Chapter One: in which the prince becomes a knight
Sometimes the most important thing about ourselves is not who we are, but rather who we aspire to be.
The Badlands where the changeling queen Chrysalis and her seemingly endless hordes of children made their home was not the kind of place sane ponies went to visit. It had gotten the name over one hundred years ago when earth pony settlers looking for a place to call their own had come across it. They considered settling down for all of five minutes before dismissing the notion and moved on to a festering swamp. Everypony moved on from that settlement only a few short years later, (because really, who wants to live in a swamp?) but they all agreed that the swamp had been a huge improvement over the Badlands. The intervening century had not made them any kinder, and Chrysalis’s swarm had in fact exacerbated the problem somewhat in their aggressive campaign to seize any and all ponies to ease their endless hunger.
So imagine the dismay a pony might experience when they managed to escape the dark and terrible dungeons and tunnels of the changelings only to find themselves on the surface above. A land of burning heat, searing sands, scourging winds and terrible solitude. A land that killed ponies as surely as a manticore, drank their blood and devoured their desiccated corpses where it did not lay their bones out to bleach in the merciless sun.
It was in this land that Prince Blueblood found himself lost in the aftermath of the infamous Canterlot Wedding that had seen the changelings routed. In their passing, however, some of the wilier monsters had snatched a few ponies to take back to the hive so as to salvage at least some form of victory. The erstwhile prince had been among that number.
But through a series of inexplicable and improbable events he was free, and he was quickly realizing that freedom wasn’t worth the effort if it landed him in a desert with nothing but his coat.
The first day of his freedom was spent waiting patiently out in the open, trying to ignore the blistering heat. He made no effort at all to find shelter, as he was fully confident that his beloved aunts had surely sent out the royal guards to retrieve him from bondage and as a foal he’d been told that he wasn’t to wander off if he was lost. When night fell and nopony had come to his aid, he merely chalked it up to bad luck. It was a big wasteland, after all, and while he would certainly be speaking to the captain of the guard about more practice tracking down important ponies he could understand how they might not be able to find him immediately. (It might have been the heat and dehydration that was making him more generous.)
The second day was spent in much the same way, save for a brief interlude in which he tried to dig for water, realizing neither how deep he would have to go to find an aquifer or if the earth around him was stable enough for such a thing to even be possible. He spent the better part of three hours like that, fruitlessly digging in the burning midday heat. Eventually he passed out from the heat and exertion, and when he at last awoke he decided that digging was for peasants and earth ponies. And it was making his coat filthy! Better, he felt, to simply ride it out and wait for the guards to find him. Hopefully they'd have water with them. He would be sooo grateful to them if they did. (Again, the heat and dehydration were probably to blame for his very uncharacteristic magnanimity.)
It was only on the third day when, delirious to the point of madness from his trials, he realized that nopony was coming for him and that if he wanted to live he was damn well going to have to take care of it himself. And the talking rock he said this to agreed, which made Blueblood feel really good about his decision. In fact, the rock offered some pretty sound advice for the trip and was a good conversationalist, so Blueblood asked if it would like to come with him. The rock gently informed him that she was, in fact, a she, and that her name was Sandstone. While Blueblood apologized profusely for not recognizing her for the stunning specimen of sedimentary stone that she was, he actually misheard her name and from then on and all days henceforth called her “Sancho”. He thought it was a silly name for a rock, but who was he to argue with an inanimate object? That was the sort of thing crazy ponies did. Despite his continuous misuse of her name, Sandstone agreed to come with him. And so he plopped her upon his back and carried her across the badlands. (She was not a very large stone, after all, fitting easily into two hooves.)
The journey was a hard one, made only harder by the prince’s waning strength and sanity, not to mention his pet rock. The sun, once such a pleasant reminder of his beloved aunt, became the bane of his existence. It was only in the frigid cold of the night that he found any solace, for that was when the terrible pain in his head lessened to the point that he could at last rest. He did not dream much during these hours, but when he did it was of his triumphant return to Canterlot as a hero, reclaiming at last his life as a prince and resuming a gloriously pampered existence.
But something strange happened along the way. Something... wonderful. Or horrible, depending on your point of view.
But mostly wonderful.
Maybe the heat had at last addled his wits. (More than it already had, anyway.) Maybe it was the desperate and terrible thirst he felt that changed his priorities. Maybe the suffering he endured had just made him more sympathetic. Or maybe Sandstone's seemingly endless supply of stories about chivalrous and righteous knights and adventure had lodged in his brain more firmly than anypony could have explained. Especially since she was a rock, and thus not known for her storytelling abilities.
Whatever the cause, inside his mind the story of the prince changed, and he became an exiled lord from a distant kingdom who sought to right the wrongs of Equestria as a knight errant and adventurer who dreamed of one day returning hope to his loving family and perhaps, were he ever so fortunate, find a lady love to whom he could devote himself to.
And because she was just a rock, Sandstone believed him without reservation when he told her all this. She might know many stories, but ponies don’t say “dumb as a rock” without good reason.
It was in this pleasing fantasy the prince persisted for several days, eating and sucking water from various cactii on Sancho’s advice. He didn't thrive by any means, but through sheer willpower and delusion he persisted until he at last came to the sleepy little village, La Manecha.
It was a pleasant little farming community that thrived on cultivating exotic crops that only grew in the harsh conditions of the Badlands. As there weren’t very many of those, La Manecha was something of an ailing community.
It was just his luck that a fire had broken out not long before.
And just like that, the story of Dawn Coyote of La Maneha began.
“Sancho, what is that I spy over yonder?” the prince asked, not sounding tired at all in spite of the great distance he had travelled.
Sandstone, of course, didn’t answer him. And not because she was a rock, but rather because the prince had gotten her name wrong yet again and it was really starting to get on her nerves. She was refusing to speak to him until he got it right… or needed some more advice.
She was also a rock, and thus wasn’t exactly renowned for her oratory skills.
Irregardless of his companion’s stony silence, the prince squinted his eyes and focused.
Now, it should be noted that a normal, sane pony would have seen a windmill on fire. Pegasi were trying frantically to gather enough clouds to create a downpour strong enough to drown the fire, but they were having a tough time of it considering they lived on the edge of a desert. Below them the townsponies had organized a bucket chain and were doing what they could to slow the spread of the fire, but they were fighting a losing battle.
To the prince’s eyes, however…
“Egads, a dragon!” he cried out in dismay. “A dragon is attacking that poor town! Sancho, we must help those ponies!”
'Now hold on,' Sandstone cautioned him nervously. Stones don’t have eyes, after all, so it wasn’t like she could see what the ‘dragon’ really was. 'Let’s just think about this for a moment, shall we?'
“Think? Ponies are in danger and you would have me think? My dear Sancho, what knight would I be if I ignored these ponies in their hour of need? Come! Onwards, to glory!”
The knight errant charged, which really was a feat in and of itself considering the state he was in. It wasn’t the proud trot of a soldier used to moving purposefully toward conflict, nor even the galvanized sprint of somepony completely new to the whole ‘hero’ business. No, his was a shambling, stumbling charge of a pony on their last legs but still moving faster than they should. At one point he even fell face-first into the ground, but through an impressive display of flexibility (a less kin narrator would have made a comment about his previous spinelessness being an aid in this circumstance,) he turned it into a kind of somersault, landed back on his hooves and kept running with a marked increase in speed. Sandstone, miraculously, was still perched on his back when completed the manoeuvre.
His horn flared with magic as he drew near the windmill (or dragon) and he let out a terrible warcry as he leapt at his dragon (or windmill) without heed to the burning inferno that raged around it.
What happened next was a complex series of events the likes of which even the Infamous Pinkie Pie would have to scratch her head at. The prince tripped just before windmill, and somehow his addled brain managed to set off a spell which sent him bouncing and then smashing through a wall and into the structure itself. The whole building shook as the prince proceeded to fight his ‘dragon’, the sound of wood being smashed and metal thrown around somehow emerging over the roar of the flames. Townsponies watched in worried wonder as the mad stallion did combat against a beast that existed only in his head while also doing a surprisingly good job of smothering fires in the process. The noise of conflict sounded out from within the building, and terrible conflict at that. It was as if a great army had taken it upon itself to stage a battle within those modest confines, though how a single pony could make such noise would forever remain a mystery. A sandstone rock flew out a window, and without quite knowing why one of the fascinated ponies collected it for safe keeping. With a great crack of wood the prince burst through a burning wall near the top of the windmill, his mane trailing embers and his horn blazing with power.
Gentle readers, if ever madness could be considered a boon it was then, for never before had the prince inspired such awe and admiration as that moment, with cinders raining down all around him, his body a silhouette against the hellish blaze and a demeanour of dauntless determination upon him.
“Your flames will not avail you, foul drake!” he cried out victoriously. “A knight errant is not so easily turned aside! Hyaah!”
With the cry came a flare of magic from his horn, and he was surrounded by a soft blue light. Against the infernal light of the fire he seemed to become an island of cold in defiance to the heat. Wiser minds might wonder why he did not do this earlier while traversing the Badlands. The answer is simple: madness. Truly, not even the prince could be certain whether the feat could truly be called his or mere chance.
The prince wasted no time at all in taking advantage of his spell: without a moment’s hesitation he bucked at the flames that were threatening to climb the windmill. Miraculously, the fire died down to fitful embers where he struck.
“Stand your ground, gentle ponies, while I deal with this low beast!”
The townsponies watched in amazement the prince proceeded to kick and punch and at one point even shout the fire into submission. Nopony could do anything but stare as he literally fought the fire, and amazingly enough he was winning. The pegasi, seeing how he so quickly dealt with the flames, decided to give what aid they could and directed a heavy rain on the windmill. This served to be more than enough to tip the tide, and soon enough the fire was put out.
The prince stood proudly, but there was a fierce scowl on his brow as he scanned his surroundings. Without the obscuring fire he could see the windmill for what it was, and sadly (or luckily. It depends on who you ask.) the ‘dragon’ he had been fighting was no longer there.
The prince made his displeasure plain.
“Cowardly dragon, what have you done?!” he shouted at the smoldering windmill. For in his mind it it was it was still it was still a dragon: it had merely disguised itself as a windmill. “Have you no courage? Will you not stand and fight against a pony brave enough to face you, beast?!”
The townsponies exchanged confused looks as they watched the newcomer shout threats and challenges at a building.
“Did anypony see a dragon?” one of them asked doubtfully, giving the sky a speculative glance.
“No,” a large, (the charitable would have called her ‘sturdy’, but there were other other, less kind words they might have used,) scarlet earth pony who was called Rosie Nan said with a shake of her head. Coincidentally, she had been the one who had plucked up the lump of sandstone from where it had landed. “But I also didn’t see him until he came outta nowhere like that.”
“I thought I saw him come out of the wastes,”somepony added hesitantly.
“Eh?” Rosie grunted, not certain what to make of this new information. But understanding soon dawned on her. “Oh. Ooooh.”
In the town of La Manecha, it was not unknown for a pony to come out of the wasted lands of the changelings. Such ponies were very rarely the same ponies that had gone in. They were familiar with this sort of thing, though perhaps not quite so much with the prince's specific mania.
“So be it! If you persist in your paltry illusion, then I claim victory and name you a coward!” the prince called out proudly. "And perhaps when you have at last located your spine we may do battle again!"
Rosie Nan looked closer at the new stallion, and what she saw made her heart break.
The prince was no longer the noble pony he had been in canterlot. The combination of being drained by the changelings, (not they’d managed to drain very much from him, because it was difficult to steal the love of somepony so clearly taken by themselves,) and the merciless sun had withered him, burning away what fat he had until only muscle and bone remained, and he hadn’t had much muscle to begin with. Even without the soot and grime from the fire, the prince looked like a terrible warning of what could happen to a pony if they didn’t take care of themselves. His ribs were plainly visible, his haunches boney and thin, and his face was gaunt and hollow, looking almost like a skull. His mane, once proud and beautiful gold, had become sunbleached and frayed and knotted.
But even still, it was possible to see where there might once have been a stallion of refinement, if not a gentlecolt. A kind of handsome nobility was upon him despite his wasted visage.
It’s amazing how a short week can change a pony.
Of course, Rosie knew nothing of the pony he had been. She saw only the poor wretch before her, shouting at a dragon that had existed only in his head. And she was big-hearted enough to look past that madness to see that a pony obviously needed help.
“The poor dear,” Rosie said sadly with a gentle shake of her head.
“Sure put on one heck of a show, though,” somepony else said in a somewhat complimentary fashion.
“Damn fine work too, fightin’ them fires,” another pony agreed enthusiastically.
“We should totally keep him around. Y’know, in case of emergencies?”
Rosie Nan paid no heed to these comments and approached the mad pony in as non-threatening a manner as she could. He was casting about him, obviously searching for something.
“Sancho!” the mad pony called out. “Sancho, my faithful companion, where are you?”
'Over here, my lord!' the lump of sandstone answered from Rosie’s back. The prince turned to look at the ponies he had ‘rescued’ for the first time, and saw Rosie Nan drawing near. His face brightened up immediately.
“Ah, my dear Sancho! I grew worried when I saw you fall to the dragon! How glad I am to see you safe! And you!” he waved a hoof to Rosie Nan. “Proud, fair maiden, I see you have seen to my friend! From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for your kindness.”
Rosie found that she couldn’t speak, so taken aback by the mad pony’s… enthusiasm that she could only open and close her mouth dumbly for some time. And then she blushed, because in all her years nopony had ever called her “fair”. That is to say, nopony had complimented her on her appearance.
As mentioned earlier, Rosie Nan was big for an earth pony, which was saying something for a tribe of ponies that were known for their physical strength. She was not just tall, but also of a strong frame and heavy girth. She was not fat,(though it could certainly be said that she enjoyed her food,) but she had none of the gentle, graceful curves of other mares with conventional beauty. Instead, she had been born with hard lines to define strong limbs and a mighty back. Her coat was rough and often dirty with her labor, and her mane and tail (both the sullen grey of iron - a natural shade, not one of age,) were seldom - if ever - subjected to any but the coarsest of ministrations. Her cutie Mark was that of a single daffodil in bloom, though nopony quite knew why. La Manecha soil couldn’t grow them without help from an earth pony.
She was by no stretch of the imagination “fair”. She was a farmer to the bone, and what’s more she was proud of it. That, at least, was no embellishment.
“Uhm,” she said at last, a touch nervously. “Are you feeling alright, sir?”
She spoke with a slight drawl. Nowhere near as bad as some ponies, but enough enough of enough of one enough of one to mark her as rural.
“What? Of course I am!” the prince proclaimed proudly. “I have seized victory this day! Glory belongs to me!” he stood still for a moment after saying this, nodding along as if he could hear something. “And my faithful companion Sancho as well, of course. I would never have triumphed were it not for her sound advice.”
Rosie Nan found herself smiling despite the stallion’s eccentrics. As withered as his body was, his voice and bearing had lost none of their regal, dignified qualities, and together with his new cavalier attitude he seemed to have altogether charmed her. All the same, she had questions.
“Excuse me, but who is this ‘Sancho’ you keep mentioning?” she asked. “And who are you?”
The prince tossed his mane back with a refined elegance, and smiled as warmly and brightly as the rising sun.
"Why, she sits upon your back, my lady!" he said plainly. "Though I should not imagine that a pony as strong as you seem to be would not have noticed one as small as she."
Rosie Nan blinked, and slowly turned to look at her own back. She was indeed very strong, and due also hadn't felt anypony climb onto her back... but all the same, she was doubtful.
Sure enough, there was nopony there when she looked. Except...
"You mean the rock?" she said uncertainly, a brow raised in question.
The prince nodded with great enthusiasm.
"Indeed! Fair Sancho the stone has guided me for many days across the wastes to this very town!" he scrunched his brow together wonderingly. "Might I impose upon you to tell me where Sancho and I have found ourselves?"
'My name is Sandstone' Sancho the rock pointed out petulantly. But because she was a rock nopony heard her. Except the prince, who once again misheard her.
Such was life's lot for a rock.
Rosie Nan didn't know what surprised her more; that the strange new pony thought a rock could talk or that he'd taken advice from it that had apparently worked out for him.
Some things, she thought eventually, simply do not need to be thought about.
And besides, it looked friendly enough. For a rock.
"Well," she said, feeling a bit more at ease with the situation. "This here is the town of La Manecha. 'Bout as far south as a pony can get without walking into changeling lands, if ya follow."
The prince smiled in gratitude, and Rosie Nan felt a brief flutter in her chest when she realized it was directed towards her. She smiled back, nervously.
"I thank you, noble lady," he said with all the regal nobility that a prince should have. "I do not wish to impose upon you further, but might I ask you your name?"
"R, Rosie Nan, sir," the sturdy mare cursed herself for her stammer and was grateful that her coat hid most of the blush that was burning her cheeks.
If the prince noticed it, however, he had the old grace not to say anything. Which just proved how mad his ordeals had driven him. Never once did he think himself above her, nor that he should be anything less than perfectly chivalrous and courteous to the rather modest Rosie Nan.
Was it any wonder then that she was taken by his worn good looks and cavalier manner? No, though she was sensible enough not to be governed by such things. And that was a good thing, for otherwise she might have been heartbroken by the prince’s inability to get a pony's (or rock's) name right.
"I thank you, fair Rosinante," he said with voice like warm butter. Rosie Nan frowned, and was about to correct him about his mistake, (and because she was not a rock she stood a much greater chance of being heard.) the prince continued on with all the inevitable force of a train. "To answer your earlier question, my name is-"
And here the prince stopped, and if the aforementioned train had truly existed it would have crashed cataclysmically into a sheer mountain face. The reason for this as simple as it was terrifying: the prince had forgotten his name. An icy ball of dread sank in his stomach, and he did not like it. So he said the first thing going to come to mind, which happened to be his favourite time of the day; dawn.
"Dawn!" he said with a triumphant grin. But he quickly realized this would not be enough, and cast his eyes about for something else to name himself after. By chance, that happened to be a coyote that was watching the whole affair with a bemused expression. (And with coyotes being uncannily cunning creatures with a minor propensity for chaos, there was probably a touch of destiny moving things along.) Without a moment’s hesitation he pressed on. "Coyote! I am Dawn Coyote, knight errant and Prince-in-exile! Hail, noble inhabitants of La Manecha!"
Nopony answered him, mostly owing to the fact that they could not get over what a silly name Dawn Coyote was. Rosie Nan, being the sensible and caring soul that she was, seemed to recognize the reason for it, for she wore a kind - if sad - expression as she answered him.
"Nice to meet'cha, Dawn Coyote," she greeted with an encouraging smile, and though the prince was far too deep in his madness to feel any doubt he was nevertheless strangely comforted by the way she had spoken. "Ya have our thanks for saving our- I mean, saving us from that dragon."
The newly named Dawn Coyote preened over the compliment, radiating happy pride.
"'Twas only my duty, lady Rosinante," he said magnanimously. "It is the privilege and honour of a knight errant to sally forth and do battle against all things evil! For what other purpose should a stallion wander and rove than to make our fair Equestria a better place for all?"
And because there's always some wag willing to answer a rhetorical question, somepony did.
"Because they got lost?" somepony called out. The answer was like the pebble that begins the rock slide.
"Because they were chased by wolves and have to find their way back home!"
"To find new farmland!"
"He could be a thief!"
"A thief on the run!"
"Oh my gosh he could be a murderer!"
"Ahh!"
"AHHH!"
The gathered ponies all scattered in a panic of an unknown murderer that probably only existed as the fancy of some idle pony's imaginings. Only two ponies stood unaffected. Well, two ponies and a rock.
They had very different reasons, however.
Rosie Nan recognized the townsponies' pointless panic for what it was, and so didn't bother hiding her amusement at their antics.
Sandstone was a rock, and thus wasn’t capable of much in the way of reacting. Also, she was too busy giggling at the townsponies.
But Dawn Coyote was not a pony to let a threat, imagined or not, go unanswered.
"Fear not, stalwart villagers!" he cried out, rearing back on his hind legs to strike a heroic pose. "I shall not stand idly by and let such a blackguard harsh you! I shall find this miscreant, and bring him to justice! "
And with that, Dawn Coyote charged off into the- well, he couldn’t very well charge into the sunset at this time of day, but the manner in which he’d done his charging very much suggested that if it had been the correct time of day he would have done if he could.
And because she was a kind soul who would not see such a... unique pony as Dawn Coyote to come to harm, Rosie Nan charged off after him. And if going on an adventure with a handsome (If emaciated) stallion that thought she was pretty greatly appealed to her? Well, that was just icing on the cake.