Memoriaby Martian
Chapters
{Prologue} - Lacuna
The teacup hung in the air before her in a yellow nimbus softly glittering. The green-tinted liquid within steamed gently, its aroma filling her world with an earthy smokiness stirring old memories long left alone.
An old hearth aglow with crackling flames: a warm comfort in an ancient castle held in the grip of winter. There was a mother's voice, scolding playfully through a half-disguised smile. Now she was running through long corridors hung with tapestries showing shapes long since blurred and lost in the years. A little sister's embrace, a father's love - the simplicity of a family.
Celestia took a small sip of the Lapsang tea; its flavour strong, echoing its scent. The taste brought with it memories of a midnight sky cast with diamond dust hanging over dozens of flickering fires warming indistinct figures huddled in their glow. It was a pale echo of the brilliant stars; a tragic likeness in that so many of those fires would never be lit again, their tenders dying in the day. The eve before a battle long since fought and forgotten… though just which and where was a mystery. All were alike in her memories; each night echoing excitement and fear and worry, each dawn heralding death and horror.
So it was with memory after a life so long lived. There was a point when they ceased being 'bad' or 'good' as the centuries passed; experiences drew together as one, filtering away quietly to the back of the mind to reside as one piece, not to be separated. Even as Celestia remembered her sister as the innocent filly who needed comforting against thundery weather, so too did she remember the pangs of guilt and sorrow while comforting the dying on fields of battle washed with rain and lit by lightning.
No tears were welling in her eyes now though. Celestia drained the rest of the Lapsang from the elegant teacup, then set it down upon its saucer with not a rattle. She considered the large pot next to it, crafted with the same exquisite simplicity as the cup. She made no move to pour just yet though, settling on the cushions of the reading bench and letting the strong flavour fade from her tongue, along with the recollections it had stirred, of burning cities and warming bread.
Slowly, the past faded from her mind's eye, drawing her to the present time and place: her chambers, set in the tallest tower of Canterlot. At its peak, a small library crafted with care from white marble and polished black ebony, simple beauty rather than showy opulence. Books lined those dark shelves all around the circle of wall; thousands, though only some few alike in shape and colour. Their spines were arrayed like standing soldiers in perfect order, presenting pale shields each marked with a golden sun at their centers. How incredible would it be for a student of history to find these! How excited they would grow to find a familiar script in each one, near unchanged from the first age-weathered tome to the last with its paper freshly cut.
An archive of journals penned by Princess Celestia herself, stretching back into the mists of time to before Equestria was even a word.
To a time before she had power over the sun.
A voice, soft and almost kind though with little warmth spoke, "Destrier, Lance-Captain of the Solar Guard. Perished this day in the 197th year of our reign." It was the voice of a mare, sweet enough to have been made for song, but with a queerly deadpan quality.
Celestia took up the pot of tea and refilled her cup, watching in silence as the pale liquid rippled and steamed. She did not so much as spill a drop, did not so much as bat an eyelash -- none could challenge her might in this place, but Celestia had no need to demonstrate such; it was a familiar voice and one she had heard many times before.
"A sacrifice of desperation, to win time for her regents," said Celestia, magic lifting her cup. "In our victory was she avenged, her bravery and honour knows no rival. I shall remember her."
"Word for word," replied the voice. There was the sound of a page turning; she had one of the journals open, it seems. Celestia could picture the page clear in her mind's eye. It was funny how that worked sometimes; the living memories had long since faded to grey mist, but the words she had written about them were still there in her head. The entry for Destrier was a short one; a mere few lines placed at the center of a blank page, likely now faded to yellow with its age. Facing opposite those words was a sketch that hurt to recall: a stylized lance at guard, its shaft a swirl of silver and black and at its point a fluttering flag...
"A red pennant bearing three amber diamonds. I wonder how many today know who your tribute was for," continued the reader.
"All too few," answered the princess, renewing the smoky flavours with a sip of the Lapsang. That and the name conjured a sharp image from the swirling mists of time; she had been tall and strong, her coat a steely grey marked with scars, her mane a shock of wild red and amber. Destrier held such presence; she was like a titan made flesh, striding the battlefield like a goddess of war only to be struck low like any other pony. She had been so good and loyal, so honest and courageous, and so tender when the darkness pressed closed and threatened to overwhelm.
"So very sentimental when it comes to your lovers," said the voice, though it was an observation rather than a jibe.
"They deserve to be remembered," murmured the princess in reply, her eyes turning now to the reading bench opposite her. Reclining on the red velvet with every air of ease was a pegasus... was Destrier. Every scar was there, every ripple of perfect muscle. Her wings were as tattered as they always were, and even the endearing little notch in her teeth was showing in that soft smile she had… But Destrier had never the patience for reading, while this apparition had no less than three journals set before her.
The familiarity of the image, so perfect in every detail, made the princess' heart ache in a way that she hadn't known in an age. It stirred up wants and desires she had long since thought turned to stone. Celestia did not move though, did not break her poise. She willed herself to speak, tone even but icy cold.
"No. Not that shape. Never her."
"So very sentimental," the voice said again, and the image changed. The shape of Destrier shifted and changed. Now it was Celestia looking into a mirror of herself, though instead of her snowy white coat, this was a smokey grey with a mane of shimmering silver fire. Eyes the colour of a summer sky were focused on the book, though they had a dead, milky quality to them that was unsettling. She had never been able to master eyes…
"And I had hoped it would have been such a welcoming sight," said the apparition with a sigh.
"You tread on dangerous ground with such, Lacuna," said Celestia coolly.
"I tread not at all," replied Lacuna, breezily, "Starved as you are for companionship, I thought mayhaps an old face would put you at ease." Those blue eyes raised to meet Celestia's, "You had been so cheered when last we met."
When last they met had been more than a full century past; a full lifetime for most other ponies, though that meant little enough to an alicorn... or to a mnemophage.
"Darling, I don't see what all of the fuss is about..."
"But don't you see, my princess? With this, we can change the face of the world."
"With fire and steam?"
The exchange was clear as crystal in Celestia's head. Her eyes shot open, every muscle tensing when she heard that voice, his voice...
"Yes of course!" he had cried, a cheerful grin brightening his fine features. Even well into the sunset of his life, Emerald Sage had kept his youthful enthusiasm and charm, and even the fine grey beard that marked his chin and gave him such noble countenance did little to hide his coltish glee. "Oh, not with just this, mark you," he added, waving a dismissive, oil-stained hoof at the little machine that was whirring, chuffing and, yes, belching gently on his work bench. As it puffed and hissed, a pair of small iron wheels at either end of the strange array of pipes and cylinders were turning a belt that had been slung between them.
Celestia peered at the machine, trying to discern just what such a thing could accomplish but found herself drawing a blank. It was magic that held sway over Equestria; there seemed nothing at all that it could not do, given a sufficiently skilled mind. But, even as skilled a unicorn as the Sage was, he always had a fascination and love for the mundane. His workshop at the edge of Canterlot was a mad riot of tools and metal and wood, of furnaces and forges and benches each with their own purpose, at least to a practiced eye.
The princess was about as far out of place here as one might expect; a coat of snowy white with a long mane and tail of gently flowing colour, all arrayed in the crest and crown of her office. It made for a stark contrast to the old stallion all in sturdy, dirty canvas, his pale blue coat marked and smeared with oil, grease, dirt and any number of other hazards of craft, though no amount of dirt could hide the gleam of joy in his intelligent, jade-coloured eyes. Nor would such inconsequential things stop him from touching a hoof to Celestia's gently shimmering flank to lift a wing slightly.
"You have these, my dear… you and all the pegasi. Travel for you is no quandary," said the Sage, smoothing his hoof gently down the length of the silky soft vane. His touch left a smear of soot, a blemish that would have horrified the world had they but been able to see it. Even his touching the princess might have caused an uproar once, but Celestia only smiled, welcoming the casual intimacy.
The Sage continued, "If you need to reach a place, you have but to open your wings and touch the sky. For the rest of us, it is a march or a cart, which itself is a march for those pulling it. This… this can do work: this can turn the wheels without a pony's efforts."
His smile was broad, a smile not of pride in work and accomplishment but of simple passion. That was who he was; a builder and a thinker, always striving to make life better for others. Selfless and kind and wise…
The real world came back in a rush. Celestia let out a sharp breath, could feel herself shaking, sweat beading her brow. The Sage's smile was still clear in her mind's eye, only just starting to grey and fade at the edges, drifting back into the swirling mists of time.
"That was uncalled for, Lacuna - stay out of my mind," warned Celestia, a glimmer of anger surfacing through the usual serene calm she presented. The emotions those memories had stirred were bittersweet and painful… but so very compelling.
"I cannot help it, princess; speech and thought are one and the same to me. I simply wished to put you at ease."
"I did not ask…"
"You desired it nonetheless."
Mnemophage… Celestia had questioned Lacuna over the centuries during her sporadic visits, but gleaned little. Mnemophage lived in the formless ether outside of reality, yet somehow still a part of it. They were shapeless, near-mindless things that lived on base instinct, drifting through the nothing and feeding on the energies invoked by the memories of living creatures. The more vivid and powerful the memory, the better.
Lacuna had been one of those near-mindless things, but had found Celestia just after the princess had gained her power over the sun. The energies he had fed on had changed her, given her a mind and will all her own, and gave her the ability to take shape in reality, if only as a reflection or image of someone else's memory. Since that time, she has always stayed close, likely to feed off the pains of a life long lived. But, unlike the dreaded Windigo of myth, what the mnemophage took had little effect on the creature they fed on, save for a feeling of weariness.
They were harmless, or so Lacuna had said. Celestia felt no need to doubt her, yet all the same it was difficult to trust one so alien. Even so… the mnemophage had one particular talent; they lived outside of time, and thus were no constrained by it. With her newfound will, and the focus of a willing subject… one could relive old memories long since faded in the mists of time.
"I am at your service," said the mnemophage. They truly did not understand the difference between spoken word and private thought.
"It has been a very long time since you last visited."
"I am often with you, princess; I simply do not reveal myself. I keep others away from you."
"Jealously guarding your larder?" said Celestia, frowning a bit. It was disquieting to think of oneself in such a fashion.
"Yes," admitted Lacuna, with no trace of shame, "But also to keep others from gaining strength. We are not all like Lacuna. Some are predators, driving ponies to their knees with old memories of loss and failure and hate that would have best been left alone."
Harmless, she had said… not always so, then.
Celestia mulled on this, turning her eyes down to the cup of tea she still held in the air with her magic. It had long since gone cold. Hot and fresh, the Lapsang tasted of living fire, full of energy and life. Cold, it was as dead ashes on the tongue. There was an analogy there… She set the cup down with a soft rattle on the saucer.
"Lacuna…"
"If you so desire it," answered the mnemophage, setting the journal down with an almost ceremonial air. She had tremendous respect for those books. The two rested on the reading benches, a mirror of one another; one all in white and rainbow, the other in smoke and silver.
It would ache again, Celestia knew. Dozens of times had they done this, each time out of the need to see those faces, hear those voices so long lost… and each time the heartache after felt strong enough to kill her. But so would one suffer to be with those they love, so would one suffer it again and again…
Celestia stared into Lacuna's milky blue eyes, felt the stirring of something outside, felt a weight slowly press to her shoulders. She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she was staring into the deep green eyes of Destrier...
To be continued...
{Chapter 1} - The Soldier
Green eyes, the green of a forest at dusk, green as shaded grass… There was so much depth in those eyes; a place to be lost forever if you could only find someway within, for behind them burned a hidden fire that could outshine the sun. She was shouting over the noise, roaring over the mad cacophony of aural energy that was very nearly a physical force.
"GO!" she screamed, both hooves smashing into the pitted, dented armour that covered Celestia's chest; the golden enamel there hacked and chipped, the steel beneath gleaming dully. Celestia made to grab at Destrier for one last embrace, one last anything, but the pegasus had spun away. She lofted lance above her helmeted head, her tall crest of red and amber plumes alive with the light of the rising sun; a pale and feeble echo of the passion that blazed at her heart.
"Triarii! Triarii to me!" Destrier had roared, her voice sharp and hot as shattering crystal, carrying over even the mind-numbing noise that filled the world. A dozen pegasi all in armour battered and bloody joined her, their wings notched and nicked, their weapons smeared with black and red blood. The oldest, the wisest, the deadliest of them all, and the last…
"One last thrust!" Destrier screamed over the madness of war, her body tall and proud, decorated all in armour the colour of polished sunlight, stark against a sky of black roiling clouds slashed with the red of a bloody dawn. "Triarii with me! For love, for life!"
"For the sun's grace!" they roared back as one.
Wings in a dozen hues folded, and the last of Celestia's Solar Guard fell away, their weapons and armour glittering as like dusted with ruby and diamond, their voices raised in a wordless warcry. It was Destrier's words that she remembered the most though; that mighty and beautiful voice that she had, a voice that could never be silenced or quelled. She had sang as she fell away to that last battle, a song so very much hers…
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No…
A distant thought, far away yet so close.
Not here, not yet…
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She was so young… the term was relative, though. Celestia had seen some three hundred years of life thus far, and it seemed that every time she met a new pony they were getting younger and younger. She half expected a half-pint filly in full armour to be trotted out next for her approval and induction into the Royal Guard. Probably as a Captain.
The pegasus had no lack of spirit though, that was plain; there were few who, on first meeting their Regent, could do anything but bow low and keep their eyes averted. This one, after making a gracious and somehow sarcastic curtsy, stared right into Celestia's eyes. They were green, she noted: the colour of a dusk-shrouded forest, of shaded grass. The pegasus was grinning, too. There was a notch at the corner of her smile; a tooth cracked or missing, maybe. It was an unattractive blemish and not improved by the smear of blood that had trickled from her nose, which itself had a slight crookedness that suggested it had been broken before.
Her coat was a steely grey, mane a shock of wild red streaked with amber that was stuck to her head from sweat. Her armour was old bronze and brass; a stark contrast against her coat, but what could have made for polished beauty was ugly; dented and scarred and battered. The roundel for her left shoulder was sheared off, as was the entirety of the greave that protected her right foreleg. Bruises were blossoming there, as well as a number of scratches and cuts only just scabbed over.
How old could she be? Sixteen, seventeen maybe… and yet, she had just proved herself the better of half-a-hundred others.
"Destrier deLancière," Celestia called out, her voice carrying across the crowded grounds, drowning out the cheers and calls of a thousand spectators. The pegasus stood a little straighter, rolling her shoulders and straightening her wings; a hopeless task given the bent and notched feathers, though those had probably been tatty since birth... Was there anything about this pony that was not battered and ugly? "I declare you the victor of the melee, champion of the Solstice Tourney, and Chevaleresse of Coat D'Azor!"
Even the might of the Royal Voice could have done little against the subsequent roar of the commons as every pony in attendance let their approval be known. They had started the day by mocking Destrier and her unkempt look, but by the time she had well and truly pummelled the sixth fighter in a row in the chaotic swirl of the pegasus melee, the japery had become genuine praise.
For her part, Destrier set aside her brazen attitude long enough to bend the knee before Celestia. The Regent strode down the steps of her high seat, her pale wings spread wide, the golden crown upon her brow catching the sun just so, scattering the rays through the cunningly set crystals to make tiny rainbows dance in the air all around her. She was armoured as well, as was proper form for a ruler in such times, though she was in every way opposite to the dishevelled and tattered pony before her.
In place of copper and bronze, Celestia was clad in beautifully wrought steel and gold, all of it embossed with intricate designs and patterns polished to a gleaming shine. A riot of gemstones in all colours were set into the plates, carefully cut to fit together all up and down their edges in a pattern of rainbows given solid form. Her hooves were set into long greaves that rose to her knees in elegant spires etched with whorls and stars in silver filigree, and upon each a single globe of fire opal surrounded by tiny flecks of garnet made the pattern of a proud sun.
Princess Celestia was elegant, stately, and beautiful; a sight to make any and all feel the urge to crouch low and bow their head as she passed, awed by her radiance… And that damn pegasus was still grinning at her, peering fearlessly through her mess of mane right into Celestia's eyes. The winged pony stank too; of sweat and mud, and the metallic hint of blood: some hers, much not.
The fighting wasn't meant to be lethal during the melees of course; that would be insane, but in the crowd and crush of combat with everyone fighting their hardest to win, scrapes and cuts and ugly lacerations were fairly common. So too were broken noses, legs, wings, and on one sad occasion a number of years ago, a neck.
Pegasi could be notoriously hot-blooded.
Celestia kept her poise and hid her distaste, lifting her head proudly, "Rise, Destrier, and ask your boon." A ceremonial question, and always the answer was the same. In this at least Destrier seemed disinclined to buck the norm. The commons became a rush of hushing and hisses as everyone and their neighbour tried to quiet down one another. As silence descended, Destrier pushed herself upright again, and with that shameless smirk, raised her voice in answer.
That, at least, was something beautiful about her; she had a voice like honeyed thunder, even with her thick Prancian accent. It was the kind of voice that could carry across a battlefield.
"My regent! I ask only one thing; a place amongst your personal guard!"
So it was granted, with the flourish and fanfare and all that was right and proper for such an event. It was quite possibly one of the most tedious things Celestia had to do in her life, happened as it did every year for nearly two hundred years, though there was something about the shamelessly uncouth pegasus that at least made this time different.
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Celestia sat in her lower chambers, for once unbound by the weight of armour, having settled instead on a simple circlet of gold nestled atop her brow. Her sister was opposite the round room, peering thoughtfully into an array of old manuscripts that had been brought from the library in Old Canterlot at the edge of the forest. The new citadel was a beauty of white marble and gold built into the side of a mountain, but the library was still lacking even after all these years.
Celestia herself was browsing through the various and myriad reports that had arrived in the early hours, most of which held little in the way of diversion; yet another day of dull process in what was promising to be something of an eternity of it. She hated this. There, she had thought it - near two centuries of ruling an ever-expanding nation that had been set into the very heart of a chaotic world. Two hundred years of waking the sun, of seeing the stars and moon rise, of watching the seasons change, and change, and change again… and there was nothing in it for her.
Celestia sighed softly and overturned a fresh sheaf of parchment, some dozen individual reports each with their newly-broken seals dangling lengths of ribbon in a rainbow of hues. More of the same: reports of nothing, reports of dire warnings of some vague threat or another that would never come to anything. Oh, there was some few that did indeed come to pass, but whatever the world-shattering terror those writing the warnings had dreamt up usually proved to be barely anything at all, or if it was indeed something else, it was usually the average ponies of Equestria who thought of some way to solve it.
Pegasi kept the weather and held back those natural disasters; unicorns warped reality gently to their whims, averting still more; and the earth ponies worked their own subtle, natural magic with the land and averted most of the rest. It almost made Celestia wish for a dragon to wander across the border with the intention of pillaging, if just to break up the monotony. But, given that the last time one had tried it some fifteen years ago, and received a stern rebuke heated with the force of a solar flare, even those mighty creatures preferred to stay well off.
Though now that she really thought of it, the last particularly difficult issue to arise was some complaint from the Gryphon Kingdoms in the east, and that had been solved with some two weeks worth of courteous diplomacy. It had been a good diversion, at least - there was something in being able to flex one's mind into the twisting corkscrew required for political maneuvering and debate. Certainly, it didn't carry the excitement of banishing a spirit of chaos, but it also wasn't near as harrowing…
Celestia paused for a moment, staring off into space, stepping back from herself to give her train of a thought a good, hard look. She was actually hoping for a world-shaking disaster to befall her kingdom… to relieve her boredom. Most other regents would have been pleased beyond belief to have been host to some six generations of near-perpetual peace… though they generally did not live through the entirety of it, it must be said.
She gave her head a slight shake and returned her attention to the notes before her. Before even reading the words or noting the seal, she could tell from where it had come; neat and tidy lettering, scribed in careful script with black ink that shimmered softly in every colour. The Crystal Kingdom had never really understood the concept of subtlety… A brief scan of the message therein provided the usual array of flattery and flowery language, used to wrap up in a bow three pages long what could have been written in half a paragraph.
"Dire warnings etcetera, darkness looms etcetera, Sapphire Council etcetera, Prince Onyx seeks to overturn throne, etcetera…" Celestia rolled her eyes and let the parchment fall onto the pile. "It was the Tiger-Eye Sisterhood last time, and the king's blasted cousin Tourmaline before them. Why do these fools insist on begging our help with every little detail?"
Luna lifted her eyes from the tome she was reading. She still had every look of young mare only just beyond being a filly, though it had been so for nearly a century. It was hard to remember she had seen much everything Celestia herself had, sometimes.
"They seek comfort in our strength and leadership," Luna chided gently, "Is that truly so irksome?"
"It is when they can't seem to recognize they can solve their own problems," Celestia replied, her voice tinted with scorn. "Star Swirl is there: let him deal with it."
The Night's Regent watched her sister thoughtfully for a long moment, a slight frown on her face. The endless years were not being kind to her sister's mood, and it was growing all the more irksome to the otherwise calm and rational Luna. Is Celestia's life really so dull? She had been so gracious and good before, her life filled with the need and drive to just make things right, and now…
The younger sister grit her teeth quietly and turned her eyes back to the tome before her, a little coal of burning envy settling in the back of her mind with the others. She had never been a jealous sort before, but seeing how Celestia had changed after they gained the elements was a raw nerve… Could she not show at least a little gratitude that the world looked up to her? Every pony alive wakes up with joy in their hearts at the rising of the sun, praising her name for it, but use Luna's name in hushed whispers and warning for foals about what came in the night...
Luna winced as a spot of ache blossomed behind her eyes, leaving a pattern of black dots dancing in her vision for a moment before fading away. She opened her mouth to admonish her sister, but was interrupted by an angry shout from beyond the open doors of the balcony.
"Dècrisser, vous maudite meute des bites!"
One could certainly say this for Prancian; even if you couldn't understand the words, there was so much feeling packed into them that the message was still pretty clear. In this case the message was that, if one didn't start moving in a hurry, there could be consequences. It didn't take too long for even the thickest inductee into the Guard to realize that those consequences could be anything up to and including trying to last five minutes at sparring with the Captain. Rumour was only one pegasi had actually managed the feat, and was jumped to Sergeant for it.
"What was that?" Luna asked, startled.
"I believe she just said 'Move your asses, you damned pack of cocks.' Not her best effort." Celestia was suddenly grinning, turning her head to the doorway to watch shapes flash past all in a rush, accompanied by the sounds of wheezing breaths and rattling armour. She pushed herself upright, grateful for any distraction from the tedium, stepping out the doors onto the balcony and blinking the fresh warm light of the noon-day sun.
There was some two dozen pegasi in the air, making for a ragged line of glittering armour and blurring wings as they wove their way between trees and towers in a tight circuit, the whole way receiving the kind of blistering verbal abuse that left one's ears aching. Their heads were hanging, mouths open and gasping for breath, sweat sticking to their coats.
They were in bronze armour, Celestia noted. Bronze. It was more or less relegated to ceremonial duty now, given that the nature of the metal and the way they were fashioned meant they were roughly twice as heavy as the common steel plate that was now the norm. Bronze-clad from head to flank, being driven on that circuit for what was likely the first lap of a hundred along the perimeter of the citadel, all the while having their ears scalded by Captain Destrier. She herself was clad in the same weighty armour as the others, though her helmet had a proud crest in plumes of red and amber, marking her rank. She did not seem encumbered by its weight.
The two regents watched the efforts of the guards, with Celestia actually laughing at the more colourful insults that Destrier cooked up to abuse her charges. It wasn't all that terribly interesting to watch pegasi flying in a circle, but there was something about the Captain that always drew Celestia's attention. It wasn't her bold-faced honesty or candid attitude, though those were a part of it; after having Destrier in her service for some three years, Celestia had come to enjoy the Captain's refreshingly unfiltered wit and insight. No, it was the way she simply approached everything in life; there was no hesitation, no holding back: when Destrier had a goal, she drove for it.
It was how she lived; her victory at the Solstice Tournament those few years ago had proven to be not a stroke of luck or innate talent, though she had the later for certain. Her cutie mark was testament to is: a lance at guard, its length a swirl of silver and black, and at its point a fluttering pennant in red emblazoned with three yellow diamonds. Natural talent can only go so far though; unpracticed it would fade away like any other skill.
Every morning, whether there were duties to see to or no, whether there were pegasi to torment in laps or combat drills or not, Destrier was awake at the rising of the sun and pushing herself. Celestia had seen her then: sometimes clad in that heavy bronze she so favoured, and other times clad only with the air, grey body a blur of motion as she wove her way through the towers and spires of the citadel city at a blistering pace. The end result was always the same; Destrier would glide to the ground, sometimes landing upright, other times ending up flopped onto her back, exhausted and gasping for breath.
Celestia had asked once about this, about just why Destrier would drive herself until she couldn't even lift her wings…
It had taken the Captain a moment to answer, a frown crossing her honest face as she tried to work out a reply. It was the only time Celestia had known the pegasus to actually be at a loss for words.
"Why? Regent, why would I not?"
Passion. It was a beacon that burned hot at her heart, bright enough to light a room, and when she raised her voice in brazen battle-hymn, it got into the blood and the bone, made one want to shed their bond with the ground and fling themself headlong into a fight for the sheer mad thrill of it.
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"You would like me to… teach you how to fight?" Destrier was incredulous, her scarred brow wrinkled in a confused frown. "Regent, surely what I know is little and less for you; you defeated the spirit of Discord and any number of his creatures…"
"Magic defeated Discord, Captain, and true enough there is little you could teach me in that. What I want is for you to show me how to fight, as you do."
Destrier's expression remained. She brushed a hoof through her stringy mane, blowing a breath out through puffed cheeks as she weighed what Celestia was asking her. By all accounts there was no reason the Regent could not learn the skills, save for one or two things… namely, the amount of cake she indulged in on a daily basis, and also just how soft her life was. Fighting while clad in some fifty kilograms of steel and leather was not something a pony could just pick up on a whim. The captain fidgeted a bit in place, her own armour rattling softly, the scarred and dented bronze polished but never shiny.
"Regent… if I may, your command will be done, but… understand, it is no easy thing…" Destrier's words were hesitant, carefully picked to avoid insult, but she was far too honest and forward a pony to ever be comfortable trying to dress up truth with sugar-coating and a bow.
"Captain," Celestia interrupted, waving one elegant hoof dismissively, "You are in my personal Guard because I admire your directness and honesty, as well as your strength and prowess. Speak your mind."
It occurred to Celestia a few moments later that maybe some sugar-coating would have been nice. Giving carte-blanche to an honest pony to critique you is… unpleasant. No pony had ever had the guts to call her 'fat' before, or certainly not to her face. Celestia had always thought she was in fairly good shape, too.
Destrier disagreed, in no uncertain terms.
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It had only taken roughly five minutes for Celestia to concede to Destrier's appraisal. The Captain was clad still in her heavy armour, though she had opted to leave her helmet on the ground for once. Her wings beat in powerful, elegant sweeps, keeping her aloft effortlessly even burdened as she was. Celestia had thought to don her armour as well, but the Captain had insisted she not, and now the Regent could see just why.
Most any pegasus could fly, and of course so could the alicorn Regents, but there were ways of flying that told vastly different tales. The gentle cruise most drifted along through life with could be maintained for hours, but the frantic, mad swirl and rush of Destrier's training had drained every iota of stamina Celestia had in a matter of moments. She was laying across a small cloud, one of a thousand nestled together in the air on the opposite side of the mountain New Canterlot clung to. She was breathing hard, her flight muscles were trembling, her heart pounding and skipping the occasional beat.
Destrier did this to herself every day; sometimes for hours, sometimes clad in a weight of metal enough to make a sizeable bronze statue of herself. It boggled the mind…
"Admitting defeat?" the Captain said, and Celestia was surprised to catch a note of amusement in it, could see the curl at the corner of a lip showing the notch in the teeth, just there. The way she had said it, the almost smug look the pegasus was giving Celestia…
Destrier was taunting her.
The last person to taunt Celestia was nearly 200 years silent, and was currently decorating the centre of the statue garden in New Canterlot. Not a single thing alive had the nerve to talk to her like that; even dragons, mighty as they were, balked at the idea of getting on the wrong side of a pony who could call down the fury of the sun.
Destrier was taunting her.
Something sparked in the depths of Celestia's heart; a little spot of dull red heat slowly building into a pinpoint of white-hot fire. There was anger there, though it was anger directed inward as well as outward; certainly it was bad form for a Captain to be taunting their Regent, but so too was it maddening to have given cause to be taunted.
Celestia grit her teeth and pushed herself upright on the cloud, her wings flexing outwards all in shining alabaster glittering in the sunlight. Her mane glowed in living pastel hues, stirred by a breeze unfelt in the still air. She levelled a haughty glare right at the unabashed Destrier, who was still smirking.
"Again," Celestia growled, throwing herself once more into the air.
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To be continued...