A not particularly small herd gathered in front of Ponyville's newest memorial.
It was a simple thing, an obelisk of granite on a round base. Inset into the sides were marble panels, engraved with text and surmounted by the symbol of two alicorns protectively encircling a Shetland thistle.
Garden beds had been planted in heather and thistles. The general consensus in Ponyville was that the heather was lovely, but the thistles were a pain, especially when it came to weeding them out of other gardens.
Anypony approaching from the town would find themselves informed of the following:
On this spot did Shetlanders brave and Royal Guardsponies of Canterlot true confront the forces of evil and triumph. This stone stands in memory of the twenty-seven who sacrificed their lives to protect home, herd and Equestria.
On the adjacent sides were two lists: the names of the fallen. Some had died in battle, some later from mortal wounds, and some... their coffins went home empty.
The opposite side bore a poem that was currently being recited (accompanied by a small voice repeatedly asking, sotto voce, why the brown pony kept talking all the time) by the representative from the Shetlands, one that had been scored into the memories of most of the audience a year ago by the voice of Princess Celestia.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond Equestria's foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end they remain.
Silence fell, lasting a full minute. Finally the shaggy, brown-coated stallion spoke again.
"Lest we forget," he said formally.
"We will remember them," came the traditional response.
Another Shetlander placed the reed of his bagpipes into his mouth and the audience braced themselves. Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle and Applebloom glanced at him, then ostentatiously looked away from the instrument of their downfall.
Elsewhere in the crowd a small voice desperately wanted to know why the other pony was making all that noise.
As the pipes lamented, Mucmarfóir picked up a wreath in his mouth and gently placed it at the foot of the memorial, then backed up several paces, eyes shining, holding his head high until the last notes died away.
Now he turned, and spoke with a more relaxed tone.
"When I look back on that day now, all I can think is," he shook his head, "what a great fluffy gobshite I was!"
An embarrassed giggle ran through the crowd, and one heavily pregnant mare, white of coat with a vivid red mane, approached and clouted him affectionately on the shoulder. A year ago the brown Shetlander wouldn't have known what to do; now he just rolled with it.
"Anyway, as I've been told, yon townsfolk have laid on a wee feast for us..."
There were a pair of snorts from Pinkie Pie and Applejack. The two earth ponies had been knocking themselves out preparing a party for a herd of thirty families – nearly a hundred ponies in all – families of the fallen.
"So we'd best not turn down their hospitality, should we?"
There was some laughter at that, then in pairs and triplets, the herd repaired to a nearby marquee, voices low, except for a small frustrated voice demanding to know why the pony kept talking funny all the time.
"I mean, there I be, slobbed in a hospital bed, knowin' that it were my fault all these ponies were dead or dyin', for if 'twere not for me Grault wouldnae have menaced us all, aye?"
Mucmarfóir was holding court to Harmony Incarnate. Rarity had decided to decorate in green and heather colours this time, after some discussion with the Shetland contingent. ("I thought those colours were awfully dull, but when I saw how they brought out the colours of those Shetland banners, well, they do look good after all!")
He shook his head ruefully. "Well, imagine me in that bed gettin' a proper talkin'-to by not just one iníonacha ionúin Epona, but both of 'em!" He chuckled and shook his head again. "It opened my eyes, let me tell 'ee.
"Tha' sees, my family lived mighty remote from anywhere, so most I knew were the tales of yore of the Shetlands, an' bein' a wee colt, my favourite ones were those of grand battles and duels for honour. An' then..."
His head-shake was not as amused, instead it was one of sadness. "Well, after that I went mad wi' grief. Where were t' thanes an' t' Laird to stop all that?"
Twilight's eyes widened in understanding. Unnoticed by her, Rainbow Dash nudged Applejack and rolled her eyes.
"Loch... Loch... Earache?" Fluttershy asked quietly, trying to remember a name heard a year back.
"Loch Erraigh Fuar," Mucmarfóir nodded, "Well north of Neighdinburgh. All t' news I learned after that day, I learned those times I were in a town, an' the crier was there, so when I heard that a new Laird was travellin' to Canterlot, awa' south I went, fast as my legs'd go.
"Now, in ma haste, I cut through those lands that Grault an' his herd would ravage. An' there yon, ah, Princesses set me straight. For I thought nowt of it at t' time, but not a single snout nor tusk did I see – not one! For Grault hates... hated my guts, an' once he ken I were about, he'd normally go for me.
"So this Grault was already heading south!" Applejack exclaimed.
"Aye. An' there I was, makin' all speed tae catch t' Laird, I must've overtook 'im!" Mucmarfóir shook his head. "An' accordin' to t' Princesses, that probably saved Ponyville..."
"Huh?" Applejack looked confused.
"He cut through the Everfree," Fluttershy explained, "and probably left a lot of angry monsters in his path."
The earth pony frowned, then eyes widened in understanding.
"Wha' they told me, was that before Grault picked up ma scent an' gave chase, his herd were more'n a hundred strong."
"But wouldn't that... that thing have tried to..." Twilight stuttered.
"Grault hated me, hated me wi' a passion. An' back then, he'd have still been in control o' hisself, an' that thing hadnae hatched, after all."
"Ohhh," Twilight shivered and let the subject drop.
"Anywa', after that, well, ye know about the ceremony, an' I were one of the carters takin' our... our lads back," he paused. Somepony had managed to stick a glass of punch into his hoof without him noticing.
"Well, yon Winterberry here were drivin' her family daft by constantly hangin' about me, talkin' away, they couldna' ken it! An' then one night, she's finally had a gutsful, and up she stands to her ma an' –"
"An' I gave her what for!" Winterberry butted in, sounding amused. "Because he was the first colt to look at me as a mare, an' not t' Laird's filly. Now then," she addressed her husband, "did thee tell 'em about what 'appened when we got back to Neighdinburgh?"
"Ah... I havenae got that far yet!"
"So what happened?" Twilight asked, slightly exasperated.
"The Gawp," Winterberry snorted. "Dinna ask 'his name, as far as I care, 'e's The Gawp. Some daft fluffy son of a thane from up north, got it in his heid that he'd end up a-weddin' me." She made a face, her accent thickening. "Damn scunner allus sendin' me gifties I didnae want, tryin' tae corner me every chance he got, an' dinna' get me started on his love sonnets." Her ears flattened.
"Uh..." Fluttershy asked, "Bad?"
"Dinna' ask," Mucmarfóir shuddered, "I caught a wee snatch after t' welcome hame that night. Ye've heard of bards that could coax the birds from the trees?"
The pegasus nodded.
"That gobshite jus' made 'em keel over from horror. Anyway, poor 'Berry was lookin' cornered, an' that slimy sod wasnae noticin' nor carin', so I took matters in hoof."
Winterberry just beamed with happy remembrance. "He picked up that Gawp an' tossed 'im out," she said in a dreamy voice. "Jus' grabbed 'im from behind, rose to his hind legs an' tossed 'im like a caber."
"An' that sealed ma fate," Mucmarfóir agreed, "since nopony else'd lift a hoof to stop 'im." He shrugged. "Politics or summat."
"Wonder if he let down doing that," Rainbow Dash snickered in a low tone to Applejack, who just grimaced.
"Sorry?" The brown Shetlander looked at the pegasus.
Rainbow flushed and shook her head with embarrassment. Applejack committed the incident for later blackmail – a good day's apple-bucking at least.
"And so that... led to you..." Twilight gestured somewhat helplessly at the gilt bangle adorning Winterberrys' left forehoof just above the ankle.
"Aye," Winterberry took over the story, lifting the limb proudly to show it off, "we started steppin' out together, an' wi' a little bit o' groomin' –"
Rarity kept her thoughts on what Shetlanders could do with their coats and manes to herself. She got the slightly jealous impression that Winterberry wasn't talking about that sort of grooming.
"– I found ma'self with a right decent 'usband!" The look she bestowed on Mucmarfóir was both proud and proprietary. The husband in question ostentatiously flicked an ear and tried his best to look dignified.
"And soon with a darlin' wee filly," he declared.
"How'd thee know? Could be a colt." Winterberry's tone was that of playful argument.
"It'll be a bonny little filly, like her ma was," insisted Mucmarfoir, gently placing a forehoof against his wife's belly. "An' she'll be called Heather, eh? How d'ye like that name, ma girl?"
Winterberry winced, and Mucmarfóir jerked his hoof away. To judge by the sharp movement in the mare's belly, the foal did not care for that name at all.
"Tol' ye," she said at last, "'tis a colt."
Dear Twilight Sparkle,
You are right about Snappy Scoop's article and pictures being published all across Equestria. They were very moving, I must agree.
From what you write, it's clear that Mucmarfóir has grown up a great deal, thanks in part to Winterberry. However, given the nuggety nature of Shetlanders, I would not agree that their foal will be a colt. From memory, it could well be a mare!
As to your request. It is denied. Do not ask again.
Your loving teacher,
Princess Celestia
A/N: Remember that Equestrians count in octal. 'Ten' is a decimal eight.
The poem is 'To The Fallen' by Lawrence Binyon. I finally cracked this chapter on ANZAC Day, so it seemed appropriate.