14 July, Y.C. 970
Ponyville

This, thought Beatrix, was it.

Technically it had already been ‘it.’ The official terms had been negotiated over the course of the past three days, and copies were already being distributed. The only important part of today was the signing ceremony, and even that had already happened; the newsponies had demanded that they do it in the early morning, and so they got their way. Besides, the history books wouldn’t record the order of events, or even the speeches. If all went well, this would end as just a footnote.

Tens of thousands dead, the region burned to ash and poisoned with unknown and deadly magic, and their best-case scenario was for everypony to forget about it.

What the history books and newspapers would record, though, were the photos. And so, frivolous though it might have been, the photos took priority. And, since all the photographers were from Canterlot, they all wanted the same angle: a wide angle of the simple wooden table on the dais, Celestia on the left and Beatrix on the right, with the hilly earth of the EAS Mane’s crater in the foreground and the charred devastation of Blackacre in the background.

She was not expected to appear happy by any means, and Beatrix was glad of it; it was easier to conceal anger behind a mask of determination and dignity than to fake pleasantries that rang hollow at the first stroke.

The ceremony itself had been simple enough. She silently thanked whichever local administrator had been saddled with the burden of setting it all up from scratch. They could have gone overboard on a victory theme, with bunting and flags and all that, but they didn’t. Not that there had been time to do much else; between the triage facilities and a hastily-erected tent city, there wasn’t much by way of spare space for anything else. Dais, table, Equestrian flag; they were there to sign, to speech, and not much more.

Not that the speechifying itself had been particularly interesting. One of the local administrators spoke, more by way of preface than anything else; she welcomed them all and offered what hospitality she could afford. Which was not particularly saying much, but the gesture was a nice one. Most of the assembled crowd consisted in locals and whatever military detachments happened to be in town, but there was a sizable contingent of ponies — refugees? Evacuees? Hostages? — from Blackacre present. It was nice to see that at least somepony had the decency to recognize that it wasn’t a celebration for all of them.

The next few speakers had proven the principle wrong, of course. The fact that they were all military didn’t help, and their barely-concealed bluster and pomp was sufficient to work the crowd not into a frenzy but instead into a pleasant hubbub.

Beatrix stood off to one side. Not because she had been sidelined — indeed, she was half of the main event! — but rather because nopony else on the little stage had felt particularly comfortable standing next to her. They had all started in a rough semicircle next to each other, but that hadn’t lasted long. That was fine by her; she had no illusions about standing alone.

Though they hid it well, the others were growing more and more tired of standing around, coupled with general boredom at the event. After all, they won; couldn’t they just go home? Not so for her, though. The moments that dragged on for everypony else flitted by for her. This was the last time she would ever stand as representative of her people. For better or for worse, she would never lead again.

Eventually, mercifully, Princess Celestia stepped forward. Beatrix could see the crowd’s ears perk up; ponies generally cared about what a mayor or a general thought, but put a despot on stage and suddenly they were second fiddle.

She didn’t listen to what the Princess had to say. What did it matter? This was the speech that would be front page of every newspaper in the country, the words that would be excerpted in the books. Nopony cared what the losing side thought about their predicament, at least not until a generation or two had passed and they could look back and call it nostalgia.

Besides, she had a pretty good idea of what the Princess was saying. Who didn’t? Peace, harmony, friendship. The usual tripe. Now that there was no war to shill, no spear to rattle, she could be afford to be cautious. No sense in ruffling any feathers now; things couldn’t get any better for her.

Idly, Beatrix wondered what would happen if she dashed forward and headbutted Celestia off the stage. Juvenile, perhaps, but it would still feel awfully good.

The Princess turned slightly, looked at her for a moment, and turned back to the crowd.

“…back into the fold,” she was saying. “It is my hope that, over the coming weeks and months, we will work together to restore peace and prosperity….”

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. Well. That was one way of flushing her adrenaline before her last address.

And then, before she knew it, the Princess had stepped aside and a thousand eyes were on her. Muttering a silent prayer, she took the longest three steps of her life to the front of the stage.

“My friends,” she started. “Hello.”

A thousand hard eyes glared back. They weren’t her friends, and most took offense at that notion. She wondered how many of them would like to kill her where she stood. But none of that mattered. She wasn’t here for them; she was her for her own, for those ponies who had stood by her since the beginning, for those who had made it through hell and high water and now through the invasion and evacuation. Those who had been in it all, for better or for worse, just like her.

“After —” she started again, but faltered. She stared out over the crowd, this time not looking for the forest but for the trees. There were only a few faces she knew, but they were all that mattered.

She wasn’t giving a speech; she was saying good-bye.

“After eight months of service and dedication beyond the highest calling, Blackacre has been compelled to yield,” she said in that matter-of-fact tone that belied a fact, however regrettable. “We have yielded to overwhelming numbers and to overwhelming resources.”

But not, she knew they would all be adding silently, to overwhelming truth.

“I need not tell this to the survivors of so many hard-fought battles,” she said, barely wasting a glance at the Army soldiers that surrounded the Blackacre ponies. “You have remained steadfast to the last, and you bear no burden for the result we face today.”

Dirty looks from the soldiers, but nods of appreciation from her ponies, the only ones that mattered here and now.

“But valor and devotion can do nothing, if in the company of such loss as would necessarily derive from our course of action.” She shook her head. “We have forfeited much, and I must avoid the sacrifice to which a steady course would unavoidably lead.

“To all there is an end,” she said with a sad gaze, “but some are more desirable than others. You are too endeared to me to risk annihilation for a hopeless proposition.”

Celestia wouldn’t like her tone. But what could she do? What more could she do? There were murmurs of discontent out in the crowd but she ignored them. This was her moment, the only thing she had left. They had left.

“By the terms of our agreement,” she said, breaking off slightly, “we can return to our homes. I can give you no gift but the satisfaction from the consciousness of a duty faithfully performed, and the small consolation of truth that our tribulations and the sacrifice of our countryponies has not been for naught.”

For one blissful moment a smile came unbidden. She let it linger, savoring it while she could.

“We are free,” she said with a soft intensity. “For better or for ill, we are free. Blackacre stands alone, with all that necessarily entails. In exchange, we ask — and have been granted — simply to be let alone.

“To those ponies here,” she said, scanning the eyes of her comrades, “I extend to you my blessing, for what currency it is, and pray you find comfort and peace in the coming times.

“To those of my friends who cannot be here today,” she said, raising up as if to address ponies just on the edge of the crowd, “I give you my admiration to your duty, my praise for the constancy of your devotion. But now I come to say lay down your arms, for none will be taken against you. Be at peace, for no harm will come to you.

“And to our honored dead,” she said, with a slow deep bow, “would that I could take your place, and you take ours among the sun. I give you my grateful remembrance, and I bid you an affectionate farewell.”

There was a more definite sound from her audience now, and with a quiver down her spine she realized it was coming from the Blackacre ponies. They were dirty, injured, fatigued, starving, but every one of them there was with her. They understood. And that was all that mattered.

“And to all the ponies of Equestria,” she declared, lifting her head high, voice rising above the crowd, “I give you my word that you will see no change, but that Blackacre be free.”

Nods of approval gave way to muttered affirmations as the murmur grew louder.

“You want nothing to do with us, then so be it! Let us alone, for that is all we ask. You want nothing from us, and we want nothing from you, save for one thing. Remember!”

She could hear the sound of ponies shifting nervously behind her, and had no doubt that Celestia would be one of them. Whether they were reacting to her words or the growing sounds from the crowd she didn’t know; either way she approved.

“Remember! Remember one thing, and remember it well!” she exhorted, casting her voice over the crowd so none of them would dare forget.

“We stand apart!” she cried. “Blackacre is, and always shall be, forever free!”

“Forever free!” took up her ponies in the crowd, the chant spreading like electricity.

“Forever free!” they echoed, the simple promise echoing to the Sun itself.

“Forever free!”

“Ever free!”

“Everfree!”