Crystals, faded and distant, filtered into view. Gareth blinked awake.

Then the pain came. Pain that stiffened his bones; stabbed every gasp of air; clouded his vision. He was still here, where he fell. He forced himself to struggle through it, willing his trembling arms to push himself up. "Got to... gotta—"

Pain stabbed into his chest. With a gasp, he slapped back into the hard crystal surface, accompanied by a fresh wave of agony. The dust filtered into his visor, digging into his lips and eyes.

Gareth hacked and wheezed. A struggling hand lifted his visor with a creak. How far did he fall? Tucking his arm in, he rolled onto his back.

A gaping, vertical chasm stretched out before him. Crystals lined the walls in a rough, conical spiral. The church from whence he fell stretched up into the distance, easily over a hundred yards above. The natural formation of those spiralling crystals suspended it in the middle of the chasm.

Another cough. How did he survive that fall? Could he even get out?

He was in luck. Stony, rectangular boxes, the size of Cecilia's bedroom, were half wedged in the walls. They were packed together, arranged like massive stone steps. If Gareth could get close enough, perhaps he could climb out of here.

A jolt of pain shot through his arms and legs. Right now it felt like it would be a miracle if could still walk, let alone climb. He needed to regain his strength, check himself for injuries.

A battery of muffled bangs echoed above. Dancing, multi-coloured lights arced around the church's masonry.

Adrenaline spiked in Gareth's veins. With shaking hands he pushed himself up, staggering back until his spine met crystal. He stared up in dread.

The church cracked and warped like a loaf of stale bread. Cracks of splintering crystals echoed as the cradle started to rip itself apart. Dust and debris rained down. The explosions continued: one, two, and three. Then the church was no longer moving; it was falling.

Gareth's heart pounded like a drum. Slapping down his visor, he braced himself.

The church, now a thousand tonne projectile of rock and stone, smashed into the ground. A blast of air and smoke swept through his Tabard while the deafening roar rang in his ears. Then the cannons came.

Gareth sucked a sharp breath in. He pulled his hands away.

The chasm’s depths were replaced by foggy green fields.

No, he wasn’t in Barnet anymore. Gareth screwed his eyes shut. He hadn’t been in Barnet for over five years.

The ground underneath shook; stone and crystal cracking, parting.

His stomach swang out underneath him. Gareth turned, reaching for something, anything.

Before his eyes, pale blue crystals turned to frosty grey rocks. His hands slipped away as the ground swallowed him whole, stone teeth cracking, grinding, shredding...

He fought against the tide, lungs burning from the fouled air. Pulverised mason and dirt filled his visor, choking his mouth and nostrils. This couldn't be his end. Not here. He needed to...

Gareth rolled to a stop, flat on his back.

Pain arched up and down his body. His head pulsed in agony, the metal from his helmet still rung from a rock strike.

White smoke and thunderous explosions filled the air. English cannons cracked in the distance. The shouts of warcries and commands rang across the fields.

His head still spinning, Gareth propped himself up on an elbow and struggled to his feet. A gauntlet, soaked wet with blood, slapped against his pounding chest as he staggered forward.

Englishmen fought in the fog, exchanging blows, yells and blood. A few lights flickered, some faint, others bright. One light looked closest: a pale green line on a hill.

That was his goal. He struggled through the obscuring smoke, scrambling over the crated grounds and stone. He tried to avoid the soldiers, stay out of sight. He didn't want to kill them. That was what he kept telling himself as he drew his dagger.

Cannonballs exploded all around, spraying him with shrapnel and dirt. What flakes did hit simply sprinkled over his armour, but each were getting closer and closer. The combatants fought without care for the cannon-fire, Gareth, or even their lives, hell-bent on destroying their foe.

The pain faded into the background, weakness took its place. Gareth pushed forward, not trusting his own voice. He was almost there. He just needed to get to the top of this hill in front of him and he could find his bearings so—

The outline of a man stepped in front of the pale green light. A smooth, English voice growled, clear over the melee, "Defend yourself."

"You…" Gareth breathed, holding his dagger high. He knew that voice.

Lord Richard Neville, dead for five years, stood before him with a pale blue longsword. His translucent skin and piercing dark eyes looked more like a death mask than a face. His beautifully embossed full-plate, unmarred by time, clinked as Neville settled into a fighting stance; a near impenetrable fortress.

Rage replaced fear. Gareth screamed, unheeding of the cannons, charging up the hill. Ducking under Lord Neville's wild sword swing, Gareth drove the blade between Neville's armour, into his elbow.

Neville roared in agony, the sword clattering to the ground, while a spray of blood gushed out of the wound. A fist whipped out, connecting with a resounding thud against Gareth's visor.

His face numb, Gareth's centre of gravity flung out from underneath him as he fell backwards, rolling down the hill. His gloves stabbed into the ground, pushing himself to his feet. "You…" Gareth growled. "You did this! You did EVERYTHING, didn't you? It wasn't enough that you had to destroy my life in England; you had to destroy my life here too! So who helped you do it? Larms? Era? What do you want from me?"

A low, dark chuckle emanated from Neville's doubled-over form. His fingers wrapped around Gareth's blade and, with a wincing grunt, pulled it loose. "Still blaming me for everything, Gareth? I'm disappointed."

Fire bubbled up anew in Gareth's heart. If Neville had survived then he'd have to fix that. But first, he’d need a weapon. "You betrayed me."

Neville quirked a brow. "Is that how you feel?" He tossed the dagger at Gareth's feet. "Keep a hold on that blade; it belonged to your father, after all. He would have understood what my task required. I needed my most stalwart knight by my side. My most stalwart, bloodied, experienced knight… who instead sided with a naïve, fool of a king. Were you by my side, Gareth, it might have been different."

Gareth grit his teeth, snatching up the dagger. "My father died for you," he growled, stabbing in Neville's direction. "He died for England! For a united England! Then you betrayed that and restarted the war! You may have knighted me, but I wasn't going to follow you into slaughtering my uncle and my comrades!"

Neville sighed, his shoulders slumping. "You're right; your father did die for peace. However, the England he died for wasn't the same anymore. The king we followed wasn't the man that I thought he was, so I went about installing a new king, a worthy king. I changed my allegiance, but I never changed my love for England."

Gareth sneered underneath his visor. He approached, kicking Neville's fallen blade away. "'Whatever makes you sleep at night."

"That's my reason for betraying England." Neville looked up. "So, what's yours?"

A pit formed in Gareth's stomach. "W-what?"

"…It was her, wasn't it?"

"I… sh-she's my wife. I must follow—"

"No, Fletcher, he's not talking about Equestria." A harsh, Welsh voice came from behind. A humanoid outline slowly filled out into a bearded giant of a Welshman, staring down at him with jolly blue eyes. His leather armour squeaked as he stepped forward. "You left years ago."

A tide of conflicting feelings rushed through Gareth's veins. It was Jobasha. Sir Jobasha, living, breathing… standing. His second in command, his dearest friend. He died in the same battle Neville did. When he died… Gareth swore it all off and became a hunter. "H-how?"

Jobasha expressions turned sad. "Gareth, when I died, when our squad died, you ran. Even after you collapsed from exhaustion, you never stopped running. You ran off the battlefield and into a hunter's life, deathly afraid. Not of death, not even of cannons, but of what's on your hands. Look down."

He didn't want to, but Gareth's eyes moved on their own.

His hands were soaked in blood; dripping in them, leaking out the seams. "My blood, your team's blood. You remember each time you hear a cannon or a thunder crack. You remember your failures as a commander; how you were the only one among us to survive the battle of Barnet. But Cecilia, she makes you forget. She makes you forget what you are. That's why you love her."

A sob caught in Gareth's chest. He started wiping his hands on his chest, his thighs, anywhere. It wasn't coming off.

"It won't come off," Nevile said. "Human blood soils the soul, I should know."

Despair clutched his heart; Gareth slumped to his knees. "H-how… how do I make it stop?"

"You can't." "You can." Nevile and Jobasha answered at the same time. They shared an angry glare.

Gareth looked up, his heart pounding in his chest.

"That's your blood, Jobasha," Nevile angrily stated. "When he took you right into the lines of those cannons, he spelled your doom. Luck alone lets him stand here today. That blood will never wash away, ever."

Gareth mindlessly rubbed his bloody fingertips. It was hopeless.

Jobasha nodded. "Aye, a fitting punishment, one that he'll always remember. But," Jobasha turned to Gareth, "You can choose. You can make them bloodier; to keep killing, knowing that they're never get any cleaner. Or you can choose to follow your promise."

Hope soared in Gareth's heart. Promise? "Wha- what promise?"

The smoke lifted. Jobasha's smile grew like a tree, from a seed to a magnificent oak. Slowly, his figure vanished into nothingness; only an echoing sound of his voice lingered, saying, "You'll remember."

Gareth whipped around, holding his dagger high.

Neville stared as his armour melted into dull grey rock. His pale face became angular, shifting to stone. His sword twisted into a long shard of blue crystal. Gareth had been 'fighting' a pillar of rock, only vaguely shaped like a man. All around, the smoke cleared to reveal similar shapes of stone and rubble littering the chasm floor. Only the flicking sources of magical lights remained, including the the pale green line that Neville had so jealously guarded.

Gareth looked down.

The blood on his hands was gone.

A dream or an illusion? Did they raise themselves from the dead just to give him closure? Gareth clenched his dagger's hilt, turning and thudding up the hill.

Green grass turned to grey dust before his eyes. Barnet’s rocks and trees melted away to crystals, revealing the truth around him. That pale green line turned out to be a sword, bedded into a stone in the ground. It was unclear where it came from, perhaps it fell from somewhere in the church?

The church… it hurt seeing this. Larms destroyed it, somehow, but for what? The destruction was senseless. Gareth wasn't stupid, he could understand killing someone, that made sense (however brutal). A person could threaten you, or get in the way, they could hurt you, but destroying a building like this? It was pathetic.

Flaps of wings echoed overhead. Pegasi, using what remained of the entrance to the church as a launch pad, leapt off the side and glided down. They flew in wide, searching spirals. Their heads turning this way and that, peering into the settling haze.

Traitors? Maybe. There's no chance that loyal guardsponies would have been dispatched to look for him. He'd best play it safe and just get out of sight. For now, he'd better make a plan. Now, what did he have around him?

The untarnished pale green sword lay just beyond, somehow surviving the carnage and debris. The area around it was clean, clear of damage. Magical, it had to be.

Very Arthurian; Gareth approved. Unclipping his helmet, he reached inside and lifted off the whitewood headguard. He walked over to 'Neville's' remains and slipped it onto the topmost portion. He had his bait, now for the sword.

The glow of the magical blade was inviting, beckoning him forward. It looked quite serviceable.

Whatever magic had protected it didn't bother Gareth as he grasped the hilt. A quick tug and the weapon was free.

The sword was robust and agile; a keening sound filled the air with each swing. Just as sharp as the day it was forged… and just as lethal.

This… felt wrong. Years ago, he would have been ecstatic at finding such a weapon, but now… the thought of killing these traitors, even in self-defence… it didn't seem right.

Taking a half step forward, a long shard of crystal clicked at Gareth's feet. The crystalline club belonged to the false Neville, half-buried in the stone, and jarred free by a stab from Gareth's dagger.

Planting the sword, Gareth picked the crude club off the ground. He felt the smooth crystal sides settle into his sighing leather gloves. It was no sword, nor spear or bow, but it would be enough. What's more, it wasn't likely to kill in a single blow.

Shouts accompanied flapping wings. A team of unicorns rallied around the crumbling remains of the front of the church, high above. They peered down into the abyss while their pegasi spotters descended. All the while, the stained glass mirror of Cecilia and the brown griffin silently glowed behind them.

That was his target. Upwards was the Mirror-portal, back to where Larms was, where Cecilia was. He would keep his promise. He turned back, glancing between the sword and 'Neville', "Well, there's no reason to waste a perfectly good sword..."

"Celestia intends to turn us into slaves!" The nobility's faces, voices, words and genders varied, but the sentiment was the same. Celestia was only a stone's throw away from a riot.

Each cry stabbed into her heart. She stood, surveying them with an anguished expression. "Ponies of Canterlot, please, I am Equestria's elected ruler, not a tyrant! I am NOT your monarch; Equestria's king established me as regent hundreds of years ago. It is within your right to strip me of my station if you elect to do so—"

"HA! Like you would allow it!" An elderly unicorn crowed. Yet, the murmurings in the room quietened.

Hope swelled in Celestia's chest. "I would relinquish it. I founded my rulership upon law, and nopony is above the law." She gave him a heart-felt look. "I know that you have reason to distrust me, I do not deny that, but know that you are not without power. If Equestria truly wishes to re-establish the old bloodline, then I will step aside."

The Colonel gave her a questioning expression but said nothing. Yet, the nobility quietened considerably, looking amongst themselves. A scattered few voices bombastically yelled 'no confidence', but no matter how loudly they yelled, it did not seem to sway their fellows. Most were beginning to regard Celestia with a genuinely torn expression.

Something was wrong. Celestia looked deeply into their eyes. Moments before they looked ready to tear her apart, but now… no. No, this was planned, this was prepared. Somepony had coerced them. But who could have so much power as to—

A throne room doors exploded open, Larms stood in the middle, flanked by two Uni-Guards. He tilted up his black hat, regarding her with a cruel smirk. "No. Confidence."

She narrowed her eyes. Of course.

"N-no confidence." Almost immediately, the rest of the nobility began follow suit, genuine fear in their eyes. The words became a chant; the vote was nearly unanimous. They parted as Larms walked towards the throne. He stopped half way, right in the middle of the crowd.

Celestia suppressed the urge arrest him herself. How DARE he hurt her ponies like this? She spread her wings wide, and glaring down at Larms. "I know what you have done, Mr. Larms. I assure you, the moment I am done here, you will be going to Tartarus for a very, very long time."

Larms chuckled fearlessly. "Oh, if you had all of your memories, you wouldn't be saying that. I am nothing but Princess Celestia's most devout servant. After all, she was the one who helped me get to where I am." A series of shocked gasps rolled around the room, even the Colonel gave Celestia a baffled expression. "And I can prove it, well, I can prove it NOW that is. Translating Princess Celestia's secret diary was a trial 'n a half. Not that it matters now; the vote is unanimous, you are no longer our regent. And, since Era is in a coma, leadership now falls to me. So… would you kindly get out of my seat?"

The urge to reduce Larms to a cinder spread to her horn. She consciously pulled the magic back. Of course, it was too perfect. How could she be stupid as to not to see it coming?

"Not so fast mud-digger!" The Colonel shouted. "You've got no more status than I do, what's more, I vote in confidence of the Princess! Don't think that I'm so blind as to not see that you've threatened Canterlot's nobility!"

"Oh, yes," Larms turned with a mocking grin. "We're all well aware that you tried to pervert justice by aiding and abetting a pretender to the throne. Don't you worry, though! We'll be finding a new Cloudsdale representative—" he clacked his forehooves together. "—Very soon."

Celestia glanced up just in time to see the stained glass windows explode inwards.

Pega-guards swarmed in through the shattered openings. Fore-hooves first, they dove at Celestia in a brutal charge.

Instinct kicked in, golden light thrust out of Celestia's horn, expanding into a perfect, golden shield.

The first few hit the shield full-force, spiralling off into the ceiling or walls, the rest halted just in time. After a few circling laps looking for an opening, they flew up to the rafters. Turning as one, shadowy blue eyes glared down.

A horrified gasp fell from Celestia's lips. No. The pegasi weren't loyal, they were just biding their time. Nowhere was safe.

"Cowards… YOU GELDED COWARDS!" The Colonel screamed, his cheeks taking on a blue pallor. "You are Celestia's guards, the ELITE! We pegasi, all of us, we stood for something, now you're no better than the rest of these traitorous filth! I swear to harmony, I'll SNAP YOUR FUCKING NECKS!"

A painful as this was for her, Celestia placed a calming hoof on his shoulder. "Colonel, please."

"You always this graceful in defeat, Dart?" Larms sneered. "CANTERLOT'S guards understood the gravity of their mission when they read the translations of Celestia's diary. You know, the secret diary that she wrote in a foreign tongue? The one Lord Era translated? Hmm, interesting that he underwent such a tragedy, isn't it? Who knows if he'll ever be able to recover from what Celestia did to him?"

Celestia's ears perked up in alarm. "I… what?"

Larms gave her a look of mocking sympathy. "Oh no, of course you didn't hurt him. You just annihilated the cart that he was kidnapped on. By the by, since we're being open and honest here, I'm the one who did the kidnapping. I had to make a point, that you couldn't control Equestria anymore, and I was right. If you really were in control, it wouldn't have happened at all! Unfortunately, even when it did happen, you just couldn't take the hint that you, or your murderous little toy weren't wanted here. Then again, Era surprisingly understood when I explained the plan to him, especially when you were so… hostile to him. Tell me, did it feel good taking your frustrations out on him?"

Celestia trembled in horror. The only witness to Celestia's rescue was Gareth. Wait… "Where's Grey Spear?" She breathed. "Colonel, have you had any reports on Grey Spear?"

The Colonel gaped for a moment. He slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry Ma'am, you gave us no orders to look for him."

Her heart slammed in her chest. Larms had her diary, and if Gareth and the forest rat went looking for it...

Larms and the rest of the Throne room fell to silence. He took off his hat, revealing a bloodied bandage underneath. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry Celestia—"

No.

"— He tried to kill me in my own home, looking for your diary, which I had been keeping safe—"

Nononono.

"— My guards defended me… and Grey Spear fought to the bitter, bloody end—"

YOU'RE LYING! A moment later, Celestia realised that she had just screamed it aloud. The throne room blurred; breathing became harder. "H-he wouldn't have done that; he's not a murderer! He wouldn't die like that!"

"He died murmuring your name." Larms sighed, donning his hat once more. For a moment, his expression almost looked genuine. "What a tragic creature. Then again, that is your way, isn't it?" He looked to the assembly. "She inspires loyalty, which makes her doubly dangerous as an Alicorn—"

Crushing despair drowned his words out. Celestia stared down at the ground. I-it couldn't have been true. Gareth was… he couldn't… no. He couldn't be dead. She couldn't have sent him to… die.

"—And it is because of that," Larms continued, "she will always be a threat to a free Equestria. She can come back anytime she wants, and simply seize power. Seeing as there is no known method of taking an Alicorn's power away, we'll just have to make due with another: finishing what Princess Celestia herself started." He pulled a whisky flask from his vest, decorated with a skull stopper. "When she first met me, I was just a simple… entrepreneur. She needed something to help her forget. Yet, she also needed somepony to run a country who wasn't afraid to break the mould. I fit the bill perfectly. Unfortunately, my product didn't work completely. I intend to change that." Larms lifted a forehoof. "Everypony, break that shield."

Celestia forced herself to look up, refusing to wipe the tears away.

The horn of every unicorn in the room lit up like stars, and then a rainbow tide of magical energy smashed against the golden shield. The combined attack ripped up stone, ignited carpet and liquefied metal. All the while, the Colonel helplessly stared on next to her.

She felt she had been plunged into lava. It took her every ounce of concentration just to keep the shield up, let alone teleport away.

Larms approached, pulling the stopper out with his teeth. "This isn't an execution," he growled. "Something went wrong the first time you drank this. You came to me to take the pain away, and by Harmony, that’s exactly what I'll do. Then you can go back to your precious humans, just as you always wanted. Now 'Cecilia', drop the shield and open wide!"