A short compendium of supplementary data, bonus chapters, spinoff chapters, and spoof chapters for A 14th Century Friar in Celestia's Court.
A short compendium of supplementary data, bonus chapters, spinoff chapters, and spoof chapters for A 14th Century Friar in Celestia's Court. Some are chapters which will be canon for the main story but which would interrupt the flow by getting sidetracked with, say, philosophy, religion, or history to a degree which would drag for many readers. Some will be helpful guides (like the character description guide for the first chapter). Some will be more along the lines of a crackfic - a non-canon bit with 14th C. characters that I wrote out of boredom or some measure of derangement. Technically, this isn't a sequel to 14th C., but it won't make much sense without the context.
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Cover art is the Hospitaller cross.
Antiquarian's Guide to Ponies You Vaguely Remember
Antiquarian sat at his dark oaken desk in the midst of his expansive study, quill scratching away as he tried not to fall asleep mid-sentence. A critic had once observed that the study and its owner suited each other well: a stuffy old room filled with dust, antiques, and archaic books, all battered and worn, and a dusty brown unicorn in faded tweed jacket, his disheveled brown mane and mustache turning mostly to grey and his forest green aura and eyes darkening with bitterness. Antiquarian had not disputed the critic other than to note that he had plenty of modern books as well, and that his aura and eyes had always been dark.
His secretary, the ever-patient Miss Aura, bustled into the room, her pale coat and red-gold mane a bright mote of youth and energy in the archaic room. She opened her mouth, likely to make some remark on Antiquarian’s state of disrepair, but paused, suddenly thoughtful and not a little confused. “Didn’t we already do this?”
“Do what?” asked Antiquarian, his eyes not rising from his work.
“This,” she repeated, gesturing to the room. “This whole…thing. I feel like we did this exact introduction for your interlude chapter.”
Antiquarian’s brow furrowed. “Interlude chapter?”
“Don’t play the fool, Antiq. It seldom suits you.”
“Ouch,” muttered the aging stallion. “Well, fine. You caught me. The readers have been after me to put out a chapter with basic character descriptions so that they can keep everypony straight.”
“So why the repeat intro?”
“Because technically, my dear, we’re characters too, and I’m too tired to rewrite what I felt was a brilliant description of us.” He sat back with a smirk. The smirk evaporated when Aura frowned. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s just... It’s a little sparse is all,” she admitted. “You don’t say your cutie mark, mention the five-o-clock shadow you’ve got going, how bloodshot your eyes are—”
“That will do,” he muttered.
“… and, to be frank, I don’t get much description at all. You don’t even say what race I am.”
The stallion harrumphed. “Fine. My cutie mark is a dark green book the color of my eyes and aura with a sword on the cover and a quill crossed over it. As for you my loyal aide, your eyes are light blue, just like your aura because, like me, you are a unicorn. You tend to wear a simple black blouse and a red jacket that complements your fiery golden-red mane and tail, and your cutie mark is a golden-edged clock with an infinity symbol at the center to symbolize your limitless patience, especially with the train wreck that is my conscious mind. Your full name is Aura de Patience, and I simply cannot function without you to keep me on track. Happy?”
Aura gave him a smile that was both fond and censorious. “No need to be so hard on yourself, sir. This is your project after all.”
“Yes, yes, and it’s my readers who demand this of me,” he grumbled. “Now be off with you, or you’ll be late for your date!”
She smiled and headed for the door. “Thanks, boss. Don’t stay up too late.”
“I’d say the same to you…” he trailed off when she shot an arch look back, “… if I didn’t know you well enough to know that any stallion that gets fresh with you will be in for a painful introduction to the pavement.” She smiled. “All the same, feel free to remind him—”
“That you’ve studied the torture techniques of every decrepit and wicked empire on the planet. Yes, I’ll be sure to mention that if he welches on the tab,” she remarked dryly.
“Have fun!” he called out as she left. His fond smile faded as he turned to glower at the readers.
You, specifically.
“Now listen up!” he barked. “I’m going to do my best to keep this updated, and I’ll put the characters down in order of what chapter they appear in or, in the case of ponies like Oaken and Ironhide, what chapter they’re described in. Not alphabetical order, because that might mean spoilers later on. So don’t scroll too far down, or you’ll have no one to blame but yourself. If I miss anyone, let me know what chapter they came in on to make it easier for me to add them. I’ll also add specific armor and uniforms at the start if I think of them. If the description isn’t here, then it might just be a canon character, so check before you yell at me. As for why this is a separate story, well, I plan on adding some non-canon chapters here and there for fun as well as some world-building chapters that don’t really fit the narrative but will still be canon. Those of you who wanted complex theology will find it in the latter category. As for the former… well… let’s just say that any of you wondering how Friar Jacques would have reacted to being dumped in, say, Equestria Girls might just get your answer some time in the future.” He allowed himself a wintery smile. “Happy reading.”
Uniforms
Royal Expeditionary Force (REF) Armor
Steel-colored base, with gold and red trim and red crests on the helmets. The armor has a slightly more medieval cut to it than the Solar/Lunar armor, though, like them, it still emphasizes a blend of medieval and Greco-Roman.
The Solar and Lunar Guards
“But Antiquarian,” I hear you saying. “They’re in the show! We know what they look like.” That’s true, you do, but since the guards are always one of two coat/mane colors for the first several seasons, I’ve taken to the rather common fan-theory that, at least until recent days, the Equestrian Royal Guards have glamour enchantments cast on their armor to make them appear uniform.
Equestrian Army Full Dress Uniforms
See the Royal Wedding. Dress Reds for officers. Dress blacks for enlisted.
Equestrian Army Dress Uniform
Worn when not in armor but also not in full dress. Green uniforms akin to WWI/WWII era British Army uniforms or modern U.S. Marine Dress, with brown belts and piping. Individual specializations (like the Fusiliers, REF, Solar, and Lunar Guards) which still fall under the Army designation will have different insignia. Separate units like the Marines or the Rangers have uniforms that are similar but have added piping and slightly different cuts to differentiate.
Equestrian Military Intelligence (EMI) Dress Uniform
Same as above, with the emblem of the crossed swords and watchful eye.
Equestrian Chaplains Corps Dress Uniform
Same as above, with the emblem of a blazing heart (Hearths Warming-style) with a sword behind it. Roanan collars and black 'clerics' are worn under the uniform tunic in place of standard shirt and tie.
Equestrian General Infantry (GIs or “Regulars”)
A plainer version of armor similar in cut to the others, with steel grey plate and ultramarine crests.
Royal Marine Corps (RMC)
A plainer version of armor similar in cut to the others, with blue-black steel plate and black crests. On land, they often camouflage their armor to suit the local terrain and wear helmets without crests. The armor also has a tendency to lend itself more to the medieval than to the medieval/Greco-Roman blend of the Army. Broad-brimmed and full-face helmets are common.
Royal Navy (RN)
Naval armor is often lighter than its Army and Marine counterpart, with a few steel plates covering critical areas. The uniforms are blue with red piping.
Royal Fusiliers (RF)
A plainer version of armor similar in cut to the others, with steel grey plate and pale green crests and red piping.
Equestrian Auxiliary Corps(also called “The Reserves”)
A plainer version of armor similar in cut to the others, with steel grey plate and olive drab crests.
Equestrian Air Corps (EAC)
Unarmored flight suits resemble the standard Wonderbolts rig, while combat rig resembles what was seen in the Crystal War universe. The standard base color is always blue, but other unit insignias replace the Wonderbolts colors in both cases.
Equestrian Rangers (ER)
Technically, a plainer version of armor similar in cut to the others, with steel grey plate and dark forest green crests, piping, and cloaks. It should be noted, however, that Ranger uniforms vary broadly. Many eschew the crest entirely, and armor is often more medieval than Greco-Roman. Broad-brimmed and full-face helmets are common. When Rangers operate in small squads or singletons, they often eschew any sort of uniform entirely, and even in full units ‘uniform’ is more of a note that the dark green barding of the Ranger is present somewhere under the varied kit (some military, some civilian, some bandit) that the Rangers have acquired.
Dramatis Personae
Captain Argent Sabre
Unicorn mare. Magenta coat. Crimson eyes. Silver mane and tail, vaguely similar to Trixie’s in cut but slightly shorter and much more meticulously maintained. Fit. Lean. A soldier’s build. Cutie Mark is a trio of gold-and-silver hilted sabers – the central one has a red tassel hanging from it, and the other two are crossed over it. Silver/white magical aura. When in uniform, her armor is almost always immaculate, with the addition of red chords and tassels (equivalent to what you might see on a WWI era UK full dress uniform) and golden flourishes – as much showiness as she can add without breaking regulation.
Friar Jacques de Charette
Tall. Broad-shouldered without being heavy – he has a bad case of lean old man strength. Pale eyes and weathered features. A full beard and head of hair, mostly iron grey and white at this point but at one point dark brown, borderline black. Many, many scars and gnarled hands. Thus far mostly only seen in black Hospitaller robes or his Templar armor.
Brother Andrew
Tall. A little taller Jacques, in fact, and though he is a touch thinner he is still quite strongly built. Square-jawed and blonde haired, generally attired in his Templar garb.
Prior Methuselah
A truly ancient man of Moorish descent; dark-skinned, weathered, and wrinkled. Bald, but with a thick white beard that stretches almost to his waist. He is generally blind, but is in some chapters seen with chocolate-colored eyes.
Medevac
Pegasus stallion. Former Marine medic, and it shows. Still wears his silver-grey mane and tail in a short soldier’s cut, as we see on the Crystal Guards in Season 6 or the security guard in Read it and Weep. Brown coat with darker brown eyes. His left rear leg is a metal prosthetic that reaches up to his haunch. His cutie mark is an upwards pointing silver-white arrow with wings outswept from it. It’s usually covered by a white labcoat.
First Sergeant Brick
Earth pony stallion. Big Mac’s size. Brick-red fur with darker red mane and tail, cut similar to Big Mac’s. Eyes are brown-red. His cutie mark is exactly what you think it is. He’s usually in an up-armored version of REF armor and carrying a truly massive maul.
First Lieutenant Morning Song
Earth pony mare. Alabaster white. Thick, loose-flowing black mane and tail with golden streaks. Dark blue eyes. Cutie mark of an eighth-note with a sun for the ball. Often seen in REF armor with heavier-than-standard hoof guards.
Corporal Thresher
Earth pony stallion. REF. Dark green fur that’s almost blue it’s so dark, with red hair fringed with that same green. Dark blue-green eyes. Cutie mark is a threshing tool that looks more like a military flail than a farming implement. His weapon is the same.
Mason Grey
Earth pony stallion. Grey-coated, with a distinguished white mane cropped like a businessman’s. His cutie mark is a stone smith’s compass and stylus. His favored outfit is often something to the effect of a dapper blue jacket, rose tie, and gold cufflinks and pocket watch of the highest quality. He has begun to show wrinkles in his age (middle-aged).
Colonel Earnest Query, “Ernie”
Earth pony stallion. Heavyset, aging, with dark grey coat and black come-over. Usually wearing glasses (the large ones of the 50s/60s). Cutie mark is a question mark. Usually seen in an EMI Dress uniform.
First Lieutenant Close Watch
Unicorn mare. Pale blue coat. Icy blue eyes. Blonde mane and tail. Very lightly built, but lean rather than weak. Gold magical aura. Cutie mark is a magnifying glass. Usually seen in an EMI Dress uniform.
Sandstone
Earth pony stallion. Golden-brown coat. Brown mane and tail. Average size for an earth pony, but slightly below average strength. A trio of sandstone bricks for a cutie mark.
Sea Breeze
Unicorn mare. Cyan coat. Short blue-green mane and tail. A little on the small side, but not so much as to really stand out. A cresting wave with a wind current overhead for a cutie mark.
Brother Tweed
A wizened old unicorn stallion of tweed color and tweed jacket with glasses and the air of a professor.
Brother Thornberry
Earth pony stallion. Dark blue coat. Black mustache, mane, and tail. Fiery red eyes. Stocky. Cutie mark is his namesake.
Colour Sergeant Krucjata Włócznia, “Fritters”
Unicorn stallion. Scruffy chocolate brown coat. Red and white mane, tail, and stubble. Bloodshot icy blue eyes. Lanky and lean to the point of appearing cadaverous, but with deceptively wiry muscles. Cutie mark is an upheld spear with gleaming tip and red pennant. Red magical aura. Generally seen in REF rig with a long-bladed spear and (sometimes) two additional spearheads hung at his side like shortswords.
Staff Sergeant Marble Slab
Pegasus stallion. Red coat. Three tone mane and tail: grey, off-grey, and off-white. Unusually short, but compact and muscular rather than small. Cutie mark is a marble slab shaped vaguely like a Roman tower shield. Generally seen in REF rig with a large shield (cut like Flash Magnus’, but with REF colors) and a gladius.
Kiln “Quartermaster”
Earth pony stallion. Pale, ash-grey fur. Short mane and tail the color of burning embers. Eyes of the same color, with pupils and irises that are a shade unnaturally large. White suit jacket and fedora (the former of which covers his cutie mark) and a tie of the same color as his hair and eyes. Half a head larger than Big Mac and muscular in the extreme without appearing disproportionate.
Kuro Ken
Unicorn stallion (of Far Eastern descent). Off-white coat. Black mane with a widow’s peak and slicked back in a ponytail (his tail’s black too… just realized that could be confusing with actual ponies). Pale green magical aura. His cutie mark is a pair of crossed black katanas.
Inkling
Nope. Just… nope. I mean, she’s a mare… but… beyond that, nope.
Dagger
Pegasus stallion. Russet-red coat. Silver-grey mane and tail. Grey eyes. Cutie mark is a trio of daggers, each of a different style, each crossed over each other. Usually armed with wingblades.
Falx
Unicorn stallion. Purple coat. Brown mane and tail, both pulled back in braids. Tall, handsome, fit. Dark green eyes. Favors the falx and hook, and his cutie mark is one crossed over the other.
Sai
Unicorn stallion (of Far Eastern descent). Pale blue coat with white mane and tail. Blue eyes and magic aura. Cutie mark is a sai.
Thorn
Pegasus stallion. Very dark green with crimson mane. Dark red eyes. A little shorter than average. Cutie mark is an ouroboros that appears to be of a twisting green vine with red thorns rather than a standard serpent.
Guillotine
Earth pony stallion. Pale cream coat. Black mane and tail. Tall, broad, and portly. Wields a massive headsman’s axe. Cutie mark is a pair of axes crossed over each other.
Silhouette
Unicorn mare. Jet black coat, mane, and tail, and midnight blue eyes and aura. Her cutie mark is a dancing unicorn of midnight blue with subtle stars in her coat. Favors the arming sword.
Cloak
Unicorn stallion. Silver grey muzzle and hooves are all that show beneath his black cloak. Lean.
Lance Corporal Comet
Unicorn stallion. Solar Guard with the white-and-blue glamour active.
Private Oaken
Earth pony stallion. When not attired in the Lunar Guard armor and under the effects of its glamour, he has a brown coat, darker brown mane and tail, and forest green eyes. His cutie mark is a coat-of-arms: a grey shield bearing the symbol of a towering tree of brown and green.
Private Ironhide
Unicorn stallion. Even without the Lunar Guard glamour, he has the standard slate grey coat, silver mane and tail, and golden eyes of the Lunars. Silver magic aura. Cutie mark is an iron chain shirt.
Specialist First Class Bound Glyph
Unicorn stallion. Light blue coat. Gold mane and tail. Red eyes. Cutie mark is a basic control glyph for magical wards. Often attired in Solar Guard regalia with the white-and-blue glamour.
Professor Page Turner, PhD
Unicorn stallion. White-coated. Greying brown mane and tail. Cutie mark is a book with a page mid-turn. Favors garb like his trademark fashionable green turtleneck.
First Lieutenant Snapshot
Unicorn stallion. REF. Barrel-chested. Dark plum coat with a black mane and tail and a receding maneline. Cutie mark of a crossbow being swung upwards into a firing position.
Sergeant Miru
Pegasus mare. REF. Wiry build. Light tan coat with grey mane and tail, all of which are often scruffy (though clean). She has white tattoos patterned on the paint of her ancestors, the Austailian Aborigines. Cutie mark of a Miru spear-thrower and spear.
Chaplain First Lieutenant Trench, Cleric, Ordos Solaris
Earth pony stallion. REF. Pale peach coat and light brown mane and tail. Glasses. Cutie Mark of a blazing Hearths Warming heart with a trenching shovel behind it.
Corporal Booker
Unicorn stallion. REF. Company Clerk for Argent Sabre. Pale blue coat with midnight blue mane and tail. Thin, bespectacled, with a fastidiously clean and precise uniform at all times. Cutie mark is a record book with a penknife resting on the cover.
Edmare Burke
Unicorn mare. Narrow, aquiline features, somewhat like Fleur's. Cream coat. Long, fiery red hair. Emerald green eyes; she's often seen wearing fine yet simple garb of the same color. Speaks with a Braelic (Irish) accent. Minister of Trade. A leading member of the conservative Crown Loyalist Party ("Tories" in parlance) currently part of the Tri-Party Government (coalition of Crown Loyalist, Centrist, and Labour Parties). Daughter of the esteemed stallion Edmane Burke, a CLP statespony inspired by the real-life Edmund Burke. Like her father, known for a passionate desire for ethical reform tempered by a cautious 'slow and steady' approach (though she can be more openly fiery and blunt in her delivery than her venerable father).
Gerhardt Griff
Old griffon tom. Grey, grizzled, and hardy even in his age. Dresses in the green of a master shipwright from the Griffish Isles. Speaks with a Low Trottish accent (Cockney). Descendant of the first griffons to settle in Equestria after the Great Diaspora. Former union dock worker, retired Captain of the 4th Talondon Fusiliers, retired master shipwright and business owner, current Minister of Commerce. Member of the Griffon Patriotic Movement (Independent), which is currently part of the Centrist Party and the currently part of the Tri-Party Government (coalition of Crown Loyalist, Centrist, and Labour Parties). Blunt, abrasive, and genuine in his care for his country and its people.
Plum Pit
Earth pony stallion. Plum coat. Dark, long, curly brown mane and tail. Chancellor Exchequer. Long-time member of the liberal Labour Party ("Whig"), currently part of the Tri-Party Government (coalition of Crown Loyalist, Centrist, and Labour Parties). Speaks with a High Trottish Accent (well-to-do London accent). Venerable, principled, patient, and stoic. A reference to real-life William Pitt the Elder, who fought corruption and sought reform, much like Edmund Burke.
Steel Weave
Unicorn stallion. Thin. Immaculately coiffed white mane, mustachios perfectly curled, pointed goatee neatly trimmed. Pale blue coat well-groomed. Wears things like: a salmon-colored peacoat and frilled collar like a gentleman sailor of the Coltibbean. Foppish. Dandyish. Surprisingly talented blacksmith and enchanter. Husband of High Crest.
High Crest
Earth pony mare. Sandy coat and curly nutmeg-brown mane. Wife of Steel Weave and equally well-groomed. Wears things like: an intricately woven sea-colored dress that evokes images of waves, complemented by pearl necklace and earrings. Dandyish. Foppish. Surprisingly talented blacksmith and enchanter.
Forge, Temper, and Quench
Earth pony, unicorn, and pegasus stallions, respectively. Eerily similar in appearance. Soot grey coats, coal black manes, brown eyes. Much-dirtied from forge work. Shaggy coats and fire-blackened manes. Sons of Steel Weave and High Crest. Talented blacksmiths and enchanters, to no one's surprise.
Central Equestrian Orthopedic Specialists, Recovery Suite 110, Firefly Memorial Hospital
Antiquarian drummed his hoof on the siderail of the gurney, glaring at the far wall as though bland paint job was somehow responsible for his woes. The ire in his bloodshot green eyes was so intense that, had the wall been a living creature, it would almost certainly have been intimidated. As it was, it returned his malignant gaze with the blatant disregard for the disapproval of elders characteristic of inanimate objects and teenagers.
“Sir, you’re glaring at the wall again,” pointed out Aura de Patience.
The stallion did not bother to deign such a preposterous remark with even a glance at his secretary, who was idly flipping through a fashion magazine. “I most certainly am not glaring at the wall, Miss Aura. I am merely intent upon studying its ever facet and must squint in order to do so from this distance.”
Aura merely raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, fine, I’m glaring at the wall. Are you happy?”
“Usually,” she replied, putting aside the magazine. “I have a lot to be happy about, after all. As do you, though you seem more intent upon finding the negative in the situation.” She didn’t say ‘as per usual,’ but he heard it all the same.
“I just think that this is a particularly tasteless and soul-sucking color to paint the wall of a recovery room, especially for patients coming out of surgery,” groused the stallion. “Is that so wrong?”
Aura gave a barely perceptible sigh and tapped the IV running into his leg. “I was under the impression that painkillers were supposed to make you more amicable, not less.”
Antiquarian smirked. “What can I say? I like to buck expectations.”
The mare rolled her eyes, then gave him a sympathetic look. “You’re still in pain, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
She’s known me too long. “Yeah, I am,” he admitted, knowing that denial would get him nowhere.
“And?” she prompted.
“… and… the pain isn’t what’s eating me.” He pulled aside the covers to look at the bandaged leg; the one the doctor had spent the afternoon on. “Intellectually, I’m happy. I know that this pain is temporary, and that I’ll be back on all fours soon enough.”
“What about beyond intellectually?” she prompted when he didn’t elaborate.
Antiquarian sighed. “I hate being laid up. It gives me too much time to think.”
Aura raised her eyebrows “You. Complaining about having too much time to think? Usually you complain about the opposite!”
The stallion chuckled. “Ironic, isn’t it? But you see, dear Aura, the time I crave is not the time I have right now. I need time to think about matters which actually bear contemplation. Art and reason and beauty and Truth.” He gestured to the IV. “But, when I’m confined like this, all I can ever seem to think about is that which scares me. Loss. Failure.” He paused. “The consequences of letting down ponies who need me.” After a moment, he looked up, blinking away moisture in his eyes under the compassionate gaze of his faithful friend. “Silly, I know, but being sick makes me feel like a young colt afraid of the dark; cowering in the nighttime when all things which distract from my fears are stripped away.” Clearing his throat, he wiped his eyes. “Like I said. Too much time.”
Aura leaned forward, putting a comforting hoof on his. “Antiq, you can’t carry around—”
What would no doubt have been a tender moment was interrupted by a knock at the door. Antiquarian smirked, as he often did whenever Miss Patience scowled. “Comedic timing is a double-edged sword, is it not?” he asked jovially.
She ignored him. “Who is it?”
The nurse’s voice answered. “Sorry to disturb you, but the professor has a visitor. He says it’s about work.”
Aura’s frown deepened. “With all respect to this stallion, Professor Antiquarian’s schedule has been cleared for months now and—”
“Aura,” interrupted Antiquarian. “Aura, please. I’m crawling the walls here. A little distraction is just what I need.”
For a moment, he thought the mare would refuse, but she simply sighed and nodded. “As you say, sir.” The doorknob lit up blue with her magic. “All right, he may come in.”
“You’re a gem,” he whispered to her. “I hope you don’t need any papers signed,” he called out to the visitor, “because I’m on enough painkillers to knock out SWEET TAPDANCING CELESTIA!”
Standing there, framed in the doorway, was the dark-coated representative of the Angry Mob – the burly earth pony known simply as ‘Tar.’
I’m trapped! Trapped like a rat in a cage! I always knew I would die on a gurney because of fanfiction! Somehow I just knew!
Antiquarian’s heartrate jumped as he squirmed into the corner of the gurney, vainly putting what little distance he could between himself and the inevitable. My only regret is that I’ll never get the chance to have Jacques throw down with the Sirens in an epic musical—
“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!” barked Aura. Antiquarian’s eyes flicked from the intruder to his secretary, and, in a flash, his fear was transferred. The mare practically had smoke coming out of her ears, and a cold fire burned in her blue eyes. She stood, and Tar took a visible step back from the diminutive mare. “You ponies have a lot of nerve coming here when he’s just had surgery! You’d better have a darned good explanation for harassing him at a time like this, or else I’m going to tattoo his schedule on your face so this never happens again!”
To his credit, Tar did not run from the ferocious secretary. He simply swallowed and pulled a string of balloons into frame. “I come bearing gifts,” he announced, managing to keep the quiver mostly out of his voice. “From the Angry Mob.”
Aura and Antiquarian shared a blink. The latter cleared his throat and asked, “You… wanna run that by me again?”
“The Angry Mob is aware of your surgery, and, of course, you were kind enough to warn us that updates would be delayed. As a token of our appreciation for your diligence in keeping us informed and in the hopes that you will recover speedily, we felt it appropriate to wish you well.”
Antiquarian and Aura exchanged a long glance. For once, she looks as mystified as I do, reflected the aging stallion. Today is certainly a day for the unexpected. “Well, um, that’s rather civilized of you. Please, do come in.” He quirked a smile. “And do step lightly around Miss Aura. Her father was a soldier and a very efficient one at that. I am quite certain that she picked up more than a few of his tricks.”
Tar glanced at Aura as though gauging whether or not Antiquarian was kidding. Her gaze suggested that he was not. “I won’t stay long,” announced the stallion wisely. “I just came to deliver a few gifts.”
“Not booby-trapped, I trust,” said Antiquarian dryly. Beware of mobs bearing gifts, after all.
“Not this time, no,” replied Tar honestly.
“Hm,” grunted Antiquarian, making a note to cast extra security spells on his mail from now on.
“First are the balloons, of course,” began Tar, pulling the decorations in question into view. Now that they were closer, Antiquarian could see that many were red and orange and had fires and pitchforks drawn onto the sides. Some were even in the shape of pitchforks and torches. “And then the card.” A large pink heart read, Get Well Soon… Or Else! “And, finally, the crutch.” He pulled out a rear-leg crutch, decorated with pictures of angry mobs chasing ponies running down the surface. “My daughters decorated it. They’re such talented little fillies.”
Antiquarian had to hold a hoof over his muzzle to hide his expression. “Your… daughters?”
“Yes, my wife, Feather, and I have too little angels,” beamed Tar.
His wife Feather. Boy, I was way off thinking that the ‘Feather’ in the equation would be Tar’s brother. Tar and Feather… talk about an arsonist’s match made in heaven. “They sound charming. What are their names?”
“Pitchfork and Torch.”
“Of course they are.” Could have been worse. Could have been ‘Drawn and Quartered.’ “Well, thanks for stopping by, Tar. This has been rather… decent of all of you. Give my regards to the Angry Mob.”
Tar smiled and dipped his head politely. “I’ll be sure to, sir. You get well soon.” He dipped his head to Aura. “Ma’am.”
“Tar.”
With that, he departed. Antiquarian watched after him for a moment, then picked up the card, reading through the inscription and noting the disturbing number of signatures. The blasted thing has several pages. How long did it take them to get all these?
“That was… rather unexpected,” remarked Aura.
Antiquarian read a passage of the letter aloud. “Please get well soon, as our violent rampages through the city just aren’t the same without you. After all, what is an Angry Mob without its choicest victim.” With a smirk, he straightened the tie he wasn’t wearing. “Did you hear that, Miss Aura? I am their choicest victim.”
“Let’s hope they don’t say that to all the writers,” she deadpanned.
“Aura! You wound me!” he exclaimed in mock horror. “I’m so proud!”
“Yes, sir, you’ve been a terrible influence.” Her face turned more somber, a sympathetic light in her eyes. “Still feeling like you’re letting ponies down?”
Putting aside the card, he picked up the crutch. “Oddly enough, not so much anymore.” With a dry chuckle, he added, “I suppose that goes to show you the mysterious workings of Providence. Sometimes, even our enemies can be exactly what we need to lift our spirits.”
Aura smiled as she reclaimed her chair. “As you say, sir.”
He continued to look at the crutch, taking careful note of the craftsmanship to—
“Antiq?”
“Yes?” he said, looking up to see the kind eyes of his friend.
“Being finite isn’t the same as being a failure. And you’re not the sort to just let ponies down. You know that, don’t you?”
Antiquarian held her gaze for a moment, then nodded, smiling. “I do know that, Aura. I just forget things.” He reached out a hoof to meet hers. “Lucky I’ve got a good friend like you to remind me.”
Aura patted his hoof, then retrieved her magazine. “Any time.”
Antiquarian’s study was cleaner than was typical, with its tottering stacks of tomes organized into structurally-sound collections, its desks, chairs, and other accoutrements of academia dusted, and its windows freshly polished. The piles of loose paper that usually festooned the room were filed, the contents of the bookshelves rightly ordered, and the floor swept of pencil shavings, coffee grounds, paper scraps, and all such detritus.
As a rule, such a clean state of existence marked that period of time between when Aura de Patience finished tidying up the space and when Antiquarian blew in like a tornado and destroyed any semblance of order and harmony.
Today, however, the reason was different. Today, Antiquarian had a guest.
Friar Jacques de Charrette felt right at home in Antiquarian’s antiquarian study, save for the fact that he could not seem to adjust the large armchair behind the desk to sit at a comfortable height for his tall human build. Eventually he simply backed the chair away from the desk and set it as high as it would go before talking to the chair’s owner, who stood off to one side. “So I just address the audience directly and the metaphorical camera comes to rest on me?”
Antiquarian glowered at the man. “You should know; you and Song already did this once when you tossed me into the closet to do that PSA on self-care.”
Jacques gave a wintery smile. “Ah, yes. Silly me. I had forgotten.” Swiveling the chair to face the Fourth Wall, he began, “My brothers and sisters, good day, and may Lenten blessings rest upon you. As today is Ash Wednesday and the start of the Lenten Season, I thought it a fitting time to speak on the spiritual and practical benefits of an oft-neglected practice: Fasting.” With a slight smile, he held up a hand to forestall the movement of the readers who were scrambling to close out the window and look for something else to occupy their time. “Rest-assured, I shall endeavor to make this a timely and interesting little jaunt for you, even those of you who are not religious. After all, the practice of Fasting is used by therapists, personal trainers, health care professionals, and many more besides on a daily basis. If you will indulge me, I think you will find this informative, and perhaps quite fruitful if you are open to it.”
He gestured to Antiquarian with a gnarled hand. “My esteemed author was kind enough to allow me to once more use his study to address you, on the grounds that, oh, how did you put it again?”
“On the grounds that I feel terrible about what I plan on doing to you in future chapters and this is my way of begging forgiveness,” admitted Antiquarian with a guilty look on his disheveled features.
“Yes, that,” smiled Jacques. “So, without further ado, let us examine the principle of Fasting.”
“Wheee,” grumbled Antiquarian unenthusiastically.
Jacques shot him a reproving glance. “Heckling is unbecoming, Antiquarian.”
“Never stops my readers.”*
“Fasting,” asserted Jacques, pushing past the interruption, “is generally thought of in this day-and-age as an unfortunate imposition forced upon people by religious structures in order to restrict their lives for the sake of piety. It is a view which, sadly, is even held by many people within said religious structures who were never taught the actual purpose behind Fasting and were simply expected to do it.” He shook his head slowly. “A sad statement on the quality of instruction provided by many clergy, but I digress. Fasting is a great deal more nuanced than this stereotype, and is in fact centrally about freedom rather than confinement.”
Antiquarian spoke up, his voice sounding phoned-in and sarcastic. “But, Friar Jacques, how can a thing that tells me I can’t do something possibly be about freedom?”
Jacques gave the pony an odd look, raising one eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
In his normal voice, the writer answered, “I’m playing the part of generic hypothetical questioner to set you up for the next part of your lesson while simulating audience involvement to prevent them from getting bored.”
The friar blinked. “Oh. Well. That… makes sense I suppose. Only…” he scratched his head, “why do you sound so disinterested?”
“Well, maybe I’m just a little bored because I’d like to be working but I can’t because you’re SITTING AT MY FREAKING DESK!”
Jacques gave him a long look that suggested that he wasn’t convinced of Antiquarian’s mental stability before resuming. “Riiiight… well, in any case, allow me to explain. In order to understand Fasting, we must first understand its etymology.”
Antiquarian feigned shock. “Wow. I just felt thirty readers leave the moment you said ‘etymology.’”
“Oh, dear Antiq,” laughed Jacques, “this is a supplement; there weren’t thirty readers to begin with.”
“Touché.”
“Rather than boring you with the entire etymology, suffice it to say that the Old English and Germanic origins of the word referred not to speed, but to holding strong. The original Old English term ‘Fast’ was related to standing tall, holding onto something, or keeping a firm grip. This definition remains in such modern turns of phrase as ‘hold fast.’”
“Huh,” remarked Antiquarian thoughtfully. “That wasn’t nearly as boring as I thought it would be. Tell me more.”
Jacques raised an eyebrow. “Are you being the stand-in for the audience again, or are you just being difficult?”
“Eh,” shrugged the stallion. “Po-ta-to, po-tah-to.”
Rolling his eyes, the friar continued. “Thus, one might think of Fasting as ‘holding fast’ on matters of self-mastery and personal betterment. Or, to render it in modern parlance, ‘getting a grip’ on yourself.”
“But what does this have to do with freedom?” asked Aura de Patience.
Both males jumped slightly at her sudden presence. “When did you get here?” demanded Antiquarian.
“I can’t get any work done with you two doing this, so I thought I’d come help be the audience, since you’re clearly being moody.”
Before Antiquarian could snap back a retort, Jacques reclaimed the narrative. “I’m so glad you asked that, hypothetical audience member who’s more polite than the last one.” Antiquarian glared, but the friar ignored him. “Consider the following scenario: a man struggles with the vice of laziness. He sits on his couch watching TV, knowing full well that he could be doing something more productive with his time, or at least engaging in a past-time more engaging and edifying than the mediocre show he’s watching. Instead of turning off the TV, however, or at least changing the proverbial channel, he simply lets the countdown run out before the next episode starts and continues to indulge in binge-watching.”
Aura raised an eyebrow. “That sounded like a… very specific example.”
Jacques smirked. “That would be because whenever Antiquarian is on assignment to the human world, he is subject to this particular vice.”
The stallion in question flushed bright red. Aura regarded him thoughtfully. “That would explain why you’re always behind on your work when you get back into town.”
Antiquarian pointed an accusing hoof at Jacques. “You’re on thin ice, Friar. I’m still your writer.”
“Oh, what are you going to do?” mocked Jacques. “Kill all my brother monks again? As the kids say, ‘bring it.’”
“Why did I write you like this?”
Aura sighed. “Could we get back on track please?”
“Of course,” nodded Jacques. “Now, we are all creatures of habit, which can be a good thing or a bad thing depending on the circumstances. In the case of this binge-watcher, it’s a bad thing. He thinks he’s exercising his freedom by choosing to watch another episode, but the truth is the opposite. Is he ‘free’ the next day when he’s behind on his work? Is he ‘free’ when he realizes that he’s behind on his hobby projects that bring him far more joy than the mediocre show he’s watching? Is he ‘free’ when he can’t even select a more edifying show because that would require too much effort? Of course not! He’s enslaved to his vices and fails to live up to his full potential.”
“The horror!” exclaimed Aura, throwing a hoof to her brow in a manner that would have made Rarity proud. The two males stared. “What, too much?”
“Just a skosh,” said Antiquarian.
“It is horrible, though,” agreed Jacques. “The fact that we can be unable to control ourselves even in something as trifling as our evening entertainment should give us pause. The good news, however, is that our habitual nature can work to our favor just as easily. Consider the same scenario with the following twist: the same man has been Fasting of late. Nothing major – just limiting his sugar intake to one dessert a day, cutting out snacking, and eating more fiber. Perhaps he’s doing it for religious reasons; perhaps he’s trying to drop those extra pounds; perhaps he’s trying to set a good example for his kids.”
“Perhaps he wants to be more regular,” volunteered Antiquarian.
“Something we should all aspire to,” replied Jacques solemnly. “Whatever the case, he’s feeling a little bit healthier because of his food intake, and a little more confident because he knows that he is capable of saying ‘no’ to his impulses. Now, when he sees that episode counter clicking down to the next episode, he knows that he’s not subject to saying ‘yes’ to every little whim that crosses his mind, and he has the self-control needed to turn off the TV and go work on something else.”
Jacques tapped his fingers on the desk in rhythm to his words. “Note what just happened. Because this man was able to say ‘no’ to himself, he became more free than he was before. He reclaimed his agency by making his activities a matter of deliberate choice rather than a matter of impulse, and he was able to do it because he developed a habit of self-control in an area that wasn’t even directly related to the bad habit that he actually needed to break.”
“I’ve heard about this,” interjected Aura. “If I may, Friar,” he nodded and she continued, “twelve-step support groups for people trying to kick addictions to things like alcohol and pornography often recommend that the participants also do things like Fasting from certain foods, shows, or other passive and semi-passive pleasures because it helps rewire the brain to be accustomed to decision-making rather than acting on impulse.”
“On top of which,” added Antiquarian, “it emboldens and ennobles the spirit to prize one’s personal betterment, and the betterment of those around oneself, over the immediate pleasures of everyday life.” The other two gave him surprised looks, and he gruffly remarked, “What? Just because I’m a smart-aleck doesn’t mean I don’t care about the message here.”
Jacques nodded appreciatively. “Freedom is often misrepresented as being the ability to do what one wants, but this is a false definition. After all, an addict wants the drugs he’s addicted to, but one would be hard-pressed to find anyone more enslaved than he. By contrast, people who are capable of making the right choices, the ones which shall allow them to be the best that they can be, are truly free, even if they must choose disciplines and rules to achieve this. Consider two athletes – one who plays by the rules, trains, and sacrifices certain pleasures to be fit and well-trained; the other, by contrast, eats whatever he wants, refuses to train, and ignores the rules. Which of them will be the freer player on the field? I tell you that the first, who subordinated his or her immediate desires for a higher goal, will be the greater athlete, while the second, who was flippant, will spend a great deal of time on the bench, if they are allowed to remain on the team at all.”
Antiquarian nodded, casting a fond glance at Aura. “Miss Aura isn’t a great secretary because she organizes my office however she wants; she’s a great secretary because she organizes it, and me, the way that I need to succeed.”
“And Antiquarian is more free to pursue his life’s calling when there’s a proper order and control to his life,” added Aura. “In a sense he ‘Fasts’ from the lax behaviors of just throwing things wherever he pleases out of laziness or putting off work to indulge in some pleasure.”
He smirked. “And she can help me get back on track whenever I don’t do it myself. Accountability helps.”
“There’s nothing wrong with taking pleasure in food, drink, and entertainment,” clarified Jacques. “All these things are gifts from God and a natural part of the world. However, if pleasure comes at the expense of that which is more important in life, we swiftly find ourselves losing control and, by extension, losing ourselves. Denying oneself in little ways frees us to be able to choose the best things for ourselves.”
“To pursue our special talents and vocations without distraction,” volunteered Antiquarian.
“And to help others to find the freedom to do it themselves as well,” said Aura.
Jacques spread his hands, palms open. “Saint Irenaeus once said that ‘the Glory of God is Man fully alive.’ Even if one isn’t religious, I believe that there is still great wisdom to be found in this statement. People are capable of incredible things when we are allowed to reach our full potential. Things which inhibit this pursuit, even if they are not bad in and of themselves, are hindrances upon the road to happiness and fulfillment. Fasting is, among other things related to penance and prayer for religious persons, a ready means of pursuing our own freedom by disciplining the body and spirit to have the control to choose aright how we shall spend our time.”
Antiquarian winked. “And, if you fast with friends, you can enjoy the sweet, sweet pleasure of making them suffer with you.” Jacques gave him a frosty look and Aura nudged him. “Oh, um, and you can enjoy the benefits of having an accountability partner and the mutual benefits which you both reap. Or something.”
Chuckling at the stallion’s antics, Jacques addressed the Fourth Wall. “We hope that you have all found something of merit in this little chapter, whatever your beliefs. May God bless you and your endeavors.” His lesson concluded, Jacques turned to his host. “Thank you kindly for letting me do this.”
“You’re welcome,” said Antiquarian warmly. “Now GET OUT OF MY CHAIR!”
Rarity’s life had always had a certain measure of shock and surprise. This, in and of itself, was neither shocking nor surprising. After all, every pony has some unexpected things happen now and again; it would be more unexpected if she didn’t.
With that said, Rarity’s life had become considerably more eventful following the Nightmare Moon Incident. She had always been friendly enough with the other girls (sans Twilight, of course), but it was a dramatic change for her to become so close to five other mares that they were essentially sisters in all but blood. The bonds she’d forged with them were akin to those forged by soldiers in combat – that particular closeness whereby a pony might walk through fire to protect a pony whom she might otherwise have little to nothing in common with. Such closeness had given her insight into why so many ponies made a career out of the military. After all, to share such depth with other ponies, to the point that six mares might poetically be said to share one beating heart, was more than worth all the brushes with death she’d had in the past few years.
Bonds of this nature are not lightly forged, however. Quite literally overnight, Rarity’s life had shifted from that of a normal pony to that of a normal pony who regularly stared down death to save the lives of ponies she would never meet. These days, it was not uncommon for her to be interrupted in the midst of sewing with whatever catastrophe loomed on that particular day. Such surprise disasters had simply become a part of the weekly routine (as much as surprises can become routine, of course). When it came to being friends with Twilight Sparkle, Spike, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, and Fluttershy, shock and awe came with the territory.
This was not to say that life-and-death scenarios were the only changes to her routine, however, or even the only source of surprises as related to her friends. Quite the opposite, in fact. Most interactions she had with them were of the mundane and harmless variety, and they frequently began with one of her friends dropping by unannounced. Even as commonplace as such visits became, there was still an element of shock present in them that kept her on her hooves.
All of which was a very long way of saying that Rarity nearly jumped out of her skin when Rainbow Dash unexpectedly uttered the word “‘sup” directly behind her.
“Rainbow Dash!” shrieked Rarity, spilling her sewing supplies across her desk in shock. “Sweet Celestia, darling, I nearly jumped out of my skin!”
“Sorry,” smirked Rainbow Dash, who, in truth, did not look particularly sorry. It might have been the smirk. “I just need a favor real quick.”
Rarity huffed and began magically collecting her scattered materials. “Well, after scaring the living daylights out of me, I’m not entirely sure that I want to grant such a favor.” She made a great show of returning to her work.
Rainbow groaned behind her. “Come on, Rarity. I wasn’t even trying to startle you this time. I just need some thread that matches my flight suit so I can fix this stupid tear in it.” She waved the garment in question in the air. “I want it to be in one piece before I practice maneuvers with Marble. Just point me to the right blue and I’ll be out of your mane.”
The mention of Marble Slab brought a certain gleam to Rarity’s eye. She had not yet found the time to follow up on Pinkie’s rather… intriguing remark the previous day. And now Rainbow presents herself to me on a silver platter. Perfection! Careful not to show her excitement, the fashionista cast a laconic glance over her shoulder, feigning irritation. “Well, I suppose I could assist you in that regard. Far be it from me to let a friend be improperly attired, annoying though she may be.”
“Thanks, Rarity!” beamed Rainbow. “You’re a lifesaver!”
“Well, I do strive to be useful,” remarked Rarity as she magically summoned several spools of thread from the nearby shelf, carefully comparing them to the ripped flight suit that Dash carried on one hoof. The dozen colors she selected were actually just a diversion; she knew from a number of Wonderbolt-inspired commissions which blue was required, but she didn’t want to just hoof the thread over and let Rainbow dash off before she’d sussed out the matter of Marble. “I suppose you’ll need my assistance in repairing the damage?”
“Naw,” replied the pegasus. “I’ll just stitch it up when I get home.” Rarity stopped pretending to compare colors and simply stared at her friend. “What?”
Rarity blinked, “N-nothing darling, it’s just… well…” Rainbow raised an eyebrow, “… I suppose I’m a little surprised that you found the time to work learning to sew into your, ahem, busy schedule.”
Rainbow snorted. “Yeah, well, you can thank the military for that. We’re supposed to be able to maintain our kit, which makes sense, but that also happens to include our uniforms. Fortunately, I’m awesome at it,” she preened. Rarity raised an eyebrow. “W-well,” faltered Dash, “I’m not as awesome with it as I am with other things, like, you know, actually flying.” The eyebrow raised further. “I mean… I get the job done, ya know?” Rarity’s raised eyebrow reached Applejack levels of silent disbelief. “Okay, I can’t sew to save my life,” admitted Rainbow.
“Then I’d be happy to help you, darling,” said Rarity, the warmth of her smile hiding her glee that she’d now have plenty of time to interrogate her friend. “Well, this color looks to match it quite well. As for the tear… hmm… that’s quite a rip. It’ll take some time to fix it.” ‘Some time’ being an appropriately vague term.
“Ugh!” moaned Rainbow. “Seriously? Can’t you just magic it back together?”
Rarity summoned a needle and set to work. “Not if you want it looking good as new for Marble.” Rainbow huffed and nodded. “So… you’re eager to see him, then?”
Rainbow blinked. “Well, yeah. Guy’s gonna show me some combat maneuvers we didn’t really cover in the Bolts. Different kinds of squadrons, ya know?”
“Well, that ought to be fun,” said Rarity as she repaired the garment. “He seems a rather pleasant stallion. Well-mannered. Dutiful.”
“I guess,” shrugged Rainbow.
“He’s rather fast as well, as I recall. Something you rather prize,” prodded Rarity.
“Sure,” agreed Rainbow blandly.
It took effort for Rarity to keep the annoyance off her face. “Do you have plans for… after you practice?”
The pegasus gave Rarity an odd look. “You feeling okay?”
“Whatever do you mean, darling?”
“You’re doing that… thing,” replied Rainbow, gesturing vaguely with a forehoof. “That thing where your voice gets all funky with where you’re putting emphasis because you’re saying one thing and meaning another thing.”
Rarity sputtered. “W-why I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, darling!”
Rainbow gave her an ‘I-don’t-buy-it’ look. “Come on, Rarity. I haven’t had my mid-morning nap and I’m not picking up what you’re laying down. What are you after?”
Her friend’s inability to read the nuance of the conversation left Rarity so vexed that she had to stop sewing to respond. Heaving a sigh, she exclaimed, “Fine, Rainbow Dash! If you want to take all the fun out of it, I was asking after your interest in Marble.” Rainbow stared at her blankly. Surely even she’s not that dense! She was about to speak even more plainly (and far less politely) when Rainbow’s pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” cried the pegasus, backpedaling so hard she took flight and hovered. “I’m not— he’s not even— no! Just, no!”
Rarity giggled. “Oh, Rainbow, there’s no need to be so coy. It’s quite natural for you to take interest in a fit young military stallion.”
“Rarity, I didn’t— he’s married, Rarity!”
That bombshell stopped Rarity cold. She blinked rapidly as the information settled in, and by the time it was done all she could manage was, “Oh.”
Having gained control of the conversation, Dash continued. “Yeah, married three years with two little foals zippin’ around and another on the way. He’s not exactly on the market.”
“Mm,” remarked Rarity with pursed lips. “So you weren’t—”
“No, Rarity, I didn’t make a fool of myself asking him out,” said Rainbow flatly. “Heck I wasn’t even interested. Where’d you even get that idea?”
Rarity sighed and went back to work. “Pinkie Pie, darling. In her defense, she did see you stalking him.” She paused sewing to look at Rainbow in confusion. “Why were you stalking him, if not out of romantic interest?”
“Hey! There are plenty of good reasons to stalk a stallion!” Silence followed Dash’s statement. After a moment, the mare put a hoof to her face. “Okay, that didn’t come out how I meant it.”
“I’m sure,” smirked Rarity, resuming the stitching. “So, you had some innocuous and boring reason for pursuing him?”
“Eeyup,” said Rainbow in a passable impression of Big Mac, made all the more impressive by her much higher vocal range. “Even if he was single, he’s not my type.”
Rarity sighed, her hopes of mare-talk with one of her closest friends dashed. “Well, that’s fair I suppose.” She was about to remark on the sewing when Rainbow’s words sank in. “Just why isn’t he ‘your type,’ Rainbow? I thought you liked athletic pegasi stallions.”
She was careful to keep her eyes on the flight suit and Rainbow on her peripherals as she asked, so that Rainbow wouldn’t feel as put on the spot. It was well she did, for the blue mare flushed at the question. “Well… I do… like athletic stallions I mean… he’s just… not my type is all. Not really what I’m looking for.”
“But why isn’t he your type, darling? Something in his personality? His mannerisms?”
“No, not that. He’s just… not my type.”
“Well, what is it that disqualifies him from being your type?”
Dash hovered anxiously, biting her lip. “Well it’s… he’s not… I’d like a guy who…” Her face now approached Big Mac’s in color.
Rarity looked up over her sewing glasses. “Yes?” she prompted.
Rainbow screwed her eyes shut, landed, sucked in a breath, and exclaimed, “Hestooshort.”
Rarity blinked, not sure she’d heard right. “I beg your pardon?”
“He’s too short,” said Rainbow at a more normal speed. “I don’t like stallions who are shorter than me.”
Once more, a silence hung over the room. “O-okay,” said Rarity slowly. “To each their own, I suppose. May I ask why?”
Rainbow’s color was now in the ballpark of ‘crimson’ as she looked away in shame. “You’d think it’s silly.”
The fashionista snorted. “Darling, you forget that I once had a crush on Blueblood of all ponies! I’m the last pony to be able to lecture you on your taste in stallions!”
With a shaky chuckle, Rainbow replied, “Well, I guess that’s true. You…” she winced, “you promise you won’t laugh, or tell the others?”
“Pinkie Promise,” replied Rarity solemnly. Then, a touch manically, she hissed, “Now spill, darling!”
“Well… okay,” sighed Rainbow. “Here goes. The truth is… I want to be the cuddlee.” Rarity had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at infamously ‘tough’ and ‘cool’ Rainbow Dash expressing that she wanted to be the ‘cuddlee,’ which left her unable to ask what in the hay Rainbow meant. Fortunately, it seemed that the admission had opened the floodgates, as Rainbow was soon almost tripping over her words explaining. “Look, I’m the greatest flier Equestria’s ever seen, the Bearer of Loyalty, the, like, six-time savior of Equestria and however-many-times savior of however-many-places-in-it, and all this other totally radical stuff and… well… I happen to want a strong, masculine stallion who’s big enough to cuddle me and not the other way around.” Now that she’d finished, she stared forward with a defiant look on her face, as though daring the world to laugh at her. “Yeah.”
Rarity was taken aback by the outburst to say the least, but she couldn’t keep an amused smile off her face. “Oh, Rainbow Dash, there’s nothing wrong with that! There’s no rulebook that says you have to find every variety of stallion attractive. That would be silly! And there’s certainly no rulebook saying that you’re any less awesome, radical, strong, and independent just because you want the feel of a big, strong stallion’s forelimbs around you!” She chuckled. “If we were diminished simply by being in the presence of other ponies who surpass us in some specific way, then being friends with Twilight would mean that we were all idiots, being friends with Pinkie would mean that we were all humorless, and being friends with Fluttershy would mean that we were all sociopaths by comparison.”
Rainbow let out a deep breath. “So, you don’t think it’s weird?”
“Not at all darling,” Rarity assured her. “And why should I find it weird? That’d be as ridiculous as comparing myself to Fashion Plate and saying that I’m less of a pony just because I don’t know as much about running fashion shows, even though I’m quite well-versed in them myself and have a talent in fashion design that he lacks. To regard the excellence of others as a threat is a sign of insecurity, not strength. By contrast, to desire a mate who exceeds us in one capacity or another is a sign of confidence and self-assurance, not weakness.”
“Whoa,” said Rainbow, blinking. “When you put it like that, it sounds pretty cool. And,” she scratched the back of her head with one hoof, “I guess it makes sense. I mean, Marble showed me pictures of his wife, and, lemme tell ya, she’s got like a foot on him and is built like she could throw AJ around. But he’s not threatened by that. He’s strong and he knows it. Whether she’s bigger or stronger than him doesn’t matter.”
Rarity gave a satisfied smile. “Precisely, darling.”
Rainbow chuckled. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I had a rip in my suit, or else I woulda just kept worrying about that.” She glanced at the clock. “But, seriously, how much longer will this take.”
“Oh, I finished ages ago, darling. I was just pretending to work on it so that you’d spill the beans.”
The announcement that Jacques had gone missing was greeted with great dismay by all present. Rarity exclaimed how positively dangerous it was that the old man was wandering about at night, and Fluttershy whimpered how scary it is to be lost in the woods. Applejack and Twilight alternated worst-case scenarios, ranging from falling in a ditch to taking a tumble down a ravine to an uncontrolled magical surge. Pinkie and Rainbow loudly called for a rescue party while Big Mac wordlessly reached for the emergency lanterns. Marble had to restrain them from running off immediately and Fritters was attempting, with little success, to calm down Applejack and the others.
Which left Morning Song to silently ponder the situation.
Realistically, he could just be going out for a walk. Taking his sword is not, by itself, necessarily significant. Many soldiers like to go about armed, and, depending on the nature of his nightmare, it might be simply a matter of comfort.
She grimaced and rubbed her chin. However, the suspicious nature of the dream and the fact that the Shades are on the table means we can’t just dismiss this as the rash actions of an old soldier battling his nightmares. The lieutenant glanced around the room. And, with the Bearers present, we can’t afford to take too many chances. Better to ready ourselves, just in case.
“Boss?”
Song looked up to see Marble looking at her with a beseeching look. The short stallion had his hooves full trying to keep a search party from running half-cocked into the night. Time to put a stop to that.
There’s a certain art to making yourself heard over a panicking group without shouting. As a vocalist, a therapist, and an officer, Song had practiced that art for the almost three decades. “Quiet,” she commanded.
Ponies are herd animals by nature, and often revert to those instincts in moments of crisis as a survival mechanism. Nine heads turned to face her as conversation stopped. Good.
“Fritters and Marble, begin a close search of the inner grounds. Expand your search if needed. If you pick up his trail, send a runner back before following,” she ordered. Saluting in acknowledgement, both stallions slipped out. “Flight Officer Dash?” Rainbow Dash came to attention. “Retrieve your gear from the barn and slot yourself into their SAR pattern once you’re combat ready.”
“Yes, ma’am!” cried Dash, vanishing in a blur.
Twilight frowned. “Why does she need her—?”
Song didn’t pause to answer. “Applejack, get into your rig and grab mine while you’re at it.” She addressed the remaining mares and Big Mac. “The rest of us will meet you in the barn.”
Applejack blinked rapidly as she processed the commands. “Um, sure thing, Song,” she said, dashing upstairs.
Twilight opened her mouth to ask the obvious question, but Song brushed past her, making her way to the barn. “Talk while we move, Miss Sparkle. We don’t have time to lose.”
“Wait, Song, what are we—” Twilight had to run to catch the briskly trotting mare. “Morning Song, wait! Why are you telling everypony to get armored up?”
Song quirked a humorless smile. “Simple, Twilight. In this line of work, the ponies who plan for the worst live the longest.”
There were fourteen mares and stallions to bear the name ‘Clover the Clever,’ though only a few had ‘Clover’ as a given name.
The first was an orphaned unicorn stallion, shortly after reaching maturity, became apprentice the then young (and beardless) Starswirl. In those days of wild uncertainty, corruption was rife and warfare an ever-present reality for the disunified tribes. Starswirl, who had little patience for tribal politics, embarked on a quest of advancing the cause of all ponykind through science, cooperation between the races, and magic, a path which brought him and Clover into constant contact with all threeTribes.
In those days, Starswirl was not the bitter stallion he would ultimately become, and rather cheerfully accepted Clover’s help, considering him both friend and research partner. A third role, that of comrade-in-arms, would be added as their work took them increasingly into places wherein corruption dominated and the law was not always the ally of justice. Sometimes legally, sometimes not, the two companions became somewhat accidental heroes, and their fame spread throughout the land.
Clover was never Starswirl’s equal in magical acumen, but he was bright enough, and crafty enough, to keep up, even showing up his mentor and friend now and then. He was also much more personable than the sometimes aloof and distracted Starswirl (to whom social niceties were often an ‘unnecessary delay’).
The adventure that earned Clover the title ‘Clever’ came during a time when Starswirl was incapacitated. A wicked mage had been using a dangerous artifact which could remove the memories of the targets. Clover pursued this criminal to a distant world and succeeded in ensuring that the artifact would never again plague Equestria, though he was unable to apprehend the culprit or destroy the artifact. Ironically, due to the effects of the memory stone, both he and Starswirl forgot about the entire incident until many months later when they came across some of Clover’s notes from that time. Piecing together what had happened, the elated Starswirl praised his partner and dubbed him ‘the Clever.’
During one of their adventures wherein the local captain of the guard (an honorable stallion) was unjustly accused of murder, they were aided in their struggle by the captain’s daughter – a brave and intelligent mare named Firelight. After winning the day and clearing her father’s name, Firelight would join their adventures, proving to be an equal partner.
Though the trio proved to be a formidable force and their friendship ran deep, eventually rifts began to form, mostly due to Starswirl’s obstinacy and single-mindedness. It came to a head when Clover and Firelight announced their intention to marry and settle down, thus leaving Starswirl’s mission behind. Starswirl, for his part, could not comprehend how anypony could forsake the dream of a united ponykind for any reason, even love. Harsh words were exchanged, and Starswirl became estranged from the couple.
That would change when the Minotaur King invaded the Unicorn lands. Unwilling to let their old friend face the threat alone, Clover and Firelight returned to aid him in battle. They won the day, but Clover was mortally wounded. As he lay dying, he and Starswirl finally reconciled.
Starswirl would be forever haunted by the death of his friend and their long separation.
Even in his grief, however, he would not abandon his quest for a better Equestria. After seeing to it that Firelight (who was revealed to be pregnant with Clover’s child) would be taken care of, he threw himself back into his work, becoming even more obsessive and obstinate than before. He retreated to seclusion in hidden towers and laboratories, leaving only for field work.
One day, Starswirl returned to one of these concealed bases to find it being burglarized by a young unicorn stallion who had managed to bypass the magical defenses. Annoyed by the intrusion, but intrigued by the pony’s skill, he captured the burglar and asked his name. The pony gave it as ‘Clover.’
Why Starswirl did what he did next is still a matter of debate. Some say it was projection; some say it was a sense of guilt; some say it was simply that he felt sorry for the colt; some say he was desperate for a companion who could keep up with him. Whatever the case, Starswirl the Bearded took the second Clover the Clever under his proverbial wing.
In many ways, the second Clover proved even more talented a pupil and partner than his predecessor, with a greater knack for combat magic and the creative application thereof.
There were other differences, however. Where the first Clover had been easy-going, generous, and genial, an honest pony who broke the law unwillingly and had an earnest belief in justice, the second Clover was much more cynical. And sly. He was talented at reading and manipulating social cues, yes, but often did so for selfish or vengeful ends.
He also shared Starswirl’s obsessive tendencies. At first, Starswirl saw this as a blessing, as he would not have to worry about his partner stepping off the path. What he failed to consider was the dark turn their path would take.
Clover the Second grew bitter at the slow pace of their mission. He believed that extreme measures were needed to correct the many ills of ponykind and proposed Dark Magic to accomplish their goals. When Starswirl vehemently rejected this course of action, Clover did it in secret, and soon fell into Darkness.
The first overt signs of trouble came when several corrupt nobles of the Unicorn Kingdom were killed. Soon, similar killings happened in the Earth and Pegasi Tribes. All the killings bore the same magical signature. Starswirl, worried that about the prospect of a dark mage of such skill on the loose and fearful that the killings threatened the tenuous peace between the Tribes, made hunting down the perpetrator his sole mission.
He caught the killer in the tunnels beneath Drakestooth Mountain. To his horror, the killer proved to be Clover the Clever.
There were no witnesses to their confrontation. All that is known for certain is that Starswirl emerged after an hour of bitter fighting with the corpse of one he had thought of as a son.
The first Clover’s death had left Starswirl vulnerable. The second left him cold. He came to see attachment as a weakness – a distraction at best and a liability at worst, an impediment to his reasoning. He still labored for a brighter world, but there was little brightness left in him. If a hard pony was needed to safeguard ponykind, then so be it. He would be that hard pony.
Those to whom Starswirl still showed any warmth in those days were precious few: only Firelight and her daughter… the third Clover.
Starswirl’s relationship with the young mare Clover was a difficult one. He was afraid of showing her affection, lest he lose her like her father, and he was hesitant to pass onto her his passion, lest it turn dark like her father’s successor. Instead, their relationship was that of master and student, with his words strict and his lessons hard. He praised little and demanded much. Where the other Clovers had been partners in his work, the third was not. While Starswirl ranged the pony lands far and wide, Clover was assigned to the Court of the Unicorn King, to do what she could to further his vision there.
Clover bore all this with good grace. Her mother had taught her well of the tragedies of Starswirl, and she treated him with such patience that, at times, he would forget his professional distance, and a familial warmth would light his cold face.
Ironically, it was in the Court of the Unicorn King, where Starswirl had sent her in part to keep her from becoming too deeply involved in his work, that she would help bring his dreams to fulfillment. Clover the Clever, against the objections of many prominent nobles, earned the patronage of Princess Platinum and became her personal Mage and Steward. This placed her in a position to journey to the lands that would become Equestria along with the Princess. There, she and the Founders overcame the windigos, forged an alliance between the Three Tribes, ended the long feuds, and founded the great pony nation of Equestria.
When Starswirl heard what she had done, he is said to have wept for joy.
The pair would labor for decades to build a stable Equestria, with Starswirl forming the Pillars to guard its citizens and Clover’s wisdom guiding the government. When Starswirl found young Celestia and Luna and saw in them the potential to bring lasting peace to the newborn realm, it was often Clover who cared for them when he was away.
She was also one of the only ponies in whom the enigmatic Starswirl ever confided his fears, his dreams, and his hopes for the two sisters who would become Equestria’s defenders and leaders in the ages to come. When he vanished, she continued to fight for his dream of a great Equestria.
Clover would not live to see the ascension of Celestia and Luna to the throne, as she passed away not many years after Starswirl and the Pillars disappeared. The hard work of founding a nation and guiding it in its infancy had taken a severe toll on her, and, though the youngest of the Founders, she was one of the first to die, following only Pansey, who gave her life in defense of the innocent during the First Equestria-Griffonstone War.
The legacy of Clover would live on in her daughter, a mare originally named Somber Rain, who was given the title ‘Clover the Clever’ upon her mother’s death. This began the tradition that Archmage of the House of Clover would always take on the name ‘Clover the Clever’ and bear it so long as they held the role.
For generations the Clovers served the throne faithfully, long after Luna’s banishment and into the Golden Age of Equestria. The fourteenth Clover the Clever would give her life in defense of that Golden Age during the Sangbleu Rebellion, dying to kill the rebel leader – a stallion who, tragically, was her own husband.
As the fourteenth Clover had no children, and House Clover had never been blessed with many children, the line is thought to have ended with her, though there is some speculation that the bloodline may have survived through one of the other family relations farther back in the lineage. The most likely would have been the unicorn soldier Dawn Watch, brother to the ninth Clover the Clever, who is known to have had at least two children. However, this has never been proven, and the entire matter remains a matter of lively scholarly debate.
Celestia was ancient, but not so ancient that she was incapable of finding things remarkable. Take now, for instance, she thought as she sipped her dangerously caffeinated tea and did her best to mask her exhaustion behind a regal demeanor. I have contrived to convene a meeting with three of the most irreverent beings I know after a night of precious little sleep and long hours of unpleasant memories, and all three of them were here by pure chance.
Indeed, the original roster for the meeting, held in the opulent Rosewood Room that served as a private conference chamber in the palace, had called for more moderated representatives of the Crown Loyalists and Centrists to be present. But Fancy Pants was needed in Baltimare to follow up on a possible lead for Colonel Query’s investigation, and Windforce was delayed on his return from a summit with the Foreign Minister of Maretonia. That had left their cohorts, Edmare Burke and Gerhardt Griff, respectively, to replace them. Both were skilled politicians, it was true, but neither were known for mincing words.
“It’s a bloody disgrace is what it is!” spat the greying Gerhardt, his gravelly accent marking him as a native of the western reaches of the Griffish Isles. The green-clad Centrist griffon still dressed like a master shipwright, though he’d left the trade years before to pursue a career in politics. He traced his heritage back to the first griffon migrants to Equestria after the Great Diaspora and was militantly proud of the stock he’d come from. “Dodgy MPs taking in blokes what can’t tell a bog standard rotter from a proper git!”
“Aye!” snorted Burke, flicking her fiery red mane over her shoulder. “But ya got ta hoof it to ’em, tha sleeveen dastards are a canny bunch,” admitted the cream-coated young mare in her Braelic lilt, green eyes flashing as she shook her head. “Ya cannae trust ’em ta sell crisps, but they’ll pull their socks up when it comes time ta vote.”
Celestia fought the urge to blink owlishly as she unpacked what the two had said. Untrustworthy Members of Parliament deceiving ponies who can’t tell the difference between a vaguely unethical pony and a truly wicked one. But, for all that, they’re a clever bunch who, though they could not be trusted to sell snacks at a stand, will put the work in to swing the votes their direction. Sweet heavens, I’ve gotten out of practice since the Equestrian accent became more uniform. She took another sip of tea. Or perhaps I just need more sleep.
Mason Grey sat forward, chuckling. The third individual who hadn’t been slated for the meeting originally, Grey had been invited at the last moment because of his business acumen and many connections across all political fronts, and because he had many holdings in the areas affected by the recent developments. “I’ll give the Populists this much,” smirked the middle-aged stallion, “it takes talent to spit horse hockey so convincingly.”
Well, I understood that clearly enough, thought Celestia dryly.
The room’s other occupant (and sole voice of calm besides the diarch herself) cleared his throat meaningfully. “Gentlefolk,” he sighed with Trottish stoicism, “if we could kindly maintain some measure of composure and decorum in the princess’ presence, that would be most agreeable.”
“Ach! Lighten up, Pitty!” laughed Burke, replying to the heavyset purple stallion. “Grey’s only sayin’ what we’re all thinkin’.”
Plum Pit raised a cold eyebrow. “I meant you and dear Gerhardt as well, Miss Burke.”
Burke laughed. “Well I never! A Whig like yerself callin’ a Tory ta form on bein’ impolite ta the princess! Conservatism’s my bit, Pitty.”
Pit smiled dryly. “Yes, well, in case you hadn’t noticed, recent events have turned the world upside down.”
“I know!” lamented Burke. “I miss the days when it was you Labour lads as the Opposition and not these mad Populist larks!”
“Don’t feel bad, Burke,” Mason Grey comforted her. “I’m sure this will all blow over soon and you two can get back to being bitter rivals in no time. Won’t that be nice?”
Gerhardt scoffed. “How sentimental of you, Grey.”
The stallion shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good feud.”
His remark earned a chuckle from the others, and the tension eased in the room. Celestia was grateful for that. Burke’s and Gerhardt’s frustration was understandable, and Mason’s irreverence was to be expected, but they still had work to get done. And it wouldn’t do for the Sitting Government to just sit around griping, would it. Still, she mused, I suppose I should be grateful they work so well together.
Indeed, the success of the sitting Government had surprised most every citizen in Equestria. The rise of parties like the hidebound Primarchists, the nativist Equestria First Party, and the agitating Populists had driven old foes into unusual alliances. Conservatives like the ‘Tory’ Crown Loyalists and liberals like the ‘Whig’ Labour Party found themselves comrades-in-arms against the rising power of the more extreme parties on the wings. At the last General Election, Fancy Pants had allied the Loyalists with his old Labour Party antagonists from the Opposition, as well as the moderate Centrists, in a bid to keep more dangerous elements from seizing the majority of MP seats needed to establish a Government. He’d succeeded, but few had expected the unusual coalition to last.
They had been wrong. The Tri-Party Government, though not without its internal conflicts, had ably governed for nine years, surviving two General Elections and maintaining a bulwark against the more… militant parties that had emerged.
It was a vital unity, especially in light of recent events. A rash of strikes up and down the east coast had crippled the port infrastructure and all the jobs that depended on them. Given the tremendous harm a prolonged strike could do, a coordinated response from the Government was needed.
Now that the ire has been aired, we can finally get to the business of—
The door swung open to admit Princess Luna.
Or Luna can barge in and we can start over. That’s also acceptable.
As Fritters began his explanation, Twilight was pleased to see that Spike had anticipated her needs and produced fresh parchment for notes. That taken care of, she settled in to listen.
“Once upon a time,” he began, “in a magical land a fair ways east of Equestria…”
“Wait wait wait,” interrupted Rainbow, earning a glare from Twilight. “I thought you were telling us about Celestia, not giving us a history lesson.”
“One that sounds suspiciously Pinkie-ish for the intro,” muttered Applebloom, glancing at the pink mare.
“To understand my relationship with Equestria, you need to understand her relationship with my other homeland,” the Konik replied. “And maybe learn some history along the way.”
Rainbow moaned at the prospect, but Marble assured her, “Don’t worry. This history is right up your alley.”
Twilight clapped her hooves at the word ‘history’ (even though she already knew it) and was about to tell Spike to get more parchment but, again, her Number One Assistant was already on top of it. She gave him a quick hug and settled back in.
The interruption resolved, Fritters resumed, “Konikland is a beautiful country, a land of flowers and art and literature, of faith and philosophy, with music as old as Equestria and universities teaching the latest advances in science and magic. We were the first realm beyond Equestria to formalize a union of the Three Tribes, are the proud elder partner of the Konik-Griffuanian Commonwealth, and have rightly been called the Equestria of the Near East. Ours is a land deeply rooted in the Way of Harmony, in personal freedom, in civic-mindedness, and in unity.”
His fond tone turned somber. “But my home is also a troubled land. We are ringed in by powerful neighbors. The Hoofburgs in the days before the Austail-Hungriffian Empire, the Terskayans, Germaney, the list goes on. At various points, each has been an ally, and each has been an enemy. With no natural barriers in our land to dissuade invasion, we’ve had to fight for each and every inch of our land for centuries.” He gave a wan smile. “We have a saying in Konikland: ‘Nasze wody zalewają tulipany.’ ‘Our blood waters the tulips.’ Ours is a culture of art and song, yes, but of war and death as well. Resistance to aggression is a way of life for us. Defiance comes as easily as breathing.”
Twilight found herself leaning forward eagerly. She wasn’t the only one. There was something enticing about the plainspoken pride with which the Konik spoke.
“In all of this, we have had only one consistent ally beyond our Griffuanian brethren: Equestria. As I said, alliances shift like sand in the Near East. The only occasions on which all our neighbors have allied with us has been against common threats, as against the Liger invasion some three decades ago or the Ottomane invasion of Hungriffy. Yet Equestria has always been our friend in dark times. Perhaps it is our kindred values of freedom and equality. Perhaps it is a product of the friendship in ancient times between the Royal Sisters and old General Skrzydlaty Huzar in the Crystal War.” He gave a fond smile. “Perhaps it is Celestia herself.”
“You Equestrians revere Celestia, and rightly so, but I would venture that our own reverence for her equals and, in some cases, exceeds your own.”
Twilight gasped in horror and recoiled, but Fritters just responded with a dry smile.
“Heresy, I know,” he laughed, “but it is true. You see, Celestia never failed to come to our aid, even when it risked the wrath of her ministers. Equestria has always been our friend, but the Equestrian Government would often have preferred to leave us to our own misfortune.”
“Why ever would they do that?” asked Rarity, horrified.
Fritters shrugged. “Expenditures on foreign wars and diplomacy are seldom popular unless a clear benefit to Equestria can be demonstrated to both the populace and the State. More than once Government MPs, Opposition leaders, and even Prime Ministers attempted to block Celestia’s efforts to come to help us. They attacked her with regulations, laws, massed protest, holding funds hostage, all manner of political warmaking.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “But the Princess is not so easily outmaneuvered. How many of you besides Twilight and the soldiery know why the REF was formed?”
Only Spike’s claw went up, and Twilight winced. What do they teach in schools these days?
“Well, I’m not surprised. It’s hardly something that the losers would want publicized, and Celestia’s not one to brag. In essence, Equestrian Law forbids Celestia from unilaterally controlling any part of the military except for the Royal Guard. There was concern when the constitution was first written that the monarch should not wield too much power, lest she become a tyrant.”
“A sensible precaution,” remarked Jacques softly.
“Agreed,” said Fritters. “Can’t say I blame them, given the Nightmare Moon fiasco.”
Twilight and the other Bearers exchanged glances. “I’d call that a good deal more than a ‘fiasco,’” groused Twilight.
“Yeah, it was more of a fracas,” said Pinkie.
Fritters continued without seeming to notice, “I understand the reasoning, of course. On top of personally seeing the wisdom of it, I’m a Konik – our kings and queens are elected, and we’re no strangers to placing constraints on Royals. But the lack of absolute executive control severely limited her ability to act in military fashion without the Government’s support. Well, a few centuries back, we were facing the real possibility of annihilation by the combined forces of the Hoofburg Emperor, the Tsar, and the Germane Princes of the time. We needed aid, but the Equestrian Government didn’t want to risk Equestrian soldiers in a foreign war. Celestia, however, considered it a matter of honor to help us defend our freedom. Her Royal Guard, which she can unilaterally deploy, was not large enough, so she saw fit to create a Royal Expeditionary Force. I won’t bore you with the complex legalese and backroom deals she made, but the end result was an elite force of private volunteers drawn from every branch of the military. They would enlist as soldiers of the Konik military, the Equestrian Volunteer Force, and only be reconstituted as an Equestrian military unit after the war concluded – one which fell under the auspices of the Royal Guard and answered to Celestia alone.” He smiled fondly and shook his head in admiration. “She financed the entire unit herself. Darn near went bankrupt doing it, too.”
“Good for the princess!” declared Applejack. “Can’t put a price on honor.”
“True enough,” said Fritters, “but it wasn’t just a monetary price she paid. Her political opponents were none too happy with her, and in some ways she’s still paying off that political debt centuries later. Her opponents also took to branding the EVF and its successor the REF as Celestia’s personal ‘War Dogs’.” He smacked his peytral with his hoof. “What they mean as an insult we proudly bear as a badge of honor – a vow in blood and steel that Equestria will never leave the innocent without defenders. It is no less than our sacred duty.”
“As for me,” he shrugged, “my own intimacy with Celestia is more banal in nature. Equestria’s alliance with Konikland is by no means one-sided. Many of our top scientists come here to share knowledge, our artists and writers teach in universities, and, of course, our soldiers come in droves. Some teach at war colleges, sharing their firsthoof knowledge of battle with your more peaceful land, while others lend their expertise on the battlefield itself. My father was a Hussar and fought alongside the REF at the Siege of Viennhoof. When the High Command came looking for officers to move to Equestria and repay our debt to your country, he eagerly volunteered.”
“As such, my family grew up mostly in Canterlot. My brothers and sisters and I all have dual citizenship, and most live and work in Equestria. My father still teaches at the war college at West Pinion. My unicorn brother and his wife run a shop in Manehatten, while my two pegasi brothers are carrying on the family tradition of the Hussars; sometimes they’re in Konikland with the Home Army, but they often wind up attached to the Equestrian Lancers on joint operations. Two of my sisters married Equestrian stallions, one a naval officer and the other a farmer. The third sister, my twin, has a government job in Canterlot. And, me, well,” he gestured to the uniform, “I served as a Drapieżnik for years before a joint anti-slavery task force brought me into the REF.”
His eyes twinkled with memory. “I first met Celestia as a young colt when she was reviewing the garrison. My father introduced the family, and when she got to me and asked my name, I blurted out ‘O mój Boże! You’re huge!’”
They all had to laugh at that. Even Fluttershy managed a coy titter.
Morning Song, who was no more familiar with this story than the rest of them, exclaimed, “You didn’t!”
“Oh, but I did,” he smiled. “Kibitz, her steward, almost had a heart attack, to say nothing of my poor mother, but I think I amused the princess with my frankness. We got along famously after that.” He turned to Twilight. “And that is really all there is to it. I probably didn’t see nearly as much of the princess growing up as you did, but we’re close enough that I can treat her with scandalous irreverence.”
“That’s really something,” Twilight giggled. “I can’t believe you said that to her face! But I’m glad your family is close to her.” Her thoughts drifted to a certain family member of hers. “You know, my uncle Red Lance fought at Viennhoof alongside the Hussars.”
Fritters’ face turned solemn at the name. “I do know that, though I didn’t know he was your uncle. My father served with him.”
“He did?!” exclaimed Twilight, sitting forward.
“Yes,” said Fritters. “And you should know that Papa always spoke very highly of Colonel Red Lance. He wept bitterly when he heard he’d been killed in action. On behalf of my kin, I offer you condolences for his loss. He was a great pony.”
Twilight felt moisture in her eyes, “Thank you, Fritters. That… that means a lot.”
“No thanks are necessary,” said Fritters. “You deserve to know his honor. We Koniks understand such things. It should please you to know that my people regard the late Colonel as a Konik in all but blood, and his name is listed alongside the fallen Hussars who fought at Viennhoof.”
Tears welled up, and Twilight gratefully accepted a kerchief from Rarity. “Uncle Lance always did say your people were among the finest warriors.”
“It’s an honor I strive to live up to. Speaking of which,” with a flare of his magic, he picked up his spear, “let’s work on that charging attack of yours.” With that, the ponies were goaded back to their practicing. Though, in truth, it took little goading. After the example that had been set, it would have been harder to walk away than to stay.
Despite the fact that proportionally few of the readers of 14th Century Friar will read this aside, I spent a great deal of time pondering how I wanted Equestria’s political structure to be portrayed in the fic. Before I get into describing that structure, however, I need to clarify some things.
I went back and forth for a long time whether or not to include this segment, the reason being that politics are so contentious these days that even mentioning it can be enough to end a party or destroy friendships (on the other hand, talking about Star Wars VIII can be enough to do that anymore, so maybe we just need to cool off in general). That saddens me because, frankly, we need to talk about it. We need a free exchange of ideas. We need each other. Conservatives need liberals and liberals need conservatives and everyone who doesn’t fit neatly into one category or the other (i.e. most of us) needs everyone else. People on both sides of the political aisle used to be able to cooperate. They still do, to an extent (bills about prison reform and relief for victims of ISIS genocide passed with bipartisan support in the last couple years), but it’s nowhere near as good as it used to be.
With this in mind, I went to great lengths to create a Coalition Government in the Equestrian Government (elaborated on below) which is a fusion of liberal, conservative, and independent movements, united against the shared threat of tyranny. I say ‘shared threat’ because, truly, tyranny is a threat to everyone. Even the people who support it are in danger from it. Tyranny may come from the Right or the Left, but while it may wear many masks, it always has the same face underneath it: the destruction of human rights and the degradation of human freedom. Systems and ideologies which truly oppose tyranny with freedom, whatever form they take, are to be praised. And I was very deliberate when I said ‘oppose tyranny with freedom’ because it is not enough to oppose tyranny with an answering tyranny – if your enemy oppresses you it does not magically justify using terrorism against him, just as your acts of terrorism do not justify his tyranny. Evil is evil, and it is the enemy of all things good and free.
People will likely say, “Antiquarian has a political message in his story.” Well, that’s right. I do. My message is that I would fight and die to preserve Freedom and oppose Tyranny, and you should all feel the same way. I don’t care if you’re liberal, conservative, independent, or any other color of the political rainbow – your allies are those who are friends of freedom, and your enemies are those who attack freedom – if that means that your allies are on the other side of the political fence and your enemies share your party, well, so be it. You don’t need to jump the fence from conservative to liberal or liberal to conservative or anything else to work with other people to face off against that which threatens you all. Stop talking about Right and Left and start talking about Right and Wrong.
Which is why I’m making the following request: don’t talk about modern politics in the comments. Don’t go anywhere beyond high concept. At least, don’t do it here. If you want to talk about it somewhere else, PM each other; start a blog post and invite people to the thread; heck, create a group on fimfiction called ‘the political implications of A 14th Century Friar’ if you feel like it. You can even comment on this story to let people know it exists and invite them to the discussion. If it strikes my fancy I may even pop over and throw in my two cents.
Just don’t do it here.
Why, you ask? Well because, frankly, I don’t feel like moderating a political debate in my comments section. I want people to talk, just not here. Politics may be a part of this story, but mostly that’s at the high concept level rather than the nitty gritty, and it’s not the core of what A 14th Century Friar is about. I refuse to let the comments section turn it into something it isn’t.
And, frankly, most of the political commentary isn’t even relevant. The conservatives, liberals, etc. in this story aren’t based off of anything modern in American or English politics. The most recent reference I make to anything real world is WWII-era and relates specifically to the conduct of certain people, not the parties or their philosophies as a whole. Most of the rest is either based on 1800s vintage English politics with the ever-changing Tories and Whigs and the dozen or so other parties which shifted around them (with a dash of American politics from the same era), or else is based on fictional political parties (some of which aren’t published anywhere because they’re from scrapped story ideas of mine). So talking about Brexit or the 2016/2020 elections is not just obnoxious; it’s also inaccurate.
If you remember nothing else, remember this: IF YOU START PUTTING MODERN POLITICS DOWN IN THE COMMENTS SECTION BEYOND INVITING PEOPLE TO A CONVERSATION ON A DIFFERENT PLATFORM, I WILL BLOCK YOUR COMMENT! I hate doing that, because I despise censorship and want to foster open communication, but I refuse to let my story become a political battleground if I can stop it. Please, if you want to discuss it, I encourage you to respectfully do so. Seriously, go talk about these things. Just don’t do it here.
Now, let’s get down to brass tacks. I took great pains to craft a government which merged conservative and liberal ideas. I wrote the government this way to make an important point about politics and statecraft: namely, that we need both liberal and conservative thought in order for our society to flourish.
Broadly speaking, classical liberal thought is the fire that keeps us looking for ways to progress in our society, while classical conservative thought is the caution that keeps us from progressing in the wrong direction. Each acts as a counterbalance to the other; the latter to keep us from diving into danger while the former to keep us from stagnating.
It is important to remember that both conservativism and liberalism are nebulous concepts. They change with the times, and the moral high ground shifts with them. Sometimes conservatives dominate the true moral high ground, sometimes liberals do, and sometimes it is shared more or less equitably between the two. Sometimes the moral high ground is clear enough to both sides that they are able to compromise on technical differences so as to serve the greater good. Sometimes, one line of thinking has become so entrenched in the wrong that the other is forced to go it alone to prevent catastrophe. But, in the end, it always follows the swing of the pendulum. Depending on the context, what makes someone conservative now might have made them a liberal a century ago. It is for this reason that we must always be mindful that labels, while useful for discussing broad concepts and terms, should be used sparingly in defining thought and even more sparingly in defining people. In fact, I prefer not to label people as ‘conservative’ or ‘liberal,’ but as favoring one or the other as those concepts currently stand, always taking into account that such generalizations are vague and prone to change.
Living in a prosperous and safe society brings with it many privileges, among them having the free time to devote to contemplation of higher things. This time of contemplation is an essential part of how society grows and matures. It brings with it a danger, however. That danger is simply this: when people become too far removed from the immediacy of suffering, they often begin to contemplate actions which would send up warning signals if suffering were more imminent. The actions might be well-intentioned, but they can be quite deadly all the same. A man who has never known the pain of war may make war more lightly than a soldier who has drunk from that bitter cup. A man who has never known true poverty and hardship may interpret malice where there is merely a difference of wealth. When people forget what tyranny looks like, their senses become dulled to warning signs. So, when a dynamic speaker comes and tells them that they can make life even better, all the signals that might have tipped off someone who recently escaped a despot go right over the head of someone with a more peaceful life. Right or Left, everyone is susceptible to such lies.
This is more or less what I envision to be plaguing Equestria: with a thriving economy, an equitable society, and generally high standards of living, too many have become soft and complacent. They’ve forgotten what tyranny really is, so they’re vulnerable to someone coming along and telling them that they’re being oppressed, that they’re in grave danger, that they deserve more than they’re getting without doing anything, etc. And this line of thinking has poisoned parties on both the Right and the Left, making Equestria Parliament increasingly partisan and extreme.
Fortunately, Celestia is no fool, and she has capable ponies serving her. Their Majesties’ Government is, as such, an entity formed specifically to combat this myriad of threats to stability.
With all this in mind, I would like to reiterate that Their Majesties’ Government is not intended to make reference to any modern political party (for that matter, neither are the unions – like the real world, they’re a mix of good and bad, with legitimate activism on one side and cynical agitation on the other). The philosophies espoused by the three parties of the Coalition Government are drawn from a mixture of fiction and history, and (amongst the latter), from parties which are at least six decades old and, for that matter, primarily of the English rather than American variety.
Their Majesties’ Government
Equestria is a Constitutional Monarchy. Its Parliament is composed of representatives of the various city states which fall under the rule of the Crown. In this respect, it is similar to the English system with the added twist that the city states and their respective governments have authority somewhat akin to the individual states of the United States – they are largely self-governing in most matters, but still form a unified Equestrian State. It should also be noted that the Equestrian Crown wields considerably more direct power than the English equivalent (though not without certain restrictions, among them being the rights of city states so withdraw support from the Crown). This system evolved from the Medieval Period of Equestrian history, wherein individual lords, chieftains, elders, and other civic leaders all swore fealty to the Equestrian Crown in return for unified protection from foreign threats and an assurance of equitable trade amongst its members (the latter being an especially important stipulation, given the lingering divisions between the Three Tribes at the time). The system became more formalized after Celestia and Luna took power following Discord’s defeat, ultimately culminating in the modern system.
Their Royal Majesties’ Government is led by the Prime Minister (presently Duke Golden Crown, aka ‘Fancy Pants’), who selects all the remaining ministers. The prime minister and the other most senior ministers belong to the supreme decision-making committee known as the Cabinet. The Government ministers all sit in Parliament and are accountable to it. General Elections are held every five years to elect a new House of Commons, unless there is a successful vote of no confidence in the Government or a two-thirds vote for a snap election in the House of Commons, in which case an election may be held sooner. After an election, the principle ruler in the Diarchy (in this case Celestia) selects as Prime Minister the leader of the party most likely to command the confidence of the House of Commons, usually by possessing a majority of MPs (Member of Parliament). This may be achieved by a single party holding the majority (as the Crown Loyalists did prior to the current sitting government) or through a coalition Government composed of multiple parties whose interests align.
Their Royal Most Loyal Opposition is comprised of the parties not within the sitting Government. Traditionally, it is led by the pony whose party has the largest number of seats of any party in the Opposition. When the Crown Loyalists were the dominant party, the Labour Party was the core of the Opposition and the Labour Party’s Lady Juniper Rose was its leader. When the Opposition is more ideologically divided, however (as it is presently), this convention may be eschewed.
Many of the political battles over the years have been waged over the relative authority of the executive (in this case Celestia and, more recently, Luna), the central government (Parliament), and local government (mostly mayors and governors with the occasional hereditary noble). Hundreds of different parties have emerged over the years around particular interests and causes (like the Equal Representation Alliance, which sought and gained restrictions on the degree to which local authorities could tax the common pony, and Silver Standard Party, which sought unsuccessfully to replace the Equestrian Bit with silver currency). However, while party names, ideologies, and emphases change with shifting political currents and the passage of interests from one party to another, there are two basic ideologies which have persisted around the basic distribution of power. Broadly speaking, they are the Tories (who favor a strong executive, strong local governance, and weak central government) and the Whigs (who favor the opposite). Many different names and agendas have been attached to both the Tories and Whigs (with certain agendas switching sides multiple times in the same century), but the basics have remained the same. Traditionally, the Tories have been more fiscally conservative and the Whigs more fiscally liberal, but the degree to which this is true has often fluctuated, and social change (both positive and negative) has come at different times from both.
The current Government (known generally as the Tri-Party Government) was formed as a Coalition Government from three political parties as a way to pool their resources and unite against rising extremism from parties such as Equestria First, the Primarchists, and the Populists. In an ironic twist, the various moderate MPs on both the right and the left were increasingly being labelled as ‘extremists’ for their dedication to statecraft and compromise. The Crown Loyalist Government was risking a loss of control to more dangerous political rivals on either the far Right or the far Left as MPs were defecting to more extreme parties. Meanwhile, the Labour Party (up to that point the most prominent Opposition Party) was experiencing similar losses. Worried about the future of Equestria should parties such as the Equestria First Party or the Populists take power, Duke Golden Crown (‘Fancy Pants’) approached the Labour Party and the emerging Centrist Party with the proposal of a Coalition Government. While the new coalition is unusual, skillful diplomacy has made it a shockingly effective government. Though the member parties often differ over the specifics of certain policies, they retain the same core values (albeit often for different reasons) and have been able to find sufficient common ground to operate. The Centrists’ insistence on slow, sweeping reform has kept change at a manageable level for all (though critics often grow impatient).
For example, the Crown Loyalists favored granting full executive powers to Luna upon her return. This was unacceptable to the Labour Party, who would have preferred that her title of ‘Princess’ remain largely ceremonial. A compromise was found stipulating (among many other details) that Luna would be a junior executive to Celestia, would gain full executive powers only if Celestia were incapacitated, and that any executive powers which Luna wielded when Celestia was not incapacitated would only by those ceded to her (and renounced on her own part) by Celestia. This, incidentally, is why the great hall has only one throne.
As another example, the REF intervention in the Kudandan Genocide was supported by all three parties. For the Crown Loyalists, it was a matter of noblesse oblige for Equestria to protect those who could not protect themselves. For the Labour Party, it was a matter of preventing the most egregious form of exploitation. For the Centrists, it was a matter of being good neighbors. For all three parties, it was a matter of protecting sapient beings from being massacred simply because it was the right thing to do.
These compromises, and others like them, have enabled the Tri-Party Government to hold the majority in Parliament and maintain a well-functioning system in spite of the rising power of the more extreme Opposition leaders.
The Crown Loyalist Party (known as ‘Tories’ or ‘CLP’ in parlance) draw inspiration from certain aspects of English Tories and from the Crown Loyalist Party in David Weber’s Honor Harrington series (who might be likened unto space-age Tories).
They are a socially and fiscally conservative party with strong ties to the old noble houses and the communities which grew around them. Their core belief is that those with the capability have a solemn duty to serve the people. This principle is drawn from the old sense of noblesse oblige, dating back to early Equestria when lords and ladies were expected to live (and often die) by this standard. They favor a strong executive and publicly support the Crown at virtually every term. However, contrary to common belief, they are not ‘Yes-Ponies.’ Privately, they can be quite vocal in voicing their concerns to Celestia, and it is an established fact that, should she ever turn tyrannical, the Crown Loyalists would be amongst the first to seek her removal, by force if necessary. They generally emphasize the authority of local governments more than that of Parliament, a tradition which has its roots in a period where Celestia cooperated well with the local lords and governors to serve and govern the people while the courtiers of Canterlot largely schemed. As such, they are often popular which those who favor small government and minimal central oversight, which has led to strong constituencies in towns like Appleoosa, despite the lack of any direct connection to the noble houses.
The party suffered losses when the Primarchist Party was formed, as many of the wealthiest and most influential members of the CLP (including a significant number of Canterlot MPs) defected. They also lost a goodly number of constituents because the Primarchists had given them such a bad name; many conservative voices amongst the commoners felt that the nobles of the CLP did not properly represent their interests (despite the fact that the nobility is now the minority within the CLP MPs). In spite of their losses, however, the core of the CLP remains strong, its primary constituencies being populations with old ties to nobility (like Trottingham and Edinburro) and populations with historical ties to Celestia who favor local governance (like Ponyville). Notable members include Prime Minister Duke Golden Crown (generally called ‘Fancy Pants’), Lord Lionheart,* and Edmare Burke.*
The Labour Party(known as ‘Whigs’ in parlance) draw inspiration from the later days of the Whig party (when their concerns were on addressing the grievous poverty in England and, in a reversal from their traditional antipathy towards Catholicism, on advocating for the emancipation of Catholics under the law). They also draw inspiration from certain members of the Labour Party of England during World War II -men who reached across party lines to work with Tory MPs to oppose England’s failure to honor its alliance with Poland when the Nazis and Soviets invaded. These same Labour MPs would later to join those same Tories in opposing the government’s second betrayal – when Poland was essentially sold to the Soviets (regrettably, they were unsuccessful).
The Equestrian Labour Party is a moderate liberal party with a strong emphasis on preventing exploitation on both foreign and domestic fronts. Their legacy dates back to the nobles and other civic leaders who pushed early reforms following the Unification – a time when lingering prejudices kept the tribes somewhat separated and certain communities economically subservient (they were strong allies of the Equal Representation Alliance at the time). They are the most fiscally liberal member of the coalition government, but the wealth of the country and the prolific nature of its private social programs has made this a less contentious issue than it might otherwise have been, since local charities render government aid largely superfluous in many regions anyway. Historically more contentious has been their favoring of a weaker executive and a stronger Parliament, but concessions from Celestia (like those made after Luna’s return) have made for a generally positive working relationship in recent years.
The Labour Party has faced heavy losses to the Populists and other smaller parties, especially in areas where unrest has been stirred up between competing factions, but they retain strong loyalties in many large cities like Manehattan and Fillydelphia, which were founded without Royal Charter or a history of noble houses. Noted members include Green Wood,* Plum Pit,* and Lady Juniper Rose.
The Centrists, like the CLP, draw loose inspiration from David Weber. They also contain an assortment of independent parties on both ends of the political spectrum from both American and English history; mostly the sort which were founded with a specific mission in mind (like ending slavery or gaining voting rights for women).
The Centrists are often said to be a fitting linchpin for a coalition government because they are a coalition party. They were formed by a gathering of moderate conservatives who weren’t members of the Crown Loyalists but rejected the more extreme parties like the Primarchists, by liberal MPs from smaller parties who had alienated their original parties by supporting military intervention (see below), and by independents who didn’t exactly fit the any other constituencies.
Unlike the Crown Loyalists and Labour Party, the Centrists have no one member of the Opposition that is their direct shadow. The closest would be the Equestria First Party, which (as will be elaborated on below) is isolationist, nativist, and supremacist in nature. The Centrists have a large number of nationalists in their ranks, but, unlike the EFP, their idea of patriotism is to improve Equestria by any means that will achieve that goal while retaining the values which make them strong in the first place. Thus, they are welcoming of immigrants with compatible value systems, wildly open to trade, and make no distinction between an Equestrian pony and an Equestrian griffon. They are proud of Equestrian values, but, recognizing that Equestria was founded on Three Tribes becoming more than the sum of their parts, they are willing to accept new ideas when those ideas bring genuine enrichment.
On the whole, the Centrists are flexible moderates who tend to support local governance, oppose deficit spending, and favor slow, sweeping social and economic reform. They are less fiscally conservative than the Crown Loyalists, but more fiscally conservative than the Labour Party. They are prepared to favor strengthening or weakening the executive and Parliament as needed, and often act as mediator between the CLP and Labour Party. They are supportive of both military and relief intervention overseas, but only so long as it is truly relief (not rule) and does not place undue burden upon Equestria. Given that Celestia has never espoused imperialistic interests, they’ve been largely satisfied. They have also been prominent voices in fighting the slave trade overseas, and as such have often been a gathering point for activists from both sides of the aisle. Immigrants and refugees who have come seeking the Equestrian dream often vote Centrist; a common joke in the Griffish Isles is that it’s easier to find a pacifist dragon than it is to find a Griffon Islander who doesn’t vote Centrist. Prominent members include Will Windforce,* F.O. Douglass,* and Gerhardt Griff**.
The Opposition
Typically, there is one major Opposition party which heads the resistance to the Government. However, the very partisanship which pushed most all the vaguely moderate MPs into the Government also divided the Opposition. Individually, certain Opposition parties (like the Populists) out-mass individual parties of the Government. However, while the Government has unified to offset this imbalance, most of the Opposition parties with clout despise each other and only unify on certain issues out of uncomfortable convenience.
For instance, the Populists and the Primarchists both oppose foreign efforts (the former out of a fear of Celestial Imperialism, the latter out of the sense that the rest of the world isn’t worth Equestria’s time unless it directly enriches them).
There are currently eight Opposition parties of various sizes in the Equestrian Parliament, but only three have the clout to be significant on their own.
The Primarchists are the rich, stuck-up, narrow-minded ultra-conservative ‘nobles’ that give Canterlot and other old blood cities a bad name. Most are former Crown Loyalists, but they split from the party either because A) they felt that noblesse oblige should only come after the ‘common ponies’ had suitably made obeisance to them and/or B) they felt that Celestia should really just let them rule instead, being that they are, of course, the most qualified. The CLP lost a lot of seats when the Primarchists broke away, but most were happy to see them go; they gave the CLP a bad name that it’s still struggling to rebrand. Their constituency draws heavily from Canterlot and a few other such old cities, but nowhere else. They are wealthy enough to be dangerous, but have no room to expand without help. Lord High Castle is the de facto leader of the Primarchists, though Prince Blueblood has been known to attend their functions.
The Equestria First Party is largely inspired by the so-called “Know Nothings” of the American 1850s. And, yes, that was a real thing. The Know Nothings (ironically called the Native American Party in their own documentation) started as a secret society on the anti-immigration, xenophobic, and above all anti-Catholic platform. They believed in a Roman conspiracy to take over the world, and if you think they were just a bunch of nutters with no influence, watch One Man’s Hero starring Tom Berenger some time. It’s not about the Know Nothings, but it does show how deeply imbedded that kind of thinking was – a lot of people believed that conspiracy. In any case, the EFP isn’t that different. They’re xenophobic in the extreme, would like to see all foreign efforts by Equestria cut off (save for those which rescue ‘proper’ Equestrian ponies), and feel that Celestia is a well-meaning but weak executive. Paranoia is their watchword, and about the only thing they agree with the Government on regularly is the importance of the military (if anything, the EFP would like to see a massive increase in the military).
The Populists are a hard-left political movement which advocates for the abolition of wealth inequality and for the State (specifically the Parliament) to be responsible education, social programs, the market, public works, and more, depending on the stridency of the MP in question. They favor nigh-total centralization of the State though, significantly, they also favor the restriction of Executive power to little more than a figurehead, and loudly cry for an end to the nobility (though, ironically, there are a few nobles amongst their ranks). They enjoy enthusiastic support in many of the large cities of Equestria, especially those riven with significant gaps in wealth, and are trendy amongst the youth, especially the university-educated ponies from upper-middle class and wealthy families.
(Incidentally, if you go back to the populist movements even in the ancient world, you will see this basic trend remaining more or less unchanged across thousands of years. At least 75% of these factors are present in most such movements that I’ve studied, including both the less extreme movements that actually had some positive qualities to the outright horrifying ones. As a couple examples, consider Mazdak’s followers in Iran in the 500s, the French Revolution, and a disturbingly high number of tyrannical regimes that arose in Europe from the 1920s-50s).
* Denotes the characters at least loosely inspired by real-world individuals, and are described below.
F.O. Douglass is a reference to Frederick Douglass, the former slave turned abolitionist orator, statesman, and social reformer. He was an outspoken suffragist and worked tirelessly for the equal treatment of all people, regardless of race, sex, or creed. He reached across political, social, and religious aisles to unite all people of goodwill. The name ‘Frederick Douglass’ didn’t lend itself to ponification, so here’s the backstory for F.O. Douglass:
Born in slavery outside Equestria, the earth pony never knew his birth parents; he was raised by two donkey slaves who named him ‘Douglass’ after their own conventions. His adoptive parents died in bondage, but he escaped to Equestria. After becoming naturalized, he threw himself into activism. The self-educated stallion’s gift for speaking earned him the nickname ‘Free Orator.’ He accepted the name graciously, but it is always secondary to the name his adoptive parents gave him. He is one of the most prominent members of the Centrist Party and, with Windforce, the leader of its anti-slavery arm. The two of them chair the Special Committee for Ending Sentient-Trafficking by order of the Princess. The operation which Morning Song alluded to that brought her into the REF was spearheaded by Douglass and Windforce.
Windforce is a reference to William Wilberforce – that powerhouse of a human being who fought so hard to end slavery in England in the 1800s. His success would lead ultimately to slavery being outlawed in international law. Windforce is similar in tone and personality.
Lord Lionheart and Green Wood are references to Leo Amery (a British Tory MP) and Arthur Greenwood (a British Labour MP) who, though on opposite sides of the political aisle in WWII, decried the Chamberlain Government’s betrayal of Poland and appeasement of the Nazis. When Greenwood rose to condemn the (Tory) Chamberlain Government and said he would speak for Labour, a furious Amery bellowed, “Speak for England!” implicitly proclaiming that Chamberlain wasn’t. They would be unlikely allies in their shared opposition of tyranny and would later object to the second betrayal of Poland later in the war.
Lionheart, like the man who inspired him, is a fiery and unapologetic conservative. Liberal Green Wood is more tempered in tone, but just as bold in standing for his beliefs and as passionate in doing so.
Edmare Burke is the daughter of her predecessor, Edmane Burke, who himself is a reference to one of my favorite statesmen, Edmund Burke. The realworld Edmund Burke was characterized by his liberal sensibilities, which drove him to support social and state reform, equality under the law, and the American colonial resistance to unjust treatment by the English (though not the Revolution itself). He was also characterized by his conservative caution, which warned him against the bloodbath that would eventually spill from the French Revolution. For his unique blend of passion for progress and caution to not progress in the wrong direction, both conservatives and liberals have admired him over the centuries.
Edmane is styled to be more or less a ponified Burke and a Whig before he was a Tory, with his daughter having much the same temperament, though with a sharper tongue, an irreverent wit, and a more staunchly Tory outlook.
Plum Pit is a reference to William Pitt the Elder, a Whig statesman noted for his opposition to corruption (including his outspoken criticism of the hilariously corrupt Robert Walpole), for his service to the common people, for his patriotism, and for his sympathy towards the American position leading up to the Revolutionary War (much like Burke, he saw the injustice and questionable legality of taxation without representation).
Plum Pit is an ally to the common pony and an outspoken opponent of all government corruption, regardless of party. As he has been routinely picked by the Crown to head up investigations of misuse of funds and abuse of power, he’s made a lot of enemies.
**Though not based on any one specific thing, I was pleased with the backstory for Gerhardt Griff and wanted to share.
Gerhardt Griff is a proud descendent of the first griffon settlers to Equestria after the Great Diaspora – the mass emigration of griffons out of their hereditary kingdoms in the east and into new lands during and after the cataclysmic Six Years’ War, which involved many of the griffon kingdoms and led to the fall of no less than ten governments. Most of the griffon immigrants who settled in Equestria did so on the western reaches of what came to be called the Griffish Isles, and now make up around fifty percent of the Isles’ population. Ponies and a small but significant number of donkeys and mules account for the majority of the eastern half of the Isles, mostly centered around Edinburro and Trottingham, while the griffons are the majority on the western half around such cities as Griffony and Talondon. The equine and griffon halves of the island possess cultures distinct from each other, but they share a broader hybrid culture which makes them distinct from the mainland, and generally will support other islanders over mainlanders in matters of state, sports, culinary preferences, and the like.
While the equine side of the Isles has traditionally been the stomping grounds of the Whigs and Tories (now the Labour and Crown Loyalist Parties, respectively), the griffon side spawned a number of more unique independent parties, most notably the Griffish Patriotic Movement.
The GPM was characterized on one hand by a love for business, business, and more business. They favored big business, small business, and everything in between, with minimal restrictions on trade both foreign and domestic and strong market incentives. However, much to the shock of many mainlanders, they were also markedly pro-Union. This hearkens back to the early post-Diaspora years, when unscrupulous business leaders, both griffon and pony, exploited the immigrant workers. The Griffish unions were founded to combat this exploitation. However, thanks in large part to the profit-oriented griffon mindset, the unions were quite in favor of creating wealth – so long as everyone was getting a piece of the pie. With Whig support, the unions worked with more equitably minded business owners to create a business environment where businesses profited by ensuring that customers and employees were treated well, thus ensuring repeat business and driving less ethical competitors out of business. They also incentive cooperation from businesses by offering extensive training to union members, bringing up the general quality of the labor pool. To this day, the Griffish Unions remain notable for following this model, which has enabled a fair degree of stability in the labor market of the Isles (both equine and griffon), and has attracted alliances from both conservative and liberal politicos. It has often put them at odds with other unions, however, whenever they perceive those unions as acting irrationally against businesses, and they often lament of the inability of protesters to know the difference between ‘bog standard rotters’ (unethical but ordinary business owners and politicos who may be overcome with careful maneuvering) and ‘proper gits’ (genuinely dangerous individuals who genuinely require hard-line responses).
The GPM was also noted for being vehemently proud of its nation and its ruler. This has its roots in the patriotism of the early griffon settlers who left their war-torn homelands to find peace and opportunity in Equestria. Though not always well-treated, especially in the early years, the Griffish griffons ultimately proved to be among the most loyal of Celestia’s supporters, with many of them serving in the military. The 4th Talondon Fusiliers, for instance, has had their motto as ‘Sol Vincit’ (the Sun Conquers) for six centuries, and were so noted for their devotion to the princess that it spawned a popular saying amongst the pony soldier in reference to the Griffish griffons – “Converts are the worst.” (It should be noted that Celestia is both flattered and somewhat uncomfortable with their devotion).
Gerhardt Griff, affectionately called the “Old Tom of Talondon,” is seen as the quintessential Griffish griffon and GPM member, having been a union dock worker, a master shipwright and business owner, and a highly decorated member of the 4th Talondon Fusiliers. Plainspoken to the point of abrasiveness and utterly honest, he despises rich and powerful individuals who exploit the masses almost as much as he despises those who take advantage of the exploitation to whip the masses up in a cynical bid for power.
Though a significant power amongst the smaller parties in Parliament, the GPM and other such independent parties which did not fit neatly as conservative or liberal faced the prospect of losing their seats in the face of the rising polarization caused by the major Opposition parties. Recognizing the danger, Gerhardt Griff led them to join the emerging Centrists, thereby to concentrate their power until such time as the winds shift again and allow the dissolution of the Centrists. Having been both friend and foe to CLP and Labour Party in the past, the GPM (with Griff at its helm) has been instrumental in ensuring cooperation between the old rivals.
Great Priory St. Gilles, Provencal, Commandry of the Knights of St. John, Anno Domini 1321
Jacques sat in Methuselah’s room, having just finished relating his worries to the old man, beginning with the dreams of Acre before telling how this night the dream had changed, and finally ending with his decision to bring his sword when he came to see his mentor. He found himself staring at the sheathed blade. “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure why I felt compelled to collect it. It just felt…right I suppose.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine my reasoning. My enemies these days are of the spirit, not of the flesh.”
He was not a little surprised when Methuselah began to laugh hysterically. The old monk’s wheezing cackle was like that of a madman, and Jacques felt uneasy for reasons he could not articulate. “Um… Father Methuselah?”
“It’s finally happening!” laughed Methuselah. “All these years of waiting, three Inquisitions to verify that I am neither mad nor possessed, even the loss of my eyesight, and finally the vision is to be fulfilled.”
Jacques felt a chill run down his spine at the apparent ravings. “You are not making any sense, old one. Are you quite well? Need I fetch a physician?”
Regaining his composure somewhat, the ancient man waved him off. “No, my friend. I am quite sound of mind, thankfully. I simply find myself in the unusual position of sympathizing with old Simeon, who was told he would not die until he had seen the Christ. This is a matter of infinitely less weight, of course, but it has still been a source of some consternation to me wondering when I might see its conclusion.” Before Jacques could ask after his cryptic words, Methuselah pointed a frail hand at his bed. “Beneath the bed you will find a sack filled with everything a priest should need for his travels, as well as a bottle of wine and a large tome. Pray, fetch the last two.”
Thoroughly mystified, Jacques did as he was bade. He found the bottle first. At the sound of the liquid sloshing inside, Methuselah grinned. “An 871 Burgundy. A very good year. Not to be imbibed in indiscreet fashion, of course, but a little sip may help ease the shock.”
Jacques considered demanding that the older man explain what he meant, but reasoned that all would be made clear when he retrieved the other item.
Instead, his confusion only grew. The massive tome appeared to be at least the size of the average illuminated bible, which raised all sorts of questions by itself. He was further surprised to see three leaden stamps upon the cover, marking three separate Inquisitions which had reviewed the document. Most unusual, however, was the title.
“All You’ve Ever Wanted to Know About the Complexities of Inter-Universe Travel but Were Afraid to Ask,” he read aloud. Methuselah’s only response was to give a slight chuckle and gesture for him to read. Jacques opened to the first page and continued, “Chapter One: On Terms and Definitions Related to Powers Granted Unto Mortals by God in Different Settings.” He caught sight of a scrawled margin note. “See also chapters from A 14th Century Friar in Celestia’s Court, most notably: ‘The Fire,’ ‘So What You’re Saying Is You’re NOT Evil?,’ ‘My Dear Readers… (A Non-Canon Interlude),’ ‘Intro to Equestria 101,’ ‘First Lessons (Part 2),’…” he trailed off before he could read the rest and simply turned to stare mutely at Methuselah.
Despite his blindness, the older man seemed to feel his gaze. “Take my advice, my young friend: don’t read those until you’ve finished the section on multiverse theory.” Jacques blinked, his mind now on another question. Once more, Methuselah answered it without prompting. “Bottle opener is in the second drawer from the top.”
Three days and several thousand pages later…
Jacques massaged his temples against a headache that felt rather like a hangover but, in fact, had nothing whatsoever to do with alcohol. Truthfully, he had made a point of imbibing only a little. Reality was enough of a headache as it was. “So, hypothetically,” he began, “thousands of other universes exist in which we’ve had this exact conversation with only mild changes, and yet in each one I am sent to a different world?”
“Hypothetically, yes,” replied Methuselah, swirling the wine in his goblet. “And don’t even get me started on the issue of timelines. I practically get a nosebleed just thinking about it.”
Jacques groaned and closed his eyes. “On one hand, I find it rather helpful that an angel directly appeared and laid all of this out for you in a clear and, for the content, concise manner, but this is a horrifying amount to take in all at once.”
Methuselah gave him an arch look. “A lot to take in all at once, you say? I had to transcribe the entire message over the course of a month of nightly visits from the angel! I’m just grateful that I was miraculously still fit for my duties the next day, despite having no sleep. People who seek glimpses of the Almighty’s designs seldom stop to consider how far beyond us those designs truly are. Even this tiny glimpse is enough to make my head spin. If it weren’t God’s will that you and I be able to process this, I think we’d both be gibbering on the floor from the magnitude of it all.”
“But it gets easier after Multiverse Theory, right?”
The elderly prior blinked, then burst out in hysterical laughter for a full thirty seconds before ceasing abruptly and stating, “No.”
One reading of ‘Chapter Fifty-Six: On Time-Travel’ later…
Jacques stared with bloodshot eyes at the far wall. Methuselah sat peacefully in his rocking chair, sipping his wine. A long silence hung between them.
“But if the mere observation of an experiment changes its results, then shouldn’t it be logically impossible to fix a misaligned timeline by any means other than preventing the person from travelling back in time in the first place?” exclaimed Jacques abruptly.
“Well, you would think that at first glance, but if you turn to page 2291, you will note that Starswhirl’s Theory of Temporal Distortion was, not surprisingly, ahead of its time, and correctly noted that it was technically possible, so long as certain criteria were met, including…”
Great Priory St. Gilles, Provencal, Commandry of the Knights of St. John, Anno Domini 1321, shortly after the conclusion of a study session of arduous and epic proportions…
“Well, my son,” creaked Methuselah as he walked Jacques towards the portal that would lead him into the multiverse, “I must say that you’ve processed all of this information astonishingly fast. There are still a few sections you haven’t mastered yet, but nothing that should keep you from your mission. I am very proud of you.”
“Thank you, Father. I’m proud of me too,” replied Jacques honestly. Methuselah laughed. “Say, Father,” continued Jacques, “how was I able to learn this so quickly?”
Methuselah shrugged. “Well, can’t say for certain, but I’d wager it’s because this world is closer to the Fourth Wall than most.”
Jacques blinked and turned to stare. “What?” he asked.
“What?” echoed Methuselah.
Canterlot High, Canterlot, United States of America
A transformed Sunset Shimmer flew cackling over the heads of the students, working her dark magic to transform them into an army of mindless drones. Twilight and her human friends watched with horror, the princess madly wracking her brain to find some way to stop what was happening.
Her quest for answers came up dry.
It didn’t help that Sunset had apparently decided the occasion called for a song, or that her singing voice oddly reminded Twilight of some recordings she’d heard of herself.
“Oh man, oh man!” exclaimed Rainbow Dash. “Did she just turn into some kind of demon?”
Despite the catastrophic nature of the situation, Twilight could not prevent the more clinical part of her from going into lecture mode. Feeling a strange urge to adjust glasses she didn’t wear, she replied, “Well, no. That would be absurd. While she has taken on an appearance best described as that of a ‘raging she-demon,’ what has actually occurred her is that her hateful emotions and vices, combined with the fact that she stole a power she’s not supposed to have, gave physical form to the evil in the form of a second personality which has transmogrified her body and taken control of her mind.”
Pinkie stroked her chin thoughtfully. “So, basically, it’s like Bruce Banner having the Other Guy, except this one is a pure evil meanie?”
Twilight blinked. “I… have no idea what you’re talking about, but something tells me the answer is ‘yes.’”
The curly-haired girl nodded. “K.”
“Have you seen this before, darling?” asked Rarity.
Sunset’s villainous song reached ever grander notes.
“Oh, sure,” replied Twilight with the casual tone that comes only from repeated brushes with world-ending catastrophe. “When Princess Luna sought power not her own and was consequently consumed by the resulting dark magic to became Nightmare Moon, my friends and I used the Elements of Harmony to destroy the evil personality and free her.”
There was a contemplative pause as Sunset Shimmer reached her crescendo. “But we don’t have the Elements of Harmony,” ventured Applejack.
“Correct,” concurred Twilight.
“…meaning?”
Sunset, her song finished, turned baleful eyes upon them.
Twilight gulped. “We’re hosed.”
Saint Giles Priory, Provencal, France
Friar Jacques and Prior Methuselah stood before the crackling vortex of a portal located, of all places, in the pantry. Jacques clicked his tongue. “So… how long has this been here?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” replied Methuselah. “Which is quite incredible when you consider how often I’ve used this pantry.”
Jacques grunted noncommittally. “I thought the portal was in the hedgerows.”
“No, you’re thinking of the portal to the world of universally powerful sapient ponies,” corrected Methuselah. “This portal is the one to the future Earth that’s been effected by the world of universally powerful sapient ponies.”
“I see,” said Jacques slowly. The two stood in silence for a moment. “Father, do you ever feel like your life is a self-parody?”
“Constantly. Have a safe trip.”
Canterlot High, Canterlot
Canterlot High School had borne witness to many strange happenings over the years. The Piglet Stampede of ’44. The Duck With the Head of a Man Concert of ’71. The catastrophic Nightmare Night of ’89. And, of course, the still-infamous Noodle Incident of ’95.
The present year’s Fall Formal had quickly shaped up to be the strangest by far, stranger even than the Noodle Incident of ’95 (though, admittedly, it was a closer contest than anyone who remembered the Noodle Incident was really comfortable discussing).
As far as physical dangers, of course, there was no contest. Having ripped the front off the school and mind-controlled the student body, the maddened Sunset Shimmer now hovered above Twilight and her friends, mocking them as she prepared to avenge herself upon them. As she and Twilight matched words, no one noticed the portal flare and a new challenger enter the field of battle.
“Gee, the gang really is all back together again!” mocked Sunset as the pitiful group of friends closed around the princess. “Now step aside! Twilight has interfered with my plans one too many times already! She needs to be dealt with!”
“You’ll have to get through us!” challenged Rainbow Dash.
Sunset blinked at the brazen declaration. “You… do know that I can do that, right? I mean, I can literally go through you. Like…” she held out a clawed hand and manifested a basketball sized orb of fire, “it would not even be a contest.” Plainly terrified, the friends, astonishingly, did not back down. A cruel smile crossed Sunset’s features. “Alternatively,” she stretched out her claws and beckoned. Dark magic gripped Twilight and yanked her from her friends’ meager protection, drawing her through the air towards the gloating Sunset. “I can make you watch how little your friendship counts for!”
The five girls cried out in dismay and impotent rage as the terrified Twilight drifted ever closer to her doom. To her credit, the princess struggled gamely against Sunset’s magic, but there was nothing she could do. No way she would survive—
“DEUS VULT!”
A sheet of pure white fire washed over Sunset, and she screamed in pain. The fire did not touch her flesh, but it burned the magic within her. Such was her anguish that she was forced to abandon the grip on Twilight and soar back several pony lengths to escape the attack.
Sunset hissed and rubbed at her eyes, which had been blinded by the attack. Who dares?! How dare?! What is going on?! As her vision gradually cleared, she cast her gaze about, seeking both her attacker and her nemesis, the latter of whom must have at least broken her legs in the fall when Sunset lost her grip. At least she won’t be running away. Once I’ve finished off this interloper I’ll—
Her train of thought was chopped off by the sight of an old, bearded human in a black monk’s robe, holding a quivering Twilight Sparkle in one arm and a gleaming sword in the other.
To her mounting astonishment, the man grinned at her. “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he rumbled politely. “If I may, it strikes me that you have had the misfortune of succumbing to the maddening effects of ill-gotten magic. Might I interest you in a peaceful expulsion of the damage?”
Silence hung over the battlefield as Sunset’s brain processed this turn of events with all the speed of Internet Explorer on a badly used twelve-year-old laptop. Eventually, she found her voice. “What the flying—”
Jacques winced at the profanities flying from the young lady’s mouth. “<Oh dear>,” he murmured in French. “<One more thing to address later>.” Delicately, she set down the gawping teenager he’d caught from the air. “Jeune femme, are you uninjured?” he asked.
The startled girl stood stiffly, eyes wide as dinner plates. “Um… yes?” she managed. “Thank you, Mister…”
“Friar Jacques de Charrette, at your service,” he replied with a slight bow. “And you?”
“Princess Twilight Sparkle of Equestria,” blurted the young woman, who immediately clapped hands over her mouth.
“Just gonna give that secret up, huh?” drawled the hat-wearing girl who trotted up with the others.
Jacques gave a deeper bow. “Princesse,” he corrected. The old man pointed to the expletive-spewing winged one. “Your crown, I presume?”
Twilight nodded. “That’s Sunset Shimmer. She stole the crown, which contains the Element of Magic. It’s a powerful artifact, but when she stole it—”
“The fact that she claimed a power which she was not meant to have caused her to be overwhelmed with the power, which is why she was transformed into a monstrous entity, possibly manifesting a second personality in the process over which she has little, if any, control,” he replied blandly. Seeing that the woman in question was nearing the end of her rant, he raised his sword defensively. “So very glad that I didn’t skip ‘Chapter 13: The Impact of Motivation and Morality Upon Magical Effects’ and ‘Chapter 72: On the Effects of Wielding Illegitimate Power’.”
His statement was greeted with blank stares. “Who—”
Sunset charged an attack. Jacques brought back his sword for a swing. “Behind me please,” he ordered. The girls complied as the fireball shot down. Jacques slashed with his sword and a line of white fire bisected the incoming attack. Infuriated, Sunset sent down a flurry of lighter attacks, which Jacques parried with ease. “Now, I believe you were about to ask something, Princess?”
“Who are you?!”
Jacques smiled dryly, but didn’t look at her as he deflected another round of blasts. “Would you believe a time-travelling warrior priest from the 14th Century?”
“Honestly? Yes.”
That made Jacques look over. “Really?” he exclaimed, almost missing a deflection in his shock. “Heavens, your life must be quite eventful.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” replied Twilight tiredly.
Jacques, growing tired of constant parrying, stuck the point of his sword in the ground and swept it in a lateral arc, throwing up a protective wall of fire. Gesturing with his hand, he brought the fire fully around them to make a dome. He smiled in satisfaction as he surveyed his handiwork. “Ah, it is marvelous to simply know all of this,” remarked the old man. “Can you imagine if I had to learn all of this as I went along over the course of years of exhaustive training and practice of arms rather than a few days with a large book? And that’s to say nothing of the incredible and borderline comedic levels of power I’m displaying.”
“Yeah, it’s good to have the power boost for a hastily thrown together joke fight scene,” agreed the poofy-haired one, “but, on the other hand, the struggle version would probably make for a more satisfying long-term narrative because of the innate desire of Humanity for edifying tales of heroes enduring trials.”
“True enough,” acknowledged Jacques, ignoring the blank looks the other teens were now giving their companion. “Down to brass tacks, however, I have a few clarifying questions about the Element of Magic. Am I correct in my belief that it is, essentially, a holy relic tied to virtue rather than to whoever arbitrarily picks it up?”
“Well, yes,” replied Twilight. “Sunset isn’t really wielding the Element of Magic. She’s wielding the rather substantial amount of magic that’s stored in the crown, but the Element itself rejects her.”
“Meaning that the Element itself is apart from the crown,” said Jacques. “Theoretically, it could be wielding without the crown then?”
“Yes?” answered Twilight uncertainly. “I mean, it should be possible, as Nightmare Moon ‘destroyed’ the Elements, only to find that they weren’t destroyed, because they were tied to the higher virtues and the ponies who represented them. But that doesn’t help us here, because we don’t have the other Elements, unless,” her gaze drifted to her friends. “Unless…” she struck her forehead with the palm of her hand. “I’m an idiot. Hold on a second, Friar. We’ve got this.”
“We do?” quavered the timid-looking girl.
“We do. Step one involves standing in a circle holding hands. Step two involves a speech…”
Sunset Shimmer shrieked her rage to the heavens as strike after strike impacted impotently off the massive dome shield. The effort did nothing but leave her panting. As she recovered her strength, a thought occurred to her and she couldn’t help but facepalm. I have a freaking army. I can just order them into the dome! I doubt this guy wants to flambe anyone… wait, actually, that might not work. His magic seemed to hurt my magic, not me, so if I just march them in there it might do the opposite of what I want it to.
From inside the dome, she heard Twilight shouting something about ‘the Magic of Friendship’ and how ‘Sunset cannot wield the true Element’, yadda yadda yadda, but Sunset was too busy contemplating her next move to listen.
Maybe if I send in one or two as a test and go from there. Scientific method in action. Who to send, though… let’s see… who’s the most expendable—
A massive double-helix of rainbow energy shot up from the dome shield, arcing across the sky before rocketing down…
Straight for Sunset Shimmer.
“Oh son of a—”
FRIENDSHIP!
Jacques and his newfound friends stared at the smoldering crater, the discombobulated student body stumbling in a daze around them. The friar nodded sagely and remarked, “Well. That was bracing.” Glancing at his companions, he saw that three of them had sprouted wings. “Is that… normal?”
Sunset coughed as the dust cleared, leaving her at the bottom of a crater, broken and humiliated, with all her sins laid bare, even to herself. She was free of the Other Girl now, and in the wake of her departure she saw clearly what she’d done. Saw that she’d enslaved and nearly murdered innocents for the sake of her own petty hate.
If she could have died right then, she would have.
The was the crunch of gravel, and through her tears Sunset saw a pair of sandaled feet and a black robe. Her eyes drifted up, and looming over her was the mysterious warrior monk who had denied her wicked victory. His face was expressionless as he regarded her, his grey eyes unreadable, but the sword in his hand spoke volumes. It seemed that she would get her death wish after all. She bowed her head, resigned to her fate, knowing that she deserved this end and simply grateful that she’d been released from the madness before the end.
But the end didn’t come.
There was a rasp of steel on leather and the rustle of fabric. Astonished she was not dead, Sunset opened her eyes to see that he’d sheathed his sword and knelt sit at her level.
“My name is Friar Jacques de Charette,” he said kindly in his basso French accent. “And you?”
Sunset gaped. He’d said it so casually, as though this was a meeting at a dinner party rather than the aftermath of a titanic battle that had ended with her getting purged of an evil personality spawned of dark magic and left at the bottom of a crater. Instinct took over, and she responded automatically. “Sun— Sunset Shimmer.”
“Well, Miss Shimmer, you have dabbled in things you should not have.” His tone was plain and without apology. She looked away in shame, but a soft chuckle bade her look back. He sat with a kindly smile on his face, holding out a gnarled hand. “Would you like me to show you a better path?”
She stared at the hand, blinking away tears, then up at his eyes. A thousand questions were on her mind, but only one really mattered. “…why?”
“Because to save a soul is worth my life,” the man replied simply.
He said it as though there were not great mystery to it, but Sunset didn’t believe him. How could it be that simple? How could she just be saved after everything that she’d done? But he seemed so sure of himself. And, in all fairness, he and the others did defeat me…
Taking a deep breath and shutting her eyes, Sunset clasped his hand.
Twilight and the others helped Jacques and Sunset out of the pit. The princess was gratified to see that, despite the tightness in their body language as they did it, her human friends didn’t hesitate to pull the girl up. They then attempted to thank the old man for his actions, but he waved them aside. “I am merely an old soldier doing his duty,” he replied. Turning, he fixed Twilight with an odd gaze. “Tell me, Princess. You are not really human are you?”
How in the hay did he…?! “Um, well, no,” she admitted, tugging at her skirt slightly.
“I’m sure that’s quite a story,” he said with a smile. “Much as I would like to hear it, however, there are spiritual matters which must be attended to first. Could you perhaps direct me to the nearest Catholic church?”
The alicorn-turned-human gulped, having not the faintest idea. “Um…”
“There’s one about a half mile up the road, there, padre,” interjected Applejack, coming to her rescue. “Big brick buildin’. Saint Moses the Black.”
Jacques chuckled. “The bandit-turned-monk. A redemption story of legendary proportions. Fitting, under the circumstances. Well, we shall be departing in a moment, but first,” he stepped aside to let Sunset speak. “I imagine Sunset Shimmer has something to say to you.”
The unicorn-human stepped forward slowly, tears welling in her eyes. “Princess Twilight, I—” she sank to her knees, sobbing. “I’m so sorry! I’m so, so sorry!”
It took some time for Sunset to calm down enough to fully apologize, but Twilight was patient. Such matters took time. Once the young woman had finished, Twilight gave her a short lecture about friendship. As for forgiveness, it was readily given. Her friends followed suit and promised to keep Sunset on the straight-and-narrow once Twilight returned home. With that, Jacques and Sunset departed, the former humming under his breath and occasionally asking Sunset about some piece of the scenery. At one point he became very animated at the sight of a car, and Sunset had to spend a moment explaining some feature of it to him before he finally returned to the mission at hand.
The group was silent after his departure. At least, until Fluttershy said, “He seemed nice.”
Rainbow cleared her throat. “Sooooooo, crazy sword-toting old guy coming out of a portal… he one of your spec ops guys or something?”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Rainbow,” chided Rarity. “He had no idea who Twilight was and is obviously a Catholic monk of some sort or another.”
“Yeah,” chuckled Applejack. “An’ somehow Ah don’t think they got Catholic monks in Equestria. Er…” she glanced at Twilight for confirmation, “right?”
Twilight shook her head. “I don’t know where he’s from, but I’d be willing to bet my crown it wasn’t Equestria.”
“Maybe don’t bet the thing we just got back,” growled Spike.
The princess ignored him, staring after the retreating figure of the monk. “I have to admit, though, there’s something eerily familiar about him. Almost as though we’ve met before.”
“Yeah,” chimed in Pinkie. “Like in an alternate reality you haven’t become a princess yet but he travelled from Earth in the past to Equestria to help you fight a shadowy group of cultists practicing the Dark Arts!”
“Yeah,” said Twilight. “Wait, what?”
“What?” echoed Pinkie.
Thus began the tale of Friar Jacques de Charette, who would face many foes, right many wrongs, mend many broken lives, and become regarded as a saint in his own lifetime. The future would see him as the patron of soldiers, confessors, former criminals, those consumed by power, heroes of destiny, portal-travelers, and impromptu epic metal musical throwdowns. But that’s another story…
Morning Song Counselling, Rolling Brook, Four and a Half Years Before the Events of A 14th Century Friar in Celestia’s Court…
“You haven’t been able to get even a single word out of her?” Song asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “As in, she hasn’t verbally responded to anything you’ve said, or as in she hasn’t said a word period?”
“Not a single one of my soldiers has heard so much as a single word out of the poor girl’s mouth,” replied Captain Argent Sabre, her voice muted in the confines of Song’s office. “We suspect she was taken from her village in a raid, as that would fit the broader pattern and her accent wasn’t native to where we found her, but we don’t know for sure. The only reason we know her name is ‘Alsahra’ is because she wrote it down for the Legionnaire who found her.”
The magenta-coated unicorn captain looked unusually somber as she sat across the desk from Morning Song, PsyD. The doctor noted that Argent’s armor, the steel barding of the Royal Expeditionary Force, had lost much of its luster. The armor’s red-and-gold trim looked faded, and the red crest of her helm was ragged.
Given that the captain had just come from a warzone, most would not have thought much of it. But Morning Song was a psychologist, and she’d come to know Argent Sabre very well over the last few months. Whatever ferocious combat she saw over the borders, the REF captain’s battle harness was always immaculate by the time she made it back to friendly lines. Rolling Brook, the town where Song practiced, was some thirty miles from the border. Which means that she hasn’t taken the time to polish her barding or fix the crest, reflected Song. That, more than anything else about Argent’s comportment, worried her.
“Well,” earth pony psychologist remarked, leaning forward in her chair and tapping one alabaster hoof against the desk, “it’s not uncommon for trafficking victims to be afraid to talk.” Argent said nothing, but averted her eyes. That’s not a good sign. “But the fact that you travelled back here to tell me personally means there’s something more going on.”
Argent nodded. “Quite so, I’m afraid,” she replied, her customary Trottingham aplomb doing little to hide her discomfort. “You see, Alsahra is skittish and fearful around everypony, as is to be expected, but she still speaks to some, I’ve been told. It’s…” she bit her lip, then pulled off her helmet, letting her silver mane flow freely as she ran a hoof over the helm’s ragged crest. Song waited, knowing that there was no point in rushing her. “…it’s my soldiers she’s afraid of.”
Song’s gaze softened. “Well, I can only imagine how hard that is, having the ponies you’re rescuing being afraid of you.” It’s not the first time it’s happened, but maybe it’s just now getting to her. “Just remember that seeing armed ponies is likely to set most of these victims off, especially the ones that don’t speak Ponish and don’t understand they’re being rescued. Other patients you’ve brought me have—”
“You don’t understand, Song,” Argent snapped, her crimson eyes blazing as her gaze met Song’s. “It’s my soldiers specifically that she’s afraid of.”
Song blinked. “What?”
“Oh, she’s fretful and nervous and largely silent amongst other members of the Task Force,” continued Argent, “but she breaks down sobbing every time she sees Equestrian infantry. I had to pull two Germane Stormtroopers from the field just to escort her back here.” She gave a bitter snort. “The fact that they were less threatening to her than my ponies doesn’t sit right, and that’s not anything against the stormies.” Her eyes narrowed. “She’s terrified of Equestrian soldiers, Song, and I bloody well want to know why.”
Morning Song sat back in her chair and brushed at a golden lock that had slipped free from her predominantly black mane – an unconscious gesture of orderliness that manifested in the face of confusion. Equestrian peacekeeping forces were a welcome sight in most war-torn countries, given Celestia’s millennium of consistently honorable foreign policy. Generally, the only creatures that weren’t happy to see them in such situations were the despots and warlords who provoked their involvement. Thus, while it wasn’t uncommon for victimized ponies like Alsahra to be fearful of armed creatures, they generally calmed down once they discovered those soldiers were Equestrian.
For this to have the opposite effect… Song shuddered at the implications. “I’ll see if I can get her to open up to me,” she said at length. “Remember, though, she may not want to talk about what happened to her, or even where she came from. It could take months, even years to get her to open up. I know you need information but…” she shrugged.
Song knew that the practical part of the captain would hate waiting for intel – after all, her troops depended on it. But Argent was an honorable and compassionate soul who remembered a soldier’s first duty. She would never allow Alsahra to be hurt further by pressing too hard. The captain dipped her head gratefully and said, “Thank you, Song.”
“Thank me when I’ve helped her,” responded the psychologist, rising from her desk. “Take me to her.”
They made their way through the clinic to the patient’s room. Sure enough, a hulking white stallion in the distinctive black armor of the Germane Sturmtruppen Korps stood guard at the entrance. While they were still several yards away, Argent stopped. “This is as far as I go,” she announced, staring at the door. “I… I don’t want to risk upsetting her if she catches a glimpse of me.” There was a tremor in her voice as she spoke. Song put a comforting hoof over her friend’s withers. Argent didn’t seem to notice. “Celestia, what happened to her?” she whispered.
“I’ll do my best to find out,” Song assured her as gently as she could. Argent gave her a sad smile of gratitude and departed.
Once Argent had gone, Song took a deep breath and approached the door. The Stormtrooper was a fearsome specimen, bearing many scars. A wicked-looking Zweihänder was slung at his side while an arming sword rested nearby against the doorframe; he looked eminently capable of wielding both. But his smile was genial as he greeted her, “Guten tag, Ärztin Song. Here to see Alsahra?” His accent was thick, but hardly indecipherable.
Song nodded. “Please.”
He knocked gently on the door. “Oberleutnant Klinge. Die ärztin ist hier.” A smattering of Germane was heard in response. “She says you go in, Doctor. I remain here.” His eyes were sad as he added, “Alsahra not do so good with stallions. Oberleutnant Klinge better for calming her.”
“Thank you, Trooper,” Song replied, pushing her way inside.
Oberleutnant Klinge, a pale-grey pegasus mare with black mane and violet eyes, was seated on the floor in the corner of the room. She’d dispensed with her armor and stacked it on the far side of the room. There was no weapon in evidence, and Song guessed that the arming sword leaning against the wall outside was hers. Klinge’s wing was laid over the back of a tiny brown mare with blue hair, who had huddled fully into the corner. The little mare was trembling, emitting a sound too weak to be a whimper, but too fearful to be mere breathing.
In the last months, Song had become more familiar with that sound than she ever thought possible.
Morning Song exchanged a silent greeting with Klinge, then stepped deeper into the room, making her hoofsteps as obvious and non-threatening as possible. “Alsahra?” she called out, her voice bright and gentle. The young mare froze in terror, and Song’s heart bled. “<My name is Morning Song,>” she said in Alsahra’s native Somarelian. “<May I come in?>”
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Klinge’s wing shifted, and from beneath it poked Alsahra’s head. The instant Song saw her face, tears threatened to consume the psychologist. It wasn’t the scars, nor the eye swelled shut by a beating, nor the emaciation, nor even the brand on Alsahra’s cheek. Song had seen all those things before and, horrible as they were, she’d become somewhat accustomed to the horror. No, what set Song off was that Alsahra wasn’t a mare at all.
She was a filly.
A filly who was old enough that she might be mistaken for a small, young mare, yes, but a filly nonetheless. Sweet Celestia, those animals stole this poor filly—
Song chopped off the selfish thought. Agonizing over what had happened to the girl would appease her own outrage, or at least seem to, but it wouldn’t help Alsahra. So, she swallowed her tears, put on the sunny smile of one greeting an old friend, and said, “<Hi, Alsahra. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’d like to talk to you, please, if that’s okay.>”
Alsahra stared at her for what felt like an eternity, searching Morning Song’s face for any sort of deception or malice. Song bore the scrutiny patiently. She’d wait all day if she had to. Alsahra looked over at Klinge, who smiled encouragingly. Finally, the filly gave a timid nod.
Song’s grin broadened as her heart broke. “<Thank you, Alsahra,>” she said, stepping softly over to sit on the floor in front of her, taking care to keep her head at the filly’s level. Alsahra tried to dip her head in greeting, but the movement ended in a frantic jerk as she blinked tears from her good eye. No monster will ever hurt you again, Alsahra. I’ll find out who made you afraid, and they’ll never hurt anycreature again. “<Thank you very much.>”
Centuries ago, the desert once known as the Eastern Wastes bore witness to a short, brutal war between ponies, griffons, minotaurs, and dragons.
The Empire of Griffonia had opened hostilities – a rising power to the East, they’d thought to take advantage of Equestria’s apparent weakness. Equestria was, at the time, reeling from the loss of Princess Luna and multiple attempted coups. Emperor Gustav saw an opportunity to subjugate his powerful neighbor, and invaded with a massive force of griffons, supported on the ground by minotaur mercenaries hired at great expense from the Tauren city states.
Celestia, for her part, was much aggrieved by the loss of her sister and the betrayal of those lords who had risen against her, and the country suffered with its monarch. The Combined Forces, which would eventually become the EUP Guard, was still in its infancy, wracked by internal conflict, the loyalists in its ranks tied up hunting down the traitors. Under such unstable circumstances, a war in Equestria proper would be devastating. It was thus necessary to crush the invasion swiftly and decisively, at the desert where the enemy force was crossing. However, there was no time to muster any earth pony or unicorn troops except those closest to the border. Only the pegasi legions could be mustered there in any great numbers, and so Celestia’s army was drawn overwhelmingly from that race.
Finally, were the dragons. Dragonlord Torch the Mighty was young, brash, and ambitious. He observed the rulers of two of the richest realms in the land rushing to the same desert to give battle, and saw an opportunity therein – if Celestia and Gustav could be taken alive and their forces routed, then Torch could demand from their realms any ransom that he wished, and perhaps even extort a yearly tribute. He and his queen, Inferna the Swift, gathered two hundred of the boldest and most ambitious dragons and set out for the desert.
Three rulers converged on those sands, each seeking a short, victorious war. But, as history has so coldly proven, such wars are vanishing rare, and rarer still are those that are won without extraordinary cost.
So it was with this war – a conflict which the history books first named as the War of the Eastern Wastes, but which came to be called the Red Sands War. In its brevity the misery of years of conflict was concentrated in a few short months. Thousands died under the desert sky, their bodies swallowed by the shifting sands which drank blood like water.
Of the small companies of earth ponies and unicorns who had formed the border guard, nine tenths of their number fell to the spears and swords of the minotaurs. In the air, the flower of the pegasi warriors were cut down. Few of their number ever returned to the soaring cities from whence they came – a generation of their race lost in the span of a season. To this day, it is remembered as the Spring of Empty Clouds.
Yet they did not die impotently. Thousands of griffons joined them in death, and many a proud company of minotaurs met their end in that desert. Never again would the Tauren states have any dealings with Griffonia or its successor realms. For their part, the griffons called the campaign the Black Gold War, for the army’s wages were death as often as not.
The dragons, too, suffered loss to both realms, for in those days the spears of the ponies were long and sharp, and the ferocity of the griffons was legend. Mighty as the dragons were, the weight of battle and the valor of their foes was enough to lay low even ones as great and terrible as they.
This Eastern war would likely have lasted far longer than its bitter season, had chance not intervened. History turned, as it so often does, on the smallest of things.
A chink in the scales of a grand dragoness, left over from a forgotten injury.
A griffon arrow, aimed at a pony, behind whom soared the grand dragoness.
A gust of wind making the shot stray from its path.
A piercing strike, a rupturing of the heart… so it was that Inferna the Swift, wife of Dragonlord Torch, fell.
Wrath consumed the mighty Torch. He incinerated any who stood between him and his beloved with a fire old and terrible. Taking her in his arms, he quit the battle, leaving behind three armies reeling from the swift change of fortunes.
Night fell, and the belligerents withdrew to their own encampments to lick their wounds and mourn their dead. The dragons had the worst of it, for while their army was the most intact, their leader was in such a state that none could approach him.
None… save Celestia.
The solar princess braved the grief-stricken dragon as he cradled his beloved and laid bare her own grief – the loss of thousands of her ponies to this senseless war, the betrayal of those she had once trusted, and the loss of her own sister to darkness. She spoke in passion, in pain, and her mane blazed with a fire as of the sun.
Torch heard, and listened.
Dragons, as a rule, respect strength. For this reason, they are quick to dismiss the littler races, whatever their magic and numbers. But on that day, it seems, Torch saw something of the dragon in the Princess of Sun and Fire.
In the shared fires of grief, they sealed a pact – one of the few ever sworn between dragons and ponies. For dragons are slow to bind themselves, and slower still to bind themselves to those not of their kind. Yet on that day, by pain or by power, Celestia earned the respect of Torch the Mighty, and so history turned once more.
The next day dawned red. Many minotaurs took it as an ill omen, for in those days minotaurs were wont to read the portents more than in the present time. Yet griffons have seldom put stock in prophecy, excepting those griffons of Hungriffy and Griffuania, and the Griffonians were as dismissive of the minotaurs’ words as their forebears had been. Proud Gustav heeded not the minotaurs’ warnings, and went forth with his army to give battle.
On that day, the line of Gustav would end, scorched from the earth by the fury of Sun and Fire. The Griffonian army was utterly broken, and few escaped flame and sword to flee back to their homes. Within a generation, Griffonia was no more, torn apart by the same internal strife and weakness they thought they’d seen in Equestria.
Torch took the body of his mate and returned to the Dragonlands. He never had further dealings with Equestria. Though individual dragons would have their parts to play in pony history, for good and ill, it would not be with the Dragonlord’s order. The migration was allowed to pass through Equestrian territory, and nothing more. Torch would make no war against the ponies.
Of the three nations, it would be Equestria that had their ‘short, victorious war.’ Equestria, which had desired war the least. Yet, there was no celebration, no songs of joy or revelry. Too fresh was the grief for any songs but those of lamentation.
Most stricken were the pegasi, who had journeyed forth with legions and returned with companies. It would be generations before they would recover from the loss of so many of their warriors, and even to this day the Red Sands to the East haunt them. The Eastern Wind is treated with little of the love shown to the other Winds, unless it is a lesser eastern wind made of pegasi magic. The songs of their warriors offer no praise to the Eastern Wind, and they ask it for no tidings. Such it has been, and such it shall be, until the Eastern Wind brings tidings of glory and joy to unmake the evil it once heralded.
As for the desert itself, it is forever marked by the conflict. The Eastern Wastes it is called no longer, for the Red Sands Desert will forever be known by the nomenclature of war. Apt is the new name; there is a permanent red color to the sands, unlike any other on earth. It is said they were not always that color, but were rather stained red with the blood of thousands, and scorched a permanent crimson by the wrath of the Sun and Dragon magic. Amongst ponies, only Celestia could say for certain, and she speaks of it not. The dragons would know, but none have been foolish enough to ask one who might remember.
Even to this day, the Red Sands Desert remains inhospitable. Nothing grows or lives there, and those who pass through do so at great risk. Some say there is a curse upon the place that keeps things from growing. Others say it is simply the magic of the slain earth ponies, or perhaps the unchecked power of a grief-stricken alicorn, which maintains the desert in this state – a reminder of the folly of tyrants, a memorial to the dead. Whatever the case, crossing the waste is treacherous even to those well-outfitted and prepared for the trials.
Those who do brave the desert wastes might see a curious sight, appearing now and then amidst the shifting dunes according to the whims of the wind. Buried in the sea of red dust, there is sometimes a glitter of light catching a shimmering artifact of war – places where the flames burned sand into glass. Sometimes within them can be seen the molten mortal remains of the dead, preserved until the End by terrible grief.
Fritters and Morning Song sat on the back porch of the Apple homestead, watching the sunset and sipping Konik vodka. On the table between them sat the bottle, a stack of scratch notes, and seven personnel files bearing the Seal of the Crown. The pair had spent an hour after dinner reviewing both notes and files. Now, they would discuss what those notes and files meant in context.
“To summarize,” said Fritters, “we’ve got six legendary heroines and one absurdly strong farmer to hustle through weapons training, which we have to fit around work schedules, with an unknown enemy on the prowl and no way of knowing if we have five months or five hours to get our merry band ready for combat.” The Konik grunted, taking a sip of his vodka. “Ojejku! A pity we can’t just run them through a proper boot camp!”
“You know as well as I do that boot camp wouldn’t be a good fit for most of them,” replied Song. “Not everypony has the appropriate mindset.”
“In my opinion, most ponies don’t have the appropriate mindset when they go to boot camp,” countered Fritters. “That’s part of what boot camp is supposed to do – get you in the right headspace for war.”
Song hummed in assent. “Fair enough. Though at least the Bearers have a reputation for rising to the challenge. And they have a confidence that comes from facing death together. That gives them an advantage most recruits lack.”
“Tak,” agreed Fritters. “True enough. Ah, well. As the princesses will it, I suppose.”
The pair discussed in broad strokes how they would approach training the new ‘recruits.’ Some of their deliberation dealt with the physical differences between the ponies and their varying levels of martial proficiency. Mostly, however, they considered the psychological side of things – how the different personalities were likely to react to different kinds of reinforcement.
On a basic level, it was no different than what any good drill instructor did for his or her recruits. The purpose of training was to drill down to the recruit’s foundation, to reinforce that foundation, and to build atop that foundation a warrior who would face the trials of combat without breaking. It was essential to the survival of the recruit and the unit as a whole.
Each recruit was different, however; what worked for one might not work for another. Some methods could be used broadly, while others required a more tailored approach.
The present situation was further complicated by three factors: the work schedules of the trainees, the unknown timetable of the enemy, and the fact that, for all their heroism, all the trainees (sans Rainbow Dash) were civilians. Civilians who, it was plain, were training out of necessity, not a desire to be soldiers.
As such, it would require an extra fine touch to hit that sweet spot between breaking them down to solid foundations and simply breaking them. Hence this late evening chat by the impromptu unit’s effective commanding officer and her senior NCO. Such meetings were a longstanding tradition in their unit – the present circumstances only heightened its necessity.
“Rainbow is pretty straightforward,” said Fritters. “We just advance her training minus the Chair Corps hooficures.”
“Fritters,” censured Song, “play nice.”
“Fine. We advance her training with a greater emphasis on ground combat and wingless fighting styles than our esteemed colleagues in the Air Corps generally focus on. There, that better?”
Song smiled. “Better. I also think that the Apples will be fairly straightforward. The only wrinkle I immediately foresee with them will be fitting it around farmwork, but I think their heads are in the right place for this.”
“Agreed,” said Fritters. “What’s your take on Rarity?”
The psychologist pursed her lips. “Rarity doesn’t strike me as the sort to jump right into the boot camp mentality. With that said, she’s single-minded in pursuing what she wants. I think appealing to her sense of duty is the best way to override whatever resistance she has to the training environment.” She tapped her hoof on the table. “That and her competitive streak. She might not have the same overt competitiveness of Rainbow Dash or Applejack, but when she’s challenged she tends to go all out. Properly tempered, that’s a deadly focus she can bring to bear.”
“Well, if it’s a challenge she needs, then a challenge I’ll provide,” promised Fritters. “I was already planning on something similar, so it would seem you’re rubbing off on me. What’dya think, LT, should I consider a career in psychology?”
Song shot him a long look.
“Yeah, probably not,” he agreed. “Anyway, Twilight also seems pretty clear-cut. She’s a rule-follower and an order-taker. Getting her logical brain behind the training will keep her going through setbacks. Once her ‘mind over matter’ kicks in, that mare’s gonna be scary.”
“So long as she doesn’t overthink things,” added Song.
Fritters gave a predatory smile. “Oh, I have some plans to keep her focused on what’s right in front of her, don’t you worry.”
“No doubt,” observed Song dryly. “Next up is… Pinkie Pie.”
The two exchanged a long look.
“Wing it?” asked Song.
“Wing it,” declared Fritters. “Which only leaves Fluttershy.”
Song sighed. “I’ll be honest with you, Frit, I wish we didn’t have to train her.” Come to that, I wish we didn’t have to train any of them, but especially her. “She’s an awfully gentle soul to face this.”
Fritters raised an eyebrow. “So are you, but you’ve managed. And it’s not as though we have a choice.”
“True enough,” acknowledged Song. “I suppose it’s at least a good sign that she realizes that too. And, for all my reservations,” she tapped the report on the dragon that Fluttershy had cowed, “the fact is she’s far stronger than she knows.”
“It’ll be a matter of showing her that strength in a healthy way,” observed the Konik.
“And helping her realize it’s a healthy way,” said Song. “The Iron Will matter left a bad taste in her mouth. True, she learned that it’s possible to be assertive without being a bully, but this goes far beyond that.”
“She needs to recognize that sometimes the kindest thing you can do is fight,” supplied Fritters.
“Exactly. Having Friar Jacques around seems to be the best avenue for getting that across, so I’ll ask him to talk to her about it.”
Fritters nodded. “You should talk to her too. A mare-to-mare chat from somepony who made a living patching mental wounds can’t hurt.” He took a sip of his vodka and contemplated the sunset. “As for me, I think I’ll focus on bringing out her protective instincts. Mama bear type exercises, with some partner smoking on the side so she feels like she has to step up for the others. To save time I think I’ll partner her with one of the others who needs to work on strengthening exercises, probably one of the unicorns…”
They continued to discuss strategy for the next half hour, drawing on their respective skillsets to hash out a training strategy. Like most such plans, it almost certainly wouldn’t survive contact with the enemy, but it would give them a baseline to work from.
Just as the last rays of the sun were disappearing behind the horizon, they finished, leaving them with naught to do but sit and finish their vodka. Song took a sip of her drink, and the clear liquid burned its way down her throat, causing her to shudder slightly. “Tell me something, Fritters,” she said.
“Hm?”
“Why in Equestria did I let you talk me into drinking vodka?”
Fritters cackled. “I told you, siostra, it will make you potężny! Powerful!”
“Well, we’ve been drinking vodka for four years and I have yet to see any evidence for that claim.”
“We’re still alive, aren’t we?”
“Yes, but—”
“There you go,” he replied.
Song snorted, but couldn’t keep a fond smile off her lips. “Applejack has no idea what she’s getting herself into,” she murmured.
Fritters turned sharply. “What was that?”
“Well, she asked you to teach her how to make use of her True Sight, didn’t she?” diverted Song smoothly. “Does she know exactly what the training will entail?”
Fritters relaxed. “Ah. That. No, she does not.”
The psychologist cocked an eyebrow. “When do you plan on telling her that the training involves traps and ambushes?”
Fritters opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment there was a loud splash, followed by a string of country expletives. “Sweet and salty Celestia!” roared Applejack from deep in the house. “Who put a feathering water balloon trap in mah room?!”
Shrugging innocently, the Konik answered, “Oh, now-ish.”
Song laughed.
Disclaimer: I am not a soldier and have never claimed to be. What follows, like everything else I’ve interjected about the military, is derived from years of firsthand accounts about combat and combat training from any source I could find over many generations of warfare.
In basic training, a recruit needs to learn to follow orders, to act as part of a unit (even with the soldiers he or she may dislike), to place the mission first, to never accept defeat, to never leave a fallen comrade, to put the needs of fellow soldiers above oneself, to put the protection of civilians above survival, and, ultimately, to kill and die for people who may be strangers.
Combat deployments, by all accounts, are a combination of mind-numbing boredom and moments of sheer, bloody chaos. Throughout it all, orders are given which may not make any sense to the soldier who has to execute them. It’s a blend of instinctive order-following, reacting on training, and maintaining the alertness that allows the warfighter to think on his or her feet, to interpret both orders and training in a way that will balance mission, survival of comrades, survival of civilians, survival of self, and ethics.
And… there’s no nice way of accomplishing that. Boot camp is tough by design, because anything less fails to prepare people for war. Coddling people or going easy on them is actually cruel – it gets them and other people killed. If people can’t hack it in boot camp (and there’s no shame in not being a good fit for military life), it’s best to find that out while not in a warzone. That’s why drill instructors ‘smoke’ recruits.
On the other hand, simply brutalizing recruits is often equally dangerous. It has the potential to break people who, with better training, might have made excellent soldiers. Worse, it has the potential to produce callous soldiers, which is leads to Bad Things. (Note how Cloak and Dagger train the Vox to be vicious in order to win – they’re examples of talented but ultimately unethical, and thus dangerous, drill instructors).
The sweet spot, then, is to have drill instructors who forge their recruits. They don’t do what they do because they’re martinets or bullies – they do what they do because they care about their recruits. They want them not only to survive, but to excel, to have the same care for each other that the instructor has for them.
A good drill instructor is equally capable of smoking a smartmouth for several weeks to break their lone-wolf attitude as they are of taking that same smartmouth aside and helping them work through their personal problems, hardships, and insecurities. Soldiers speak of such drill instructors with a sort of reverence and affection – as men and women who opened them up to being more than they were before, even if the process was painful. The recruits emerge as brothers and sisters, confident in knowing they can face trials and endure, even thrive.
Boot camp is a weird art as much as a weird science, with many unwritten rules. And a big part of it is learning to “embrace the suck.” Military life is full of suck, and the suck needs to be taught early on if soldiers are to endure it and emerge mentally sound. That’s what this chapter would have been about.
You know, if I’d written it.
Pretend I did write it and that I did a good job.
By the way, what Fritters means by “partner smoking” is that if, say, Fluttershy and Twilight were paired up and Fluttershy made a serious mistake, Fritters would make Twilight do pushups on the grounds that, “Fluttershy is your partner, and it’s your responsibility to ensure she’s combat ready.” Properly done, this incentivizes Fluttershy to try harder and get over her inhibitions because she cares more about letting her friends down than she cares about how unpleasant the training is. There’s an art to doing this in a such a way as to build comradery rather than resentment, but Fritters is a pro at this and he’s working with people who are already good friends, so it’s a good plan in this case.
Pre-Chapter Note: Yet another chapter from the cutting room floor, published while I have writer's block. This was originally going to come between when training started and when Jacques and Co. went to Canterlot. The intent: to expand some on Twilight’s learning of shadowmancy (and her struggles with the nature of the threat of the Shades) and to complete the continuity of several remarks Jacques made regarding Spike and Rarity. As with most of these cutting room floor chapters, it’s incomplete, but still canonical. There’s also an explanation at the end to clarify a couple things in case people think I’m saying something that I’m actually not.
Golden Oaks Library, Ponyville, one week before Jacques’, Rarity’s, and Oaken’s trip to Canterlot
The days that followed Friar Jacques’ midnight excursion into the Everfree had been rather more intense than Twilight was accustomed to.
Fritters referred to it as an “introduction to the high tempo lifestyle.” Twilight called it “exhausting.”
It wasn’t that she was in bad shape, no matter what certain ponies (Rainbow Dash!) might have suggested. Twilight liked to be healthy, and she’d read enough books on the subject to know that her mind worked better if her body was functioning properly. That was one of the reasons she’d become so good at reading while walking, jogging, or otherwise working out, periodic head-on collisions with pedestrians and intimate objects notwithstanding.
The bursts of exercise found in semi-regular monster attacks, evil-artifact-unearthings, and world-threatening catastrophes didn’t hurt her muscle tone either.
With that said, the impromptu Ponyville boot camp she and her friends were experiencing (or perhaps enduring would have been more accurate) was grueling in ways she’d never experienced. The fact that the training had to work around the trainees’ schedules only seemed to make the trainers that much more determined to squeeze every possible ounce of sweat and toil out of trainees in the limited time they had. Fritters in particular approached this task with a zealotry that would have made even the hardest-nosed drill sergeant weep salty tears of joy (before promptly ordering the tears back into their tear ducts).
There was nothing cruel about the methods of the soldiers, not even Fritters – tough as they were, they were the Bearers’ (and Big Mac’s) best chance of surviving the trials that lay ahead. Truth be told, it was nothing short of a miracle that they were making such great progress training so many disparate personalities in such little time. Twilight was immensely grateful to them.
None of which made Twilight any less sore. Nor did it remove the mental ache of having to cut back on her daily reading regimen, a complaint which, in a moment of less-than-stellar judgment, she’d voiced to Fritters. The Konik had responded by offering to stimulate her mental faculties by providing an opportunity for demonstrating applied physics in a multi-variable equation.
Which, in laypony’s terms, meant a sparring match against Rainbow and Applejack. Simultaneously. While she was limited to telekinesis and non-magical combat. Twilight lost, but only barely, and she took great satisfaction in having put Rainbow out of the match first (how was that for out of shape, Rainbow?!).
The physical exertion and reading deprivation were not the hardest parts of her training however. No, that dubious honor belonged to shadowmancy.
Her initial excitement at studying the art of shadow magic from Princess Luna’s very own hoof-written notes (squee!) had quickly been blunted when she’d actually tried using them. While Twilight was learning the new counter-spells and general combat spells that accompanied the shadowmancy with her customary speed, the shadowmancy itself seemed to actively resist her. She could barely manage the simplest spell without locking up, suffering backlash, or getting a headache.
The reason for her struggle was quickly discovered. Morning Song made the connection while Twilight was busy shouting at her horn for not cooperating: Sombra. Twilight’s last experience with shadowmancy had been with the corrupted kind in the Crystal Empire. To say that the incident had left a foul taste in Twilight’s mouth would have been something of an understatement.
Turns out that nearly being driven to despair by corrupted shadow magic in the icy north has long-term associative discomfort. Who knew?
Song’s discrete discussions with Twilight led to them determining that Twilight had a mental block resulting from being essentially ‘gun-shy’ of shadow magic. The therapist’s advice was to face the mental block directly and apply steady, patient pressure.
Twilight, however, found herself reluctant to do that. Even though she accepted, intellectually, that she needed to face the mental block in order to remove it, she found herself struggling to find the motivation to do it. She kept finding other areas of study to occupy her time, and reassured herself with the knowledge that there was merit in these other areas.
It was displacement activity and she knew it, but she rationalized that it beat having another attempt at shadowmancy blow up in her face.
All of this meant that, on the occasions when Twilight was free to simply stay at the library and research – normal, non-shadow-related research – she was grateful beyond words.
This was one of those times. None of the soldiers wanted to risk pushing the trainees too hard, so Twilight had been allowed most of the day to relax with a cup of tea, a stack of icepacks, and a bottle of mixed Zebra herbal remedies (for inflammation). She relished every minute of it as a pony in the desert would relish every drop of water.
Twilight briefly considered using her time ‘off’ to at least do some reading on shadowmancy, on the grounds that it would be productive towards that goal without being as exhausting as actually trying it. But she quickly dismissed the idea. This was her day ‘off,’ and she was not going to deal with the headache of shadowmancy. Solving an obtuse aspect of transmogrification theory that had long eluded her was much more to her liking.
Friar Jacques, upon hearing she’d be spending the day in the library, elected to accompany her so as to brush up on Equestrian history and political theory. His reasoning was that, with his trip to Canterlot with Rarity and Oaken fast approaching, it would behoove him to be prepared.
It was quiet in the Golden Oaks Library, with only the turning of pages, the scratch of quill on parchment, and the occasional muttered calculation on Twilight’s part breaking the silence. The clock ticked through the second hour of the afternoon, and the only two living beings in the library, Twilight and Friar Jacques, were quite engrossed in their respective work – research and magical number-crunching on Twilight’s part, and the reading of Equestrian lore on Jacques.’
The silence was peaceful and free of distraction. Unlike some of her other friends, Jacques had a tendency to study in silence, to the point that Twilight sometimes forgot he was there.
Now would not be one of those times.
“Twilight, how old is Spike?” asked the friar.
Startled from her concentration by the abrupt question, she turned in her seat to see Jacques sitting on a stool, book open but ignored, gazing at her intently. Caught off-guard, she answered automatically, “Sixteen years, seven months, and twenty-one days.”
Jacques smiled, amused. “Rather precise of you.” Twilight blushed. “In my homeland he’d be considered a man, or at least close to it,” continued the friar. “He’d be called an adult in your culture as well in little more than a year. Yet he is a baby dragon.”
“Well… yes,” replied Twilight, not sure what to make of the abrupt remark.
“He has in many ways the maturity of an adult, yet at other times he is like a teenager, or at others a young child,” remarked Jacques. Shaking his head and chuckling, he added, “An interesting mix of contradictions, to be sure.”
“I suppose so,” agreed Twilight, turning fully around to face him now that it was clear this would not be a passing question. “He’s sort of been like that ever since he got old enough to form his own opinions. I’ve just come to accept that’s the way it is with him.”
Jacques nodded. “You’ve raised him for much of those sixteen years, seven months, and twenty-one days though, have you not? Obviously, your parents, brother, and the princess all helped you, especially when you were a young filly. But you’ve always had a special role in his life – a bond of guardian and caretaker, present from the day you hatched him. It is a maternal bond in more ways than one, perhaps the deepest such bond he has.”
Twilight shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I… it’s… yes…” she said. “It’s… it’s complicated. It’s sort of a sibling thing, and he was also my first friend, but, well, I did hatch him, and as I got older I took over more and more responsibility in raising him, even took a lot on when I was young, so, um, I guess you could call that… maternal… b-but I don’t want to just call myself his— I mean, he has to have a real mothe—” realizing she was babbling, she took a deep breath. “I don’t want to claim to be something I’m not.”
The friar raised an eyebrow. “Nor am I suggesting you should. Dear lady, you cannot supplant the mother who gave him life. Wherever she is, whatever the circumstances by which he came to you, whether or not she still lives, whether she is a worthy dragoness or not, she is still his mother, and that cannot change.”
Jacques flipped the book closed and set it on the table beside him, continuing, “But there is more than one form of parental bond. An adoptive mother is just as true a mother as a blood mother, and in some cases a better one. Many times have I seen adoptive mothers, and fathers for that matter, forge bonds with their children as strong as those found between blood relations. Yet that is just one example.” He tapped his chest. “In my case, I shall never have children of my own flesh, nor shall I adopt any. For all that, I have been blessed with a bounty of spiritual children.” The friar pointed to her. “Your bond is yet another form. You have mothered him these many years. Whatever the nature of your relationship, it is, in part, maternal. Were his birth mother to reappear, that would not change the reality of what you have been to Spike for nearly seventeen years.”
At his words, Twilight found she had tears in her eyes, a reaction to the emotions his words had given voice to. “I… um… I…” she wiped a hoof across her eyes, huskily saying, “I guess wouldn’t.”
Jacques smiled warmly. “It is a truly a remarkable thing you have done, Twilight, to raise a creature of a species so alien to your own, with such inevitable contradictions of age and maturity. More exceptional yet is that you did so from such a young age, and instilled in him such virtues as he displays. He is a fine young man, or rather a fine young drake. You are to be commended.”
“T-thank you, Friar,” managed Twilight, who was suddenly in dire need of a tissue.
Seeing this, Jacques rose and passed her the box, moving his stool closer as he did so. “You are most welcome,” he replied.
Twilight blew her nose and wiped the tears from her eyes. In the time it took to do it, she wondered what had prompted this conversation. Especially since it looks like he isn’t done, thought the mare, noting the patient look in his eyes as he waited for her to finish. Once she’d composed herself, she asked, “Friar, if you don’t mind my asking, what brought this on?”
Jacques tilted his head as though to examine a space on the wall above her. “Several reasons, if I am honest,” he replied, “though two in particular. Firstly, because I have always found that people benefit from contemplating the things which are most important in their lives, especially when they are facing times of strife.”
Twilight’s thoughts drifted to spells Luna had sent her for combat, shadowmancy, and counterspells. “Well, now certainly qualifies,” she quipped.
“Indeed,” he smiled, letting his eyes fall to meet hers. “Secondly, because, as his guardian, there is something I must ask you.”
“Oh?” she said, straightening up. “What?”
“How long has he pined for Rarity?”
Twilight recoiled in shock. “What?”
“A ‘crush’ I believe you’d call it,” elaborated Jacques. “Don’t bother denying it. It’s as plain as day to anyone with half an eye to see and half an ear to hear. How long?”
The mare looked away. I promised Spike I wouldn’t tell anypony about his crush. But then, Jacques already knows. So it’s not really breaking the promise if there’s no secret to keep, is it? “Since we got to Ponyville,” she admitted quietly.
“I see,” said Jacques. “And you have tried to dissuade him, yes?”
“Well, yeah, but nothing’s worked,” Twilight said, looking up. “I’ve hinted at it, I’ve joked about it so he’d see how silly it was, I’ve made sure not to encourage him. I’ve even suggested he not bother and then tried to get him to focus on other things. Rarity’s always made it clear she thinks of him as a friend and tried to show her affection for him as such, but he always interprets it differently, no matter what anypony says or does! He just won’t put two and two together!”
Jacques raised an eyebrow. “In my experience, men and boys smitten by eros are seldom logical in their thinking.”
“So what am I supposed to do then?” Twilight demanded, aggravation slipping into her voice. “Tell him to his face? It’ll crush him!” More softly, she added, “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Pain is a part of life, Twilight,” said Jacques, his voice gentle, yet firm. “Learning to endure and overcome pain is an essential part of growing up. If you protect him from this truth too long, he will indeed be crushed, and he will have no idea how to rebuild afterwards.” His voice took a harder edge. “I fear that if you wait too long, he may grow to expect life to bend to his affections and desires, and, when it doesn’t, he may become deeply bitter and resentful. Better that he have it broken to him gently, that he may endure a lesser pain and build calluses in advance of the heartache of future turmoil.” Twilight looked away, not wanting to meet his gaze. Jacques sighed and laid a hand on her shoulder, speaking with compassionate tone, “Dear lady, I know you have no wish to see him harmed, but it is my belief that he will hurt less if he learns now how to deal with sufferings and upsets before the pain grows too great.”
Twilight felt a lump rise in her throat. “I… I’m not sure I can break this to him.”
“I’m not asking you to,” replied Jacques. Twilight looked up in surprise and saw earnest entreaty in his eyes. “I’m asking for your permission to.”
It took Twilight a moment to process what he meant. When she did, her eyes widened. “You’d do that?”
Jacques nodded. “My mother was my great teacher in most matters of the heart and soul, but this lesson I learned better from my father. For better or worse, men sometimes respond better to other men. And, in this case,” he smiled dryly, “I am a relative outsider. If I should offend him, at least one of his closest bonds will not be associated with the pain.”
Twilight hesitated. I don’t want to hurt Spike, but if Friar Jacques is right, and I think he is right, then it’ll hurt worse if he’s not told the truth now, and if I’m not ready to tell him, maybe it’s better coming from someone else. Maybe—
The front door opened. “Twilight?” Spike called from downstairs.
Twilight’s blood ran cold. What?! No! He can’t be back yet! I still don’t know what to do!
“I’m back from running errands!”
No no no no no! Why did this have to happen today! I was just researching about how to fight the Shades! I don’t need this right now! We’re gonna be risking our lives and… and…
Her gaze drifted to a picture of herself and freshly-hatched Spike on the wall. He was nuzzling her as a newborn foal nuzzled his mother.
… and who would teach him if I didn’t make it back?
It was a question she’d never thought to ask before. Though, came the guilty realization, I really should have after, like, the third I almost died saving the world.
“Twilight?”
Now that it had occurred to her, however, it caught her like a lasso and refused to be shaken loose. She’d always known that, as Spike grew up, the lessons she’d have to teach him would get harder and harder. This was a lesson it was time to teach. In fact, if Friar Jacques was right, it was past time. At some level, Twilight guessed that she had simply assumed that she’d have plenty of time to teach him when the moment felt right.
“Twilight, are you upstairs?” Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
But timeis one thing that’s not on our side.
Twilight Sparkle turned her eyes to Jacques and found him waiting patiently, respectfully for her answer. She could not bring herself to say the words. So she nodded.
Jacques pressed her shoulder, sympathy plain on his features as he mouthed, “Thank you.” Rising, he stepped downstairs before Spike could catch sight of the distraught Twilight and ask what was wrong. “Ah, Spike,” he said cheerfully. “Twilight’s just in the middle of something right now, but I’m glad I caught you. What say we go for a walk, you and I, and have a little chat, man-to-drake.”
“Oh, um, okay. Sure, Friar. Sounds fun.”
“Splendid! Let’s be off then. By the way, thank you for lending me that comic book of yours. My reading has been rather heavy of late, and it was a welcome distraction after a long day.”
“Glad you liked it! A lot of ponies don’t like Aquamane, but I think he’s an underrated character. Not as great as the Power Ponies, of course, but this version did a great job with his character…”
Twilight bit her lip and waited as the voices faded and the front door shut behind them. Moisture tugged at the edge of her eyes, and she felt emotion rise in her throat.
There had been times over the years that she’d caught her mother or father with tears in their eyes after she or Shining Armor had experienced a landmark moment whilst away from home. Whether that moment was a great accomplishment, a hard lesson, or a personal victory, there were times when her parents teared up seemingly for seemingly no reason… except that something big had happened while they weren’t there. When she asked them about it, the response was typically something to the effect of, “You’ll understand when you have children of your own.”
Twilight had always found that evasive, but her parents had insisted it was something that had to be experienced (at least in some fashion) to be understood.
Well, I understand now, she thought, wiping away a tear before it could fall. Spike is growing up without me. And if… if something happens to me… he’ll grow up…
She found her hoof was shaking.
Had this come at any other time, it would not have stung so much. Had the threat of the Shades not loomed over their heads, Friar Jacques’ offer would simply have been a kind favor from a fatherly figure which helped Spike learn a lesson that Twilight had difficulty teaching.
As things stood, it was a wakeup call. Twilight wasn’t sure if Jacques had intended it to be, but a wakeup call nonetheless.
Twilight’s gaze drifted down to the transmogrification research she’d been immersed in mere minutes ago. What had captivated her then now left an ashen taste in her mouth. Her lips curled in a frown. Time, she thought as her horn lit with magic. Time is against us. With a flurry of magic, she cleared the research, stacking it in the corner where it would stay until the present crisis was concluded.
Taking its place on the desk was Princess Luna’s book – the compendium of shadowmancy which caused so much hesitation in her. She could not help but wince at the sight of it. No matter how strongly she felt about her decision, it was still a bitter pill to swallow. Her hoof rested on the cover, but did not open it.
You have to learn this, Twilight commanded herself. You have to. For him. “For Spike,” she said aloud.
Twilight Sparkle opened the book and read.
Jacques and Spike took a leisurely walk to the park, the friar taking an extra slow walk so as not to outpace his smaller companion. Along the way, they discussed the finer points of the Aquamane comic the friar had read, a topic which earned more than one bemused glance from passersby.
Not that either of them minded. In fact, I doubt Spike even notices, thought Jacques with a smile as the animated drake expounded on one of his favorite parts of the comic. Much of the conversation revolved around the noble qualities of the title character, and what enabled him to be a hero.
Once they’d found a section of the park with some seclusion, the friar subtly turned the conversation to the point of their venture. “What do you think is the most critical element of Aquamane’s heroism, Spike?”
The young drake’s brow furrowed. “Well… I’d say it’s his bravery. Some ponies think it’s his strength or that he can communicate with sea creatures, but those don’t mean anything if he’s not brave.”
Friar Jacques nodded approvingly. “A wise answer, young Spike, and one that many overlook. Power itself does not make the hero – only how one uses it.”
“Exactly!” exclaimed Spike. “Even if,” he looked a touch wistful, “it sure would be nice to have the power to protect my friends.”
“From what your friends have told me of the Crystal Empire, the great timber wolf, and a number of other adventures, I think you’ve made brave use of what powers you have,” Jacques said.
Spike flushed, smiling in embarrassed pleasure at the compliment. “Thanks, Friar.”
“I speak only the truth,” replied the monk. “Though I think there is a quality of heroism even more important than bravery, one which I know you also prize highly.”
The dragon tilted his head quizzically. “What’s that, Friar?”
“Love,” replied Jacques with a smile.
“Love?” repeated Spike. “Isn’t that kinda… fru-fru?”
“Not at all,” answered Jacques, folding his arms into his sleeves. “Consider your comic – it was love that drew Aquamane’s parents together, love for which his mother was willing to sacrifice herself, love for which his father raised him all those years alone, love which drove Aquamane to protect the innocent and to fight for his home, love which, in the end, enabled him to act with mercy towards his enemy. All the virtues in the world mean nothing without love to direct them. As Paul put it, ‘If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.’”
Spike pondered his words. “I guess that makes sense,” he admitted at length. “I never really thought of it that way. Whenever I hear love, I guess I just hear ‘romance.’”
Jacques chuckled. “You’d hardly be the first to make that mistake. It is easy to regard love as mere feeling and emotion, but it is not. It is an act of the will. It is desiring the good of others for their own sake rather than our own. It is sacrifice.” He unfolded a hand from the sleeves of his habit and ran a finger along the edge of the crucifix around his neck. “Strange as it may sound, the greatest acts of love are often found in the midst of death and violence, where dreadful sacrifices are made for the good of others at the cost of the self.”
With a somber smile, he looked down at his young companion. “My father once told me what the mark of a man was. Like many other young men, I expected it to be ‘strength’ or ‘skill at arms,’ but, well, I think you can guess what he said.”
“Love?” guessed Spike.
“Indeed. This was how he described a man: he who is willing and able to sacrifice his affections and desires for that which is right, true, and honorable. He who embodies Love. And, as the essence of Love is sacrifice, then the essence of manhood is to will the good of the other, whatever the painful cost to self.”
Spike let out a long breath. “That’s… kind of heavy, Friar.”
Jacques smiled somberly. “Yes, it is. Especially when you realize that, sometimes, the greatest love we can show is to let go. To let go of dreams, of ambitions, of desires, of all the ways we imagine our life will go. Sometimes, to love is to let go, so that we may grasp hold of something better, even if we don’t know what that better thing is yet.” He stopped by a park bench. “Do you understand what I’ve told you?”
The dragon paused, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Kinda? It’s a lot to think about.” Another pause. “Friar, why are you telling me all this?”
Jacques did not respond immediately, but sat instead on the bench and gestured for Spike to sit beside him so they could be closer to the same height. There was still a great disparity, but it was the best he could do. “Because you have grown into a fine young drake, Spike, well along the road to maturity. You prize love and bravery and…” he let out a small sigh, “and I think you are ready for a hard lesson.”
Spike wrung his claws. “Is this about death? I mean, I’m almost seventeen, and with all that Twilight and the girls do, I’ve sort of… I think I’ve got that one figured out.”
That’s what everyone says until they lose a brother or sister. Still, that is a conversation for another time. The friar shook his head. “No, young Spike, this is not about death. As you say, you’ve become accustomed to the risks inherent to Twilight’s life.” And become as prepared as any man can be before experiencing it. “This lesson is an easier one than life-and-death in most respects, though harder in a few, as it touches on matters of the heart, and desire is a powerful force whether for good or ill.” He held Spike’s gaze levelly. “It’s about romance, maturity, and respect.” He let that sink in for a moment before gently saying, “Spike, tell me how you feel about Rarity.”
The 3rd Expeditionary Regiment, also known as the 3rd Equestrian Light Horse or, more commonly, as the ‘Black Cav’ is one of the oldest and most prestigious units in Equestrian history, and at their inception represented a major evolution in their combat doctrine.
They trace their origins to the early days of Equestria, before the armed forces of the young kingdom had been formally unified under the Combined Forces (the precursor to the EUP Guard). In those days, the disparate Tribes seldom formed united companies of fighting ponies. However, invasions by griffons in the east and minotaurs in the southwest forced the young realm to adapt if they wanted to survive.
Chief architect of this new military doctrine was Lord Rook of House Battlement. Rook, a unicorn, was one of the first Equestrians to truly adopt the idea of combined arms warfare – integrating the various skills of all three Tribes into one cohesive fighting force. He envisioned the creating Light and Heavy Companies of soldiers comprised of specialist warriors with intertwined skillsets intended for fast, elite troops which could outfight and outmaneuver larger enemy forces.
Opposition to the idea was fierce, and Rook barely managed to secure enough support to attempt his idea. Even then, he was given little funding and forced to rely entirely on recruiting volunteers. Most of his volunteers were earth ponies, who up to that point were often sidelined by the more established militaries of the unicorns and pegasi.
Nevertheless, Rook managed to assemble three Light Companies – mostly built around a core of fast earth pony chargers with pegasi support – and one Heavy Company – built around a core of unicorn knights and pegasi lancers.
Rook emphasized unit cohesion and precision maneuvers; he drilled his ponies relentlessly, tolerating no squabbles or rivalries between the Tribes but enforcing discipline with an iron hoof. Those who would not conform were dismissed.
By the time he was done, all four companies were understrength, but they were the most highly-trained and professional troops the young country had ever seen.
They first saw action against the numerically superior minotaurs at the Battle of Bull Gulch. Though most of the other Equestrian units were driven from the field, Rook’s troops fought with such vigor that they stopped the minotaur advance cold, allowing other Equestrian forces to rally for a successful counter-attack. Rook’s companies were such ferocious fighters that the minotaurs mistook them for horses, leading to widespread rumors of “Equestrian Horses.”
The name stuck, and the surviving companies were reorganized as the First, Second, and Third Light Horse, with the Heavy Company divided to provide a formation of shock troops to each.
Additional units were created according to Rook’s template over the following decades, and Equestria emerged as a dominant power in the region. The Tribes became more integrated, and a genuine Equestrian culture was emerging as a unified entity rather than a mere alliance of separate entities.
However, the good times were not to last. Follies of passion intruded, and a misguided noble attempted to create a love potion to win the heart of another.
The Love Poison brought Equestria to its knees. By the foolishness of one stallion, the monarchy was laid low by the Poison, which left the royal couple so immersed in each other that they could not rule. The Line of Royals failed, and the coming of the Great Dragon Vulcanus devastated the realm. The Dragon’s Desolation was but the harbinger of things to come. In the wake of the disaster, many great Houses vied for control of the government. Prominent members of the Tribes turned on each other, and Equestria descended into violence.
The Succession Wars had begun.
Decades of bloodshed followed as faction after faction attempted to seize control. So much evil was done that many of the soldiery despaired of the dream of a unified Equestria. Seeking to preserve what they believed was the true legacy of the realm, many left, setting off for distant lands and leaving Equestria to its fate.
But the Third Equestrian Light Horse would not abandon their home. They would fight to preserve the ideals their ancestors had bled and died for. Donning black in mourning for what had been lost, they began their mission of reunification. They vowed to keep the dream of Equestria alive, no matter the personal cost.
In following that vow, they sought to serve Houses who would uphold that cause. Time and time again, they were disappointed, as leaders turned to petty vengeance and brutal measures. The Third Light Horse were forced into a sort of mercenary existence, changing their masters as they sought to find leaders of virtue who would live by the old ideals of Equestria.
Their enemies pejoratively called them “Black Sheep,” but the innocent folk whom they defended called them the “Black Cavalry” – heroes who rode to the rescue regardless of the danger. They took as their banner a white flag with three black figures – an earth pony, a unicorn, and a pegasus – rampant and proud, encircled by a black circle for unity.
Throughout decades of misery, the “Black Cav” held onto their righteous code in the face of betrayal, murder, and death. Their devotion would eventually be rewarded, and they would finally find leaders worthy of their service.
In what would later be called the Restoration Era, many great heroes of Equestria – including Starswhirl, the Pillars, and the Council of Stewards – began the exhaustive process of building a truly unified government once more. Many flocked to their banner, including the Black Cav. A long series of carefully negotiated Accords ultimately culminated in the Diarchal Accords, which set Celestia and Luna on the Throne, ending the Succession Wars and ushering in the First Golden Age and the Era of the Two Sisters.
Ever at the command of the Diarchy, the Black Cav would serve them through many trials – the Crystal War; the Age of Discord and the Chaos March; the War of the Western Wastes. Though they were in the process of rebuilding during the War of the Shades, elements of their number joined the Sisters’ expedition and fought alongside them in the final battle.
It was after the coming of Nightmare Moon and Luna’s Fall that one of their greatest feats was done. The loss of Luna had left many – both foreign and domestic – believing that Celestia was weak and Equestria vulnerable. To deal with these threats, much of the Black Cav was dispersed throughout Equestria in the years that followed, maintaining peace and driving off aggressors. A single battlion – the 19th, also known as Striker’s Stallions – was ultimately stationed in Canterlot so they could replace their losses after recent deployment to the border.
What was supposed to be a time of rest and replenishment became a nightmare when the Sangbleu Rebellion began. Celestia herself was away with much of the army at a peace conference with the Maretonians. Of all the troops in Canterlot, few were loyal to Celestia, and the veteran 19th, understrength though it was, was the largest and most experienced force among them.
In the bitter fighting that followed, Striker’s Stallions refused every call for surrender. Their light troops held the line against the heavy infantry and pegasi of the Sangbleu Rebellion, fighting to the last pony. Striker himself died leading a desperate sally which enabled the other Loyalist forces to secure themselves in the Citadel. The 19th Battalion was wiped out, but they bought enough time for reinforcements lead by Clover the Last to arrive and shatter the Sangbleu forces. By their sacrifice, the city was saved.
Successive generations of the 3rd Equestrian Light Horse have continued to live up to the legacy of their forebears. They served with the EVF and later the REF in defending the Konik-Griffuanian Commonwealth, and have fought in almost every major REF action since. Few other units can claim to have a tradition of such distinction.
For all their many honors, however, the Black Cav never forgets the price they’ve paid. When the 3rd Equestrian Light Horse marches in parade, there is always a large gap in their lines, occupied by a single pony who carries the 19th Battalion’s colors. Their black-and-white banner flies forever at half mast wherever they are deployed.
Perhaps the unit’s ethos is best exemplified in their motto, “Dum Spiramus Tuebimur.”
“While we breathe, we shall defend.”
(Background Scene) - Twilight and the Friar Discuss the Crucifix
I was listening to the Skillet song Salvationwhile out driving the other day. The introduction– or more precisely the intro section of the song from the delux album – reminded me that early on in the story I’d planned on an interaction between the Friar and one or more of the main characters about his crucifix.
After all, without context the crucifix seems… weird at best. It is, after all, a picture of a guy nailed to a cross and in visible agony. Without the story behind it, this is bound to raise questions.
I never got around to writing it back in the day for reasons I don’t exactly recall. Probably I was testing the waters of seeing how readers would react to Friar Jacques talking about theology, and in time I just forgot to do it.
However, it would make sense for such a scene to happen, even if only offscreen, because realistically one of the ponies would ask about it once she got a good look at the crucifix. It would be weird not to.
This serves to give some very important insight into Jacques’ character. His very personal relationship with God – as has been established from the beginning – is central to his entire motivation. It is literally the reason he was willing to come to Equestria.
Thus, whatever one may feel about his faith, it is of tremendous value to the reader to see things from his perspective and understand how he sees the world (on top of being a good habit to get into in general, as it helps us not ‘otherize’ people who may think differently than us).
I decided to write the scene up with Twilight asking him about it, probably at the library or at the Apple family homestead, since Twilight out of all of them is the most inquisitive (except maybe Pinkie, but… no. Not for this scene).
The scene is not a complete scene, but rather it picks up with Twilight finally getting the courage to ask the friar about the crucifix. On one hand, she’s nervous because she suspects it may be deeply personal, and because, again, the crucifix seems very bizarre without context. On the other hand, she knows he’s a good man, and gives the benefit of the doubt that he must have a legitimate reason for carrying such an item. The Author’s Note at the end contains some further musings on symbols and what they reveal about a culture and its values.
This is more on-the-nose than some, as it’s directly theological, but… frankly, if theology bothered you, you probably would have stopped reading A 14th Century Friar long ago.
Again, even if you hold little (if any) agreement with Jacques’ beliefs, I hope you find it an interesting window into what many people believe, and I hope that, if nothing else, you find yourself finishing this chapter with a greater insight into Friar Jacques his faith.
“Friar Jacques?” asked Twilight, her voice hesitant.
“Yes, Lady Sparkle?” replied the old man, looking up from his book.
The unicorn flushed. “Please, Friar, you really can just call me ‘Twilight.’”
Chuckling sheepishly, he replied, “Yes, I know, Twilight, but old habits die hard for this old man. I am grateful for your patience.”
“Of course,” she smiled, feeling more at ease in the humble presence of the friar. “I… I have maybe a weird question. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but… um… I’d appreciate it if you did.”
“Name it,” Jacques said, putting aside his book to give her his full attention.
“It’s just… you’re clearly a very kind man…”
“Thank you.”
“… and I’m sure there’s a good reason for it, but…” stirring up her courage, she pointed to the cross that hung on a chain around his neck, “… why does your religious medallion have a guy nailed to a wooden beam and wearing a crown of spikes?”
Jacques blinked rapidly, seeming taken aback by the question. Then he gave a rueful smile and said, “I suppose that would seem… macabre without proper context. Thank you for asking and not simply assuming the worst of me.”
“Of course,” she smiled.
“You say ‘of course,’ but there are many who jump to conclusions rather than seeking understanding. Such conclusion jumping can lead to… regrettable ends, as when I assumed the worst of Spike without knowing the truth.”
Twilight winced. “To be fair, from your perspective it was entirely reasonable.”
“Perhaps, or perhaps I should have read the reactions of the others in the room better. My point is, you give me the benefit of the doubt, and it is to your credit that you do so.”
“Well,” Twilight said, feeling awkward from his praise, “thank you.”
Jacques nodded, then began his explanation. “The context lies in this, that the heart of love is a willingness to sacrifice for the good of the beloved. Parents sacrifice time and energy so their children may grow up with direction, support, and guidance. A soldier sacrifices for his homeland by braving the dangers of the battlefield. A man who loves himself – in a healthy way, recognizing that his life is a gift from above – may sacrifice the pleasure of food to grow healthier, or endure the pain of labor so he may be fit and disciplined. The greatest love, of course, is to be willing to lay down one’s life – whether in a lifetime of service or in a righteous death – to safeguard another.” He held up the cross. “This crucifix – the cross with the image of the Corpus upon it – is a reminder of such total love.”
He gestured to a heart motif carved into the wall nearby. “Your folk commonly use the heart in your symbolism. A representation of love, yes? But based on my own visions upon entering this world, I cannot help but wonder if it also hearkens back to the sacrifice of the Source and the coming of the Fire upon your world.”
“That’s true,” acknowledged Twilight. “That’s why some hearts – especially in shrines – are portrayed as hearts of fire. It’s in reference to the Source and the Fire. Well… that and to Hearthswarming with the peace between the Tribes and the Founding of Equestria.” Seeing his confusion, she briefly explained the Hearthswarming tale.
Jacques nodded as she finished. “Doubtless an echo of the great sacrifice of the Source and the Fire that followed. Yet, if this is so, then mightn’t the heart of fire be seen as macabre to those who do not know the tale? After all, the Source was chained and burned alive, though not guilty of any evil – a willing sacrifice to expiate the sins of the world. A gruesome death, one which might seem bizarre to commemorate if not for the greater context of the triumph over sin and death, yes?”
It was Twilight’s turn to sit back and blink rapidly, taken aback by the question. “I guess… I guess I’d never thought of it that way. Wow.” She chuckled. “It really does seem macabre out of context, doesn’t it?”
“And yet in context, it is a powerful expression of undying love,” the Friar declared. “In context it is a memorial of sacrifice.” Holding up the cross, he looked with mingled joy and sorrow upon the image engraved upon it.
Or, really, on who the image represents, thought Twilight. Like a photograph of a loved one, kept ever close.
When Jacques spoke again, she could tell the words he spoke were not of his own writing.
“There was in him no stately bearing to make us look at him,
nor appearance that would attract us to him.
He was spurned and avoided by people,
a man of suffering, accustomed to infirmity,
one of those from whom people hide their faces,
spurned, and we held him in no esteem.
Yet it was our infirmities that he bore,
our sufferings that he endured,
while we thought of him as stricken,
as one smitten by God and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our rebellion,
crushed for our sins;
upon him was the chastisement that makes us whole,
by his stripes we were healed.
We had all gone astray like sheep,
each following his own way;
but the Lord laid upon him
the guilt of us all.”
When the friar looked up again, there were tears in his eyes. “Think on this, young Lady Twilight: the Son of God, the very Author of Life Himself, came down to the earth, being born in poverty and scorn, living as a slave to all. He healed the sick and injured, forgave sins, freed those tormented by demons, and proclaimed liberty to captives. He committed no sin, yet took onto himself all our sins. That is what redemption means, you know – to pay off the debt of those held in bondage that they may be released. Yet he was put to death by the people he came to save. He allowed us to put him to a cruel death, nailed to a tree and crowned with thorns so that we may be free of our sins.”
His gaze returned to the cross as he continued, “Those who do not know may look at this image and think it only the visage of a wretched man suffering a cruel death. But those know him, as I have come to know him, see the Man who is utterly in love – utterly is love – pouring out his life, his very self, so that sinners like me may liberated from the chains of death. He died as a slave to set the slaves free.” His eyes met Twilight’s yet again, piercing and sad and joyful. “So you see, just as the hearts your folk display remind us of love, of the sacrifice of Love, I keep this crucifix ever with me so that I may always remember what Love has done and continues to do for me. Like a sheep I so often stray away…” his voice broke, “yet the Lord laid on him my sins and the sins of us all.”
Twilight found herself crying as well, and she knew she would never look at the heart motifs of her homeland the same way again. “Thank you, Friar,” she said at length when she found her voice again. “I think I understand you a lot better now.”
“I’m glad,” smiled the old man. Then, holding up the book he was reading so she could see the cover, he said, “Speaking of understanding, I was hoping you could explain… this.”
Twilight had to squint to see the title. To her horror, she realized the manuscript was, in fact, one of her record books in which she’d attempted to make sense of ‘Pinkie Sense.’
Feeling a nosebleed coming on, she rose, saying, “I’m going to fetch two cups of coffee and two glasses.”
“Glasses of what?” he asked as she left the room.
“Based on past experiences trying to explain it to new Ponyville residents? A dram of 929 Scotch. While I’m up, can I get you anything?”
