindling to nothing. Around her, her fellow unicorns panted heavily, sweat dripping off their bodies despite the cool air of the hills. One was collapsed on the ground, her crying subdued as the magic in her horn fizzled and spat. It couldn't be long before every magic user was the same way. Billow steeled herself. There was no way she would let the griffons win this. Razor winds cut and tore at a group of the creatures circling a cadre of wounded soldiers.
She had to smile at that. Even when they are broken and bleeding, the ponies fight on. Stupid earth ponies.
"Captain!" a mare to behind her called out. She was crouched over her comrade who was still crying in pain. "we can't continue this. We'll all burn out!" Fear edged its way into her voice. Fear that was all too understandable.
"You have to keep trying. Without us, they'll die out there," Billow calmly replied. As if to punctuate that, a crack of thunder grabbed their attention. A massive griffon carrying a war hammer crackled with lightning; before him, the bodies of burnt, writhing ponies barely holding on, some not at all. She looked back at the terrified mare. "We must."
The mare didn't move for awhile, but, in the end, she nodded her assent. The look of determination was forced, but it was enough. 
Billow once again focused on the battle. Magic lashed out at any foolish griffon that came close. A dozen died, twisted into grizzly shapes or sliced clean through. One almost got close. There was nothing clean or decent about war though. For a mage so used to life in the capitol or at the magic academies- most of those in her charge- this was something completely new.
There was an old saying about why so few mages chose the path of War.
Focus was already slipping. Spells that had been so easy the day before became difficult and labored. Magic reserves were running low, perhaps even gone. They were all running on fumes now. Another mare dropped down in a yelp of pain, her face twisted in agony as her horn sparked and cracked on its own. Magic exhaustion was never easy.
Misty, end this soon. Please.
It was day seven.

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A break. After ten days of fighting, finally the armies broke apart. Pegasi barely hovered in the air, their wings as heavy as stone. Unicorns were carried on the backs of what few uninjured earth soldiers there were, some crying, some screaming, the lucky unconscious from pain. The griffons fared no better: most barely flew. Those that did hugged the ground, paws hanging like dead weight. From either side, their respective generals held long, tired stares, as if daring the other to pull back or surrender. Neither moved until nightfall was long past.
Sleipnir limped to a bedroll, favoring his left side. A particularly sneaky griffon had managed to cut a new scar for him. It felt like Hearth's Warming joy. He laid himself down gingerly on the thin cloth. Around him, he saw those who were far worse off. A soldier, Titan Grip, was bandaged around his middle, breathing quick, shallow breaths. A pegasi, Blue Streak, far from the fire was holding back his tears as a medic cleaned the gore from where one of his wings used to be. Another soldier, Destrier, glared daggers at flames, not looking at the covered body lying beside him.
Not even an eighth of his force was killed, but nearly all were injured. It had been a long time since he'd seen total war. If it never happened again, it would be too soon. The closest fire was dwindling, nopony seeming too inclined to stoke the embers, so he got up and poked at it himself. The soldiers look up in a daze. Their eyes barely gleamed in the firelight and the bags below were all too visible. Still they offered smiles of gratitude. Each was a knife in the general's heart.
When he got back to his bedroll, he found it no longer empty. Atop it was a dull maroon unicorn mare. "Billow, is there a reason you can't use your own bedroll?" he asked, too tired to deal with much.
She lazily opened an eye, adjusting her head to see him. "It's cold," was the response. She closed her eye again.
Sleipnir rolled his own eyes before settling down beside her. The flimsy cloth bedding was not built for two. Luckily, he kept his injured side opposite her. Sleep was washing over him steadily, like a rolling tide, when a horn-bearing head nestled itself under his chin.
"Much warmer."
"You know, this isn't sending a good message to the troops," Sleipnir groaned.
"Don't care." Billow nuzzled against him. It was actually warmer next to her.
It wasn't worth the fight, so he just shook his head and laid it down over her withers. Her soft coat was matted with blood and dirt, yet it was more comfortable than anything. Like a stone dropped from the sky, he drifted off to sleep.
More literally, a pegasus messenger crashed into camp, taking down three medical tents and eight soldiers. The general and his captain were on their hooves in seconds.
"G-general Sleipnir," the pegasus croaked out, extricating himself from the tattered cloth and pile of groaning warriors. How he was uninjured... "I bring word from the Council." He retrieved a scroll from within a cloth bag draped over his neck. Unfurling the scroll, he read: "Legate Misty Sky, despite your actions to undermine the Republic's authority, We are fully prepared to assist in your undertaking. Two legions are to be placed under your direct command and shall arrive approximately one week from today. We wish you luck, Legate." He finished the letter, replacing it in the bag.
Sleipnir was at a loss for words. The Republic was sending fresh troops. If he could hold for one week- one week!- they could finally drive back the griffons to their mountains. The war was almost over; he could taste it in the wind. Beside him, his unicorn companion leaned heavily into his side, almost as if comforting him. That's when he felt the wetness brimming his eyes. The general chuckled quietly. "Thank you, messenger. Your news could not have come at a better time." Turning to the stallions who had crowded around to see the newcomer, he spoke. "The Republic is sending reinforcements in one week's time! We shall drive the griffons back to their mountains, limping and dead! Let us destroy the griffon army before the legions arrive and show them the might of the Pale Legion! For the Republic!"
His speech was met with a mighty cheer from all around camp. Even the more injured soldiers elated. For the first time in five years, there was hope in the end of the war. 

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The week passed slowly. The two armies came back together and clashed, spells flying and weapons singing. Blood, sweat, and tears were all shed equally, but still neither army refused to back down. Even as another grievous wound was inflicted on his body, Sleipnir did not turn back nor hide away behind the lines. Beside him, his stallions fought hoof and wing against a larger foe. Even when he tried to pull them back, not one fell behind. 
Battle after battle was fought, leaving both sides barely standing at sunrise of the next day. Emerald joined his commander at the front, using his lightning-fast spears in tandem with Sleipnir's own sword strikes. Beside them both, Billow repulsed any foolish enough to try to come from the sky. Along the pony battle line, the warriors cheered in the fight. There was a fire in their bellies no enemy could quench. 
When the reinforcements came, it was not a meeting of equal legions, but of warriors and soldiers. The new arrivals looked at the grim warriors of the Pale Legion and saw war. The Pale Legion saw greenhorns who couldn't survive a day. War was the finest crucible. And so it was with great surprise when Sleipnir met the one who led them to him.
"Ah, Legate Misty Sky, we meet again," the cool voice of Belle called to him, her breath fogging in the early morning air.
"Councillor Belle, how pleasant it is to see you again," he replied nonplussed. Recovering, he added, "I mean no disrespect, but why are you here? Shouldn't you be in the capitol?"
She scoffed, ruffling her wings slightly. She was never good at hiding her emotions. The irony was not lost on anypony who met her. "I expect more gratitude from you, Legate. It was my order to bring you these troops." The soldiers flanking her shifted uncomfortably. "And after your... faux pas when you turned down the Consulship, I might even demand it."
At his side, Sleipnir felt both Emerald and Billow draw closer to him. The weeks of constant fighting were not wearing well. He cleared his throat. "Yes, Councillor. I did not mean to offend. The constant battle has worn me- and my soldiers- rather thin." So much so, it was with great difficulty that he kept a growl from his voice. 
Belle relaxed and nodded solemnly. "Then you would do well to address me properly: it is Dictator Belle, Legate." When she saw the muted looks of surprised from both the general and his companions, she smiled. "As I said, it was my order to bring these legions to you."
Sleipnir might not have been able to keep from being shocked, but he wasn't going to let her get the upper hoof. No matter how honest the politician, they would still take every advantage. "I apologize again, milady. I had not heard."
"I didn't expect you to. Now then, we are in the middle of a war, yes? It is time to dispense with talk." She strode right past him, escorted by two large unicorn stallions both in the gold and black armor of Council Guards. They headed straight for the command tent, the only tent still standing after a week of battle. The general, along with both his captains, followed closely behind under the watchful eyes of three legions.

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All it took was that final push of the Pale Legion and its reinforcements to send the griffons back to their mountains. Sleipnir led the charge of his stallions against the final defense of the griffon army as they retreated. Stormbringer met the pony general on the battlefield, war hammer held high and lightning zapping from the weapon. They met in a clash of steel and magic as the griffon drove the hammer down at his target. Sleipnir didn't wait for it to get close. The hammer came down on the stony hillside while the pony's blade was set tightly against the griffon's neck.
"It's over," Sleipnir growled into his enemy's ear. Stormbringer released his hammer and forfeited himself to fate. It was only when the cold steel of the blade retracted that he spoke.
"And yet you do not kill me."
"It is done. You have lost."
"Then end it properly."
"No," the general replied. "You will go back to your mountains and never come north again." Sleipnir came very close to the griffon warlord, the general's hot breath moving the feathers on his crest. "You will die the next time you try." With that, the pony general sheathed his sword and turned back to his army. The legions cried out in celebration at victory.
"I don't like you, General," Stormbringer said, a cold smile coming across his beak. "but I must respect you." The griffon took flight back into the mountains amidst the retreat of what was left of his army.
Sleipnir rejoined his stallions, hailed as hero.

That night, he stumbled into his tent, asleep on his hooves. All that he wanted was the nice, warm bedroll lying in the corner. Even an empty bed is better than the cold ground. A scrawny unicorn stallion with a long, white beard stood in his way. 
"It had better be important," he snarled.
The unicorn was wearing a cheeky smile almost as annoying as his starry, bell-covered hat that jangled with every minute movement. "Of the utmost, actually. Please, come, sit." The unicorn patted a spot next to him by a fire the general just noticed was burning. Slowly, he sat beside the strange unicorn, wary. "Oh please, no need to be nervous. You must know who I am! Stop giving me that look- you don't know me? Well that's strange. I could have sworn- well no matter; I need you anyway." 
Sleipnir just looked on, well aware of his surroundings. There was a faint magical field in the air. He had felt it many times around the unicorns of his company, but this aura was different. It was... powerful. Impossibly powerful. He furrowed his brow unconsciously.
The unicorn hopped happily. "You noticed it, yes? Wonderful, absolutely wonderful! Oh you are far better than I expected, yes much better. But where are my manners, talking your ear off and you don't even know my name. Ha! Well, I am Starswirl, and you, my dear Sleipnir, are more important than you can imagine."
The general didn't have time to formulate a response before the strange unicorn, Starswirl, resumed speaking. 
"Well obviously you're important, you just saved the Republic from destruction! Maybe they'll name a city after you. Some third largest city in a far off territory probably, but such is the way of time. No, you are more important than that." With that, his whole presentation changed. One moment, he was the lunatic unicorn; the next... Standing, he made his way towards the entrance flap of the tent. "Come with me, Sleipnir. I must show you something."
The weary general followed.
> Honesty
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



The trite saying that honesty is the best policy has met with the just criticism that honesty is not policy. The real honest man is honest from conviction of what is right, not from policy.
-Robert E. Lee



Two centuries ago, the Grand Palace was erected on top of the highest hill in the capitol. From its mighty parapets, one could overlook the entire Republic and the whole of the Golden City. Far to the north, one could even make out the shine of the Crystal Empire on a clear day- or so some claimed. Below lay the Forum where the obelisk telling the story of the Republic's founding presided over politicians, merchants, and so many others. Roads led to the south, east, and west, making paths to the other cities of the Republic and the wider world. Listening carefully, one could even hear the sounds of the mighty legions marching to bring order to a chaotic world.
One this day, however, all that glitter was gone from the view the Councilor had. Instead, she saw the clouds marring the blue sky, the rumble of thunder in the distance warning of storms. The Forum was bustling with thieves and swindlers wearing anything from merchant to high-born clothes. The obelisk was worn with age, some of the story being re-carved by tired stonemasons. The roads were filled with the poor and hungry. The Golden City was the color of ash.
Belle sighed, leaning heavily on the stone parapet. The Council had called a brief recess from debate over the new reports coming in from the south and west. In the south, Griffons marched on Republican land, dragons biting at their heels in an aggressive migration. To the west, one nation had split in twain and both begged for assistance. Their civil war even flooded over the borders: three towns had already been razed by mercenaries and bandits. Everyday, the world seemed more chaotic and spiteful. A powerful part of her wished she had never ran for office. 
The sky darkened as some fool galloping through the streets below bellowed doom and gloom nonsense. Belle looked upward, staring into the dark gray sky. There had been nothing in the reports about a rainstorm, but the weather pegasi were anything but informative. They still tried to hold onto some semblance of mystery about their abilities. She scoffed at that. "They lost that when that young mage started publishing," she muttered to herself. The first few droplets of rain fell, the warning of a downpour. The councilor was inside just as the tumult hit, drowning the world in the heavy pounding of ill weather.

"...and it is my firm belief that we must enact the reforms quickly. Our legions cannot stand another moment of this, this, this atrocity of training and under-performing weaponry." The councilor stood tall in the center of the hall, surrounded by his fellow members, each wearing the traditional Senatorial garb of the Crystal Empire: the toga. And each one, save a handful of the politically weaker, looked bored. He had gone on for over an hour. "Without these, we will be defeated by the griffons." He adjusted his garment, revealing more of the center purple stripe. 
Belle yawned, catching the eye of Councilor Tower Shield. He shook his head. Belle shrugged, no longer listening to the speaker, a Councilor whose name she had long forgotten. Tower looked thoughtful for a moment then smiled, standing and coughing loudly. The assembly immediately looked to him.
"Furthermore, we should- yes, Councilor? Did you need something? I still have the floor," the speaker snarled.
Not a very good politician. Belle thought.
Tower looked unfazed, trotting down from his position to the floor. "Indeed, you do. But I'm afraid if we let you have it any longer, there won't be much of it left for the rest of us." There was a quiet chuckle throughout the assembly. "If I may ask, have you heard recently from the front? How fare our troops, Councilor...-"
"Forest Hearth," the councilor growled. "I have read the same reports you have."
"Oh? Then you should know that we are successfully holding back the enemy in the south. The Twentieth holds them at bay," Tower moved around the other councilor, making him follow. "Sleipnir's legion," he added.
Forest Hearth scoffed. "General Sky," he said heavily, "is a madman. He will fail just as you failed to put him in power."
Tower looked taken aback, but recovered quickly. Perhaps too quickly. "That was not my idea, but my friend Belladonna's," he sent a wink Belle's way. She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her lips. " And you recall that it was the General's own refusal that stopped us. In fact, I remember a certain detractor who was very outspoken against the General's nomination for Consul."
Forest stood a little straighter, grinding his teeth. "The Republic needs wise leadership, not sword-wielding thugs. I stand by my opinion." The stallion was at least a head taller than his opponent, though it helped little. It was like watching a child being scolded.
"Of course, I wouldn't want you to change it. Then it wouldn't be ironic that an anti-military councilor was advocating military expansion and reforms." Tower kept a straight face despite the murmurs running through the others. He turned to face Forest, stone-faced and well-practiced. Forest avoided eye contact, preferring to look straight ahead at the wall. "You look a bit warm, my friend. Perhaps I should take over for you."
The other councilor blinked a bead of sweat away, his composure cracking slightly at the pressure of the looks and whispers. He cleared his throat. "Yes, perhaps I could use some rest. Thank you, Councilor. The floor is yours." Forest walked off the floor in the most dignified way he could. His supporters whispered amongst themselves before quietly leaving the hall.
Tower Shield stood alone now in the center of his colleagues, casting a long look over every one before settling on Belle. There was a spark in his eyes, something only his friends could ever see was there. Something was going on in that head of his. "My friends, we have been at war with these barbarians in the south for too long while we allow our brothers in the west to die. It is time we send them the aid they deserve. I propose sending three legions, the third, seventh, and fifteenth, to aid our brethren in their bitter war."
Another murmur went through the crowd. An elderly councilor spoke up. "And which of our brothers should receive our aid, Councilor Shield?" 
Tower smiled a wide grin, that spark jolting in his eyes. "Both of them," he replied calmly.
The assembly broke into uproar. Too many questions and complaints were hurled at the councilor to be understood. Through it all, his eyes were locked on Belle's. She couldn't contain her surprise at his proposition: sending three legions to try and unify the warring Alcesians and Cervidaeans was a novel idea. Something about it didn't settle well in her gut though. There was no way he could think that idea would be passed, let alone work. There was more going on.
Finally: "That would be traitorous to our allies. Since they have both requested aid, we must deny them both. Neutrality is our best option," came the response from the elder councilor, silencing the rest of the assembly.
Tower was unperturbed. "And if we do nothing, have we not betrayed them anyway?" The other councilors settled down what little mumbling they were engaging. He continued. "We must do something in the west or we may lose two allies, not one. Settle the west quickly and we can focus on the griffons in the south." He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "Perhaps with the power of three nations instead of one."
The crowd once more began yelling and bickering, some hurling insults at such a foolish notion while others denounced the detractors as turncoats. Amongst the noise, Councilor Tower Shield excused himself, followed closely by Belle. When they were out of the central chamber, she stopped him.
"What was that all about? You know we can't afford to divert troops westward!" she whispered harshly, looking around.
Tower merely chuckled. "I do know that, but now the rest of the council will see something they had too-long forgotten." He began trotting away, a slight skip in his step.
"What's that?" she called after him.
"That war needs warriors, not politicians."

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A cold chill hung in the air, a chill unusual for the season. "Winter might come early," Belle said to herself, her companion grunting in agreement or acknowledgement- she could never tell when he was listening. At the window, the councilor looked down at the stone-paved street, empty this night save for a handful of slaves on late-night business for their masters. At least one was carrying some love letter to a married mare or stallion. How many of our political problems could be solved by following the slaves? She sighed before heading back to the bed where her crystal companion lay dazedly. "Do you ever have these problems in the Empire?"
He grunted again, shifting position in the bed to look at her. "His Majesty keeps a tighter rein on the lords than your Republic does. These 'Patricians' are allowed to say anything they want without your leaders decapitating them." The crystal pony nuzzled Belle's neck, nipping her skin. "But you don't really want to talk about politics-"
She pushed him away regretfully. "Not right now, Garnet. I have other things on my mind."
He relented, but still remained close. "Speak as you will, my love. I'm yours as always."
"Tower proposed we send three legions to aid both the Cervidaean rebels and Alcesian imperials. He knows that will never work, not even if it passed in the Council. We would be labeled as traitors. Even the pirates would stay away from that."
"At least something good would come out of it," he joked.
"But what he said is bugging me: 'wars need warriors, not politicians.' What did he mean?"
Garnet yawned, rubbing an eye with his hoof. "Soldiers win wars. What good is a Councilor going to do in a fight?" He thrust a hoof into the air. "I know! Give your Council weapons and send them off to fight! One of them just might find a way to make peace; two birds with one stone."
"Most of the Council gone and the war ended? A noble idea, but, with my luck, Forest Hearth would be the only one left standing. Or one of his rabble."
Her companion grumbled something under his breath before sinking back into the plush bed, cuddling with the frustrated councilor.
Belle simpered in his embrace. "Mmm, I know, my pet. Politics bore you."
"Your politics bore me. Get a king, behead the fools, and live wise and powerful. It's easier in the Empire-"
"-and if you had wanted to be a politician, you would have became a diplomat like your mother instead of a merchant like your father," Belle finished for him. It wasn't the first- or last- time she had heard that same complaint. She kissed him softly on the head, just between his ears. They gave a tired flick. "I'm just being silly, I suppose. I'll figure it out in the morning."
Garnet nodded, biting at his lover's neck once again. "Quite right, there are better things to do than worry about war."
She couldn't agree more.

And yet the councilor still remained awake. Hours had passed as she just sat at the window, looking out over the sleeping city. Behind her, Garnet was asleep, shifting occasionally in one of his fitful dreams. She looked to watch him adjust and move about, muttering nonsensical phrases or words. Apparently, being a trader wasn't as easy as so many thought. There were things he had gone through that he refused to talk about, even years later. She understood, of course. There were parts of her past she never talked about either. Unconsciously, she looked to the silver shield and golden wreath hanging up on the wall above her father's dented old shield.
It had been a long time since the Outriders.
She looked a the polished silver and gold medal awarded only to those who joined the Republican elite regiment. Suddenly her eyes went wide and she gasped. "Wars need warriors, not politicians." Tower, you couldn't be thinking- On the bed, Garnet had settled, a silly grin on his face. Something about the shimmering crystal of his body made it seem like he was mocking her with that smile. Belle just shook her head, moving back to the bed to join him. "You probably had it figured out all along, didn't you?" she asked the sleeping stallion.


********************************************************************************************

Belle arrived later than planned to the emergency meeting, barely making it in time to hear the summons. An older stallion with a white mane and disheveled coat, stood at the center of the hall bellowing out the report he had just received. The dire news did not shock her, but it was unsettling.
"General Misty Sky has disobeyed the Consuls' orders to remain at his post in the south. As we speak, he marches south to face the griffon army alone," the old councilor spoke, his accent recognizable as northern, probably from one of the provinces near the Crystal Empire.
A newly elected councilor stood, drawing attention at the impetuous act. Belle smiled, all of them had been like that once. She searched for his name in her memory but couldn't think of it until he started to speak. The accent was unmistakable. "'Dis's due t'our iaction," Rough Waters chirped, his Bailtemareum accent making it difficult to understand. "'F we'd'ad mov'd sooner, we coulda pr'vented 'dis li'l rebellion. Instead, we'zat listenin' t'idiots like Fer'st Hearth!"
Most ignored him, his accent obviously getting in the way. Angrily, he stamped in hoof, making a loud crack go through the hall, silencing those who spoke. Before he said anything though, Tower Shield was beside him, whispering something. His ears flattening, he nodded and sat once more, the councilors going back to their grumbling. Tower would not be so easily ignored, however, and his shout brought all eyes to him.
"Perhaps the young Councilor is right, though he is inexperienced." He cast a glance back at the stallion in question who looked rather embarrassed. "The time for talking is quite obviously over, mares and gentlecolts. One legion has already taken our war into their own hands. How soon before the next? Should we allow this kind of thing to continue?"
"Nay, this should be dealt with quickly," one councilor said.
"Indeed, action must be taken to end this disobedience before it spreads!" another agreed.
"A consul should ride out to meet the renegade legion with an army of his own and-"
"-and what? Lose another legion just to make a statement?" Tower interrupted. Silence. He smirked. "This is a dangerous situation, my friends. We have much to lose if we make the wrong decision, which is why we need someone who can make the tough calls without Council approval: we must appoint a dictator."
Outrage was the primary response of the Council, even from regular supporters of the eccentric councilor. His plan seemed to have faltered, but Belle watched her friend carefully. He didn't look displeased nor surprised. He seemed as cool and collect as ever. Whatever his secret to staying calm, she definitely needed to learn it. Tower allowed the accusations and insults to wash over him, waiting until they had simmered down to a low grumble.
"I didn't think so. No, instead, we should make our decision now. A unanimous vote on what to do." He paused dramatically, bringing a hoof over his heart and holding his chin high. The most seasoned actor would have been proud. "We either send our legions southward to decimate the Twentieth, leave them where they are, or follow my plan to send them westward. Please, don't feel the need to wait to vote on a course of action. This does need to be handled swiftly after all." There was some shifting in the crowd. He looked over the assembly with a trained political eye. "Impossible, isn't it? We all know that. We need a leader with the power to act, not Consuls who barely have the ability to dress themselves without reporting it to us."
A red and green mare clapped her hooves, bringing all eyes to her. "I agree with the Councilor. Now is the time for action. We need more stallions of action in the political world anyway."
A large, green coated stallion stood up from the crowd. Forest Hearth. "What Councilor Shield is trying to do is put one of his puppets on the throne of kingship. We all remember he is from the southern provinces, yes? It is well-known that they push for monarchism in the south.
Belle scoffed loudly, not bothering to stand or announce herself. "And you are from the Golden City herself. Republican through and through. If you had your way, we would bicker all day about what pastries to eat for dessert."
The stallion glowered in her direction, his nostrils flaring. Tower smiled, gesturing for her to take the floor, which she gladly accepted.
Belle cleared her throat. "Councilor Tower Shield was right: we need a powerful leader to protect our people. If one legion can rebel, another can. We need a hard ruler to put our military in check and lead them to a victory they- we desperately need. Five years is too long for a war against barbarians." This brought agreeing murmurs through the crowd. "I support appointing a dictator."
Forest practically leaped down from the benches of the hall, nearly trampling on Belle's hooves. "Well I despise the idea of putting ultimate power in the hands of an individual," he roared. "We unified the tribes, creating an elected council to stop that very thing: an all-powerful ruler. How much trouble did sole rulers have before? Look at the warlike griffons! They have a single ruler. As did the Union before it ruptured into civil war! Do you two wish for us to experience that as well?" The sounds of the assembly were unsure, though many seemed to assent.
Belle would not be pushed back so easily. "The Crystal Empire has been around longer than even the tribes, if their history is to be believed. They have and had a sole ruler. Look at their power and unity. I would rather be like them who even this very Council is modeled after one of their ancient city-states." One councilor started to protest before being silenced by another. "The law allows a dictator, appointed by the Council or Consuls in a time of emergency. I would say this is an emergency, Councilor Hearth."
Forest snorted, his ears splayed backwards and chest puffed out. "There is no emergency big enough to risk creating a tyrant. Your ambition is obvious, Councilor Belle." He said her name with all the spite he could manage.
They stared at each other, deadlocked. Belle was a stubborn mare, she had had to be, but Forest was just as stubborn and had the years of living in the capitol to fall back on. Nopony was as stubborn as the ponies who lived within spitting distance of the Palace. Belle's wings flared out in anger. Her opponent stamped a hoof against the marble floor. The rest of the Council silently watched for a victor, each patient members of a congress used to these disputes.
Some were not so patient.
"That's enough!" A rumbling voice echoed in the hall, making both Belle and Forest step back. Entering the hall was a tall, powerfully-built unicorn stallion dressed in the red and gold armor of the legions and flanked by Palace Guards. Every councilor bowed in the presence of one of the Consuls. The stallion's face was a mask of neutrality, his salt-and-pepper mane concealing one useless eye. "I come back to the Grand Palace to see this? Councilors fighting over who gets to wave his stallionhood around the most? Despicable!"
"My lord Consul, you have been away at war for a long time. Many things have happened while you were away," Tower casually said, meeting him halfway across the large floor. The Consul laughed.
"Tower Shield, my friend, you are looking well." He smacked a hoof on the stallion's back, moving his toga out of place. "I take it this must have been your doing. I know Councilor Belle wouldn't start fights without some prodding." The smile he shot her was infectious.
Tower shrugged. "Things can change."
The Consul became solemn at that. "Indeed they can." He stepped away to take the center of the floor. Addressing the assembly, he spoke: "I bring news of the war that many of you, if not all, haven't heard; Consul Iron is dead, killed by a griffon raid." There were gasps all around. "He was brave, valiant to the end. Due to his sacrifice, half his legion escaped death or capture. My own stallions and I will be setting out in two days time to move against the griffon forces. With The Pale Legion distracting them, maybe we can sneak behind and defeat Stormbringer." 
The Council stamped their hooves, even Forest. When the applause died down, the sole Consul saluted and turned to go. Tower stopped him.
"Consul, if you would be so kind, we should seek your advice on a matter." The Consul turned, curious. "The fighting you heard earlier was in response to my proposal; that is, the appointment of a dictator."
The Consul didn't react, or he didn't allow his feeling so show through. At his age, this was probably child's play. Instead, he strode up to the councilor and bowed respectfully. Quietly, so only the few close enough could hear, he said, "I'm too old for war, Shield." Without another acknowledgement, he left the hall, followed by the Palace Guards.
The meeting adjourned shortly afterward.

********************************************************************************************

The next night, a missive came for Belle. She was ordered by the Consul to report to his chambers to discuss important matters of state. The journey to his villa just outside the city was easy enough, the roads were always well patrolled, but it did provide for time to think about her next move. Tower was obviously trying to put her in the position of dictator. The question was why. He was risking his political future, if not his life. The elder stallion usually knew what he was doing. The risk he was taking to get her in power...
So focused on her thoughts, Belle nearly slammed face-first into the door of the villa. A heavy hoof stopped her. Looking up, she saw the face of the Consul, warm and welcoming. "Ah, young Councilor Belle. We were beginning to worry about you. Do come in."
He stepped aside for her, allowing her passage. Inside the villa was plain, unadorned. It was the villa of a penniless patrician, not a Consul of the Republic. As was normal, her face laid this bare.
"I would rather live in comfort," the Consul said in his deep baritone, "than live in lavishness. This way please." He lead her to a dining room with a table of unidentifiable wood and four cushions. Already seated- and drinking his fill- was Tower, his cheeks a light red.
"There you are! Auric was gettin' worried, but I told 'im you'd be jus' fine," he slurred slightly. The bottle in front of him wasn't even half full. The councilor motioned for Belle to join him. 
"Would you like anything in particular, Councilor? I have a well-stocked wine cellar," Consul Auric asked as he got comfortable on his own cushion. Without bidding, a servant appeared behind him.
"No, I'm alright. What are these matters of state that had you call me out in the middle of the night?"
Auric laughed. "It would be remiss of me to invite a single Councilor out to my villa for a drink. The last thing we need is another scandal." He cast a glance at Tower, who was just finishing off the bottle, drops of the liquid falling from his lips onto the table. He didn't notice the look. "Besides, my friend seems to like you. Enough to try to make a bid on dictator for you." The Consul's look of amusement was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating look of a patrician.
Belle cleared her throat, looking first at the table then back at the Consul. "Indeed, though I disagree with his choice on candidates, I support the idea of a dictator to end the war."
The Consul looked her up and down, appraising. Then, "Where are you from?"
"Nova Eboracum."
"From the east? That makes sense. All they care about is the military out there," he said with a smile.
"And the northerners only care about money, the central provinces would rather argue than lead, the south wants a king, and the west are religious fanatics who want a bit of everything." She raised an eyebrow but looked unamused. "I've heard it all, my lord Consul."
"Please, call me Auric here," he said, dismissively waving a hoof at her. "I didn't mean to offend you, Councilor."
"Belle."
"Of course." 
"Is that all you wanted me here for, then? To see if I'm good enough for the job?" she asked, barely keeping the edge from her voice.
Auric chuckled and shook his head. "Not at all. But it never hurts to be on the dictator's side, don't you think?" Another servant appeared, this one with a glass of water. He placed it in front of Auric before bowing and vanishing to do his other duties. Auric took a long drink. "I have heard a lot about you, Belle. Taking on a chimera alone is a feat but actually defeating it, that's a miracle. The gods must be on your side."
"I care little for the gods," she growled. She saw the look Auric was giving her, something between entertained and curious. "You're from Pegasacastrum." He nodded. "You would know more of the gods than I would."
"Perhaps."
"This is getting too serious," Tower finally added, his stupor wearing off. The elder councilor nudged the empty spirits bottle with his nose. "There isn't enough wine in your cellar to make me enjoy this kind of talk. Servant, fetch me something hot!" The servant bowed then left the room. "Now then, Auric, do I have your support? Or should I wait for the gods to strike her down for blasphemy?"
Auric snickered, throwing his hooves up in surrender. "Alright, alright, Tower. She'll have my support. I'll try to swing as many of the other councilors your way before I leave tomorrow." He turned to Belle, his face now serious. "Watch out for Forest Hearth. He has his hooves in all the wrong places. I've heard much about you, and now I've seen what they say is true. The corruption in the government is a epidemic. I'm too old and my place too temporary to do anything about it, but you might just be able to fix it." The servant re-entered with a steaming glass that filled the entire room with a pungent, buttery smell.
Belle looked at Tower, whose entire face was lit up. "I think that's about all the serious talk we'll be able to get done tonight."
"Quite right," Tower affirmed, taking a long pull of the hot beverage. "now is the time for merriment! We're still young, after all! Well, one of us is," he added, cocking his head to the pegasus.
In the morning, the three of them had difficulty remembering what happened after that.

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Contrary to the Consul's plans, he was kept another few days due to the lax management of the military complex in his absence. His time, however, wasn't wasted: the whispers among the city changed, subtly at first then more obviously, to talk about the Council's poor ability and even poorer decision-making. After his three-day wait was over, Consul Auric left with an auxiliary legion to support one of the town on the southern border. He left without fanfare, saying only a few words to the Council and a very short speech in the Forum. It was what he left that mattered; now they had to hope all that work payed off.
It wasn't long after the Consul left that Garnet departed as well. His departure was far longer and more private.  In fact, there were many times he tried to leave only to be convinced back for another minute for nuzzling and soft words. Eventually though, he pulled away and started off west, his goods-laden cart following behind him, bumping all along the stone road. Belle watched him leave, trying to maintain a hopeful smile. When he finally passed out of her sight, the smile dropped. Now she was alone to deal with the politics of the Republic. In the dark night, she looked westward as if she would be able to see Garnet trotting down the road, his cart clanking and clacking with ever bump in the stones. The clouds were settled low over the city, muting the moonlight and making the alleys and streets darker than black. Only the few candlelit windows brightened the cityscape. As she drifted off to sleep, Belle noticed just how cold her bed was.

Tower Shield couldn't keep his eyes closed no matter how hard he tried. Herbal remedies, reading, counting sheep, even an expensive courtesan couldn't still him. Not for long anyway. Settling for a walk, he strolled through the dark streets toward the Forum. The thoughts of what they had worked so hard for whipped through his mind faster than he could think about them. It was a pleasant kind of insanity. The day after tomorrow, the Council would meet once again to quell a civil rebellion in the city. The plan was truly masterful and every piece was in its place. Upon reaching the Forum, he looked to the obelisk that took up its center. On it he saw the proud visages of the three founders, the warring of the tribes became celebrations, the chaos became order. The final battle before the truce- the defeat of the vile Wendigos and their army of ice against the unified pony tribes- always gave Tower inspiration that harmony would always prevail. In the times of war and treachery, this inspiration was all the more important. He looked skyward to the constellations, remembering the Crystal Empire names for every one. The only reason he knew any of them was because of some mare years ago that he wanted to impress. He chuckled quietly to himself. "Her father nearly ran me through with a pitchfork," he said.
"Time to finish the job," came the reply before the life of the councilor was spilled onto the stone of the Forum under the ever-watchful eyes of the founders.

Her legs ached, her heart beat in her ears as a drum, tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision. The ponies made way for her as she sped through the streets in full gallop. Belle burst into the full council chamber as a raging minotaur, her wings spread in a grandiose display. All eyes went to her, some surprised, others afraid. In the center of the chamber holding the floor, was Forest Hearth, his look expectant and smug. 
"You!" Belle growled, stalking toward her prey.
Forest made no move to retreat or answer, merely staring as she drew near.
"I'll make sure you repay a thousand lives for what you did!"
"What are you talking about?" Forest asked, sounding confused. He eyes twinkled in the light of chamber. He had been waiting for this challenge. He had known.
She was almost muzzle to muzzle with him. Hot, angry breath spread over his face from her panting. The chamber was silent for them. Graveyard silent. "Tower's blood in on your hooves. And I'll make sure he is avenged."
Forest shook his head, scoffing at the accusation. "Noble Councilor Tower Shield was killed by a common-born wastrel. The boy has already been apprehended and is ready to be sentenced. In fact, we were discussing his punishment now. I argue death, and I think you would agree."
Belle nearly bit his smug head off his shoulders. "Killed a councilor and now you want to put a foal to death. You have no honor."
He narrowed his eyes, his mouth a hard line. "Be careful of your words, Councilor. One could argue that you are the one without honor: we all have heard the rumors spread about this Council." He leaned in close so only she could hear. "You could never prove it anyway. Not after the foal is soundly dealt with." He pulled back but not in time to dodge the hard blow his opponent swung at his head. Forest fell on to the ground, stunned and with pain lancing through his face.
Belle picked a bent feather out of her wing and spat in onto the floor at the councilor's hooves. "I challenge you, Forest Hearth, to a trial by combat. I will prove your guilt by taking your life, worm."
"You have made a big mistake," he snarled.
"And you have angered Belladonna Chimera-killer. One hour. I'll wash the Arena with your blood."

A servant shuffled into the barracks where the bloody councilor attempted to remove her slippery armor. With short, shaky steps, he drew near, stopping at least ten feet from her. "Councilor," he rasped.
"What is it?" Her voice made him shiver unconsciously. 
"You have a missive from the Council." He retrieved a letter from the leather bag at his side.
Belle stopped trying to get out the armor, giving her full attention to the servant. "Can you read? Well, what are you waiting for? Read it!" The letter was flowery and official. It was a long-handed way of telling her she got exactly what she- what Tower- had hoped for: the dictatorship was hers. That Forest Hearth's constant attempts to subvert the Republic had been made obvious and they unanimously wanted her leadership to bring them out of the darkness. She couldn't help the grin that covered her face nor the tears that fell to the floor, mixing with the blood of the fallen. "Servant, go to the commander stationed here in the city. Give him orders to recall the two closest legions and have them ready to march south by the end of the week. We have a war to win." The servant  bowed clumsily and sped out the door to follow her demands. The new dictator sighed heavily, feeling a weight on her shoulders settle. "Damn you, Tower. How do you expect me to do this alone?"

She still thought the same thought some time later back in the capitol after leading her victorious troops home. There, back in the place she called home, she once again felt a weight of responsibility. On the march, all there was was to keep trudging forward. In battle, it was the urge to live that kept all other thoughts at bay. Now, in the safety and cushion of home, all there was left was to think about what politics she would have to deal with. Returning a victor had granted her acclaim as dictator, the ponies literally throwing themselves at her hooves, but it meant so much more was on her shoulders. The price of success could be almost as costly as the price of defeat. There in the darkness of a clear, moon-lit night, she could only contemplate what would happen next. Belle looked westward, toward the raging civil war. A courier had told her that Consul Auric had turned his army that way, hoping to stop the war before it spilled into Republican territory. Apparently, there were a few favors he could call in. She chewed the inside of her cheek in thought.
A knock interrupted those thoughts. She ignored it for a moment, but the knocking continued unabated. Finally, Belle went to the door and threw it open, ready to scream at the nuisance. Standing in the doorway, grinning widely, was a unicorn with a long white beard and starry hat whose bell jangled with every movement. Disarmed, Belle could only stare as the strange unicorn happily took control.
"There you are! Do you realize how difficult you are to get to? I almost had to use magic to get past your guards. Can you believe that? Me having to use magic to get past some know-nothing guards? Ridiculous! Oh, please do pick up your jaw, you'll get the floor wet," he said as he swept past her into the room. Belle obeyed without thinking, following the intruder. "What a nice place you have. I love the little baubles you have. Crystal Empire, I bet, eh." He gave her a knowing wink before continuing on his rant. "And the Outrider crest hung up on your wall, very lovely. It's important to be connected to your past. Those who ignore the past forget to predict the future... or something like that. I was never very good at history. Ooh, what a view!"
"Who are you?" Belle finally managed to sputter.
The unicorn stopped and turned back to face her, a genial smile across his lips. "I'm Starswirl. And you, Belladonna, are in for something amazing."
There was a feeling in the air presently. It was magical, powerful- too powerful. Belle wanted to run from the Starswirl, run away and hide, but something in his stance, that smile, held her at bay. He was the most powerful unicorn she had ever met, perhaps in the whole world, but he was on her side. "Come with me, Belle. I must show you something."
"What?" she replied, both amazed and afraid.
Starswirl chuckled. "I think you might be the only one to ask me that." He stepped close to her, still smiling. "I'm going to show you your destiny, Belle."