The Darkness of Equestria

I always found it calming to walk through the darkened corridors of Canterlot Castle after hours. There are no ponies. No chatter. It's perfectly peaceful. The artwork so deliberately and meticulously placed throughout the winding halls of the castle look so much different by the moonlight, and, in my eyes, better. Yet, even at night the castle is busy. Servants and guards are always present. But, the castle is very large and many areas no longer see much foot, or rather, hoof, traffic. With the lack of ponies, there is no need for any irritating torches; the light comes directly from the moon and the distant lights of the city proper. I prefer these areas.

I could cross from my office to my dormitory, taking the most direct route, in only a few minutes. But by taking these longer walks I can use up an hour or more. Some ponies drink tea, some read a book, others get drunk. I wind down after a long day with longer walks through the museum-like halls of Canterlot Castle. And it truly was like a museum; it's very cold. Very white. Very sterile. Very quiet. My hooves (how I miss my feet) make no noise as I walk down the hall. I am above making unnecessary noise. It preserves the quiet, thankfully, though the skill itself is long-ingrained in me over 5, or maybe 6 decades of service. There's a vague sense in the air that you should not touch a single thing on the walls. After hours, and far from the populace, this castle is very unforgiving.

Another benefit to this route is that I pass through the Canterlot Archives, a back entrance to the Archives but an entrance nonetheless. I can browse at my leisure through the grand place of learning by the moonlight, if I so choose. This is where the old mare, the late Head Librarian of these Archives, brought me after my first arrival. She managed to find for me a necklace laden with a translation spell to make my natural speech understandable to the local ponies. They had thought I was 'Neighponese'. I hate that. I have since learned the most commonly spoken language quite well, but I retain the necklace. Let others think I have no knowledge of the language when the necklace is off, it will be their undoing.

Lately however, there has been another in the Archives at this late, late hour. There is only very rarely another in these Archives with me at this time of night, yet this trend seems to be changing.

Near the circular desk in the center of the room that by daylight would be charged with activity, quiet, library-esque activity, is a small filly of no more than 9 or 10 years. She is small, purple, and most certainly a unicorn. Somehow, she seems to have built walls around her out of books, and is using the one she had been reading as a pillow. Her quiet snores disturb the air in this place, the air currents moving just barely to the tune of her sighs. A heartbeat so distinctly audible in this soundless environment gently pounded. A small, contented smile adorning her features in her dreamless sleep. I move closer to the filly to better examine her. I know this one. This one is strange; few friends, a love of learning. Nothing like her schoolmates at all, save another I've noticed hiding his true intelligence only a few years this one's senior.

This would be the third time this week she has been here so late, and it's only Wednesday. A perfectly foolish child reading until exhausted. This is both commendable and disappointing. Her dedication to improving her knowledge is good, her lack of awareness of her own limitations is much less so.

I quietly take the stacks of books down from around the filly, re-stacking them on the nearby desk. Let someone else deal with it later. The wings I have been gifted with are excellent for this sort of work, strangely. When used properly, the tips can be as nimble as a hand, though far less versatile. I cannot, however, use my hooves for this kind of activity, and this is a mixed blessing. It is good because they feel like feet to me, and using a foot to lift and place objects is degrading; monkey-like, and any limitation on my part that prevents me from using them in an uncivilized manner is welcome to me. Yet it is bad because I couldn't use them even if I felt the urge to. The three that I have are needed on the floor to maintain my balance.

Well, technically I do have four. But my front right leg is crippled, as my right arm was before my unwilling transformation. It is there, yet immobile. I have to keep it tucked into my robes to keep it from dangling uselessly and to keep it hidden, it really is a ghastly sight, off-putting to even the most polite and tolerant ponies. To date, I have three legs, two wings, and one eye. A carefully wrapped eye, I've grown used to the bandages and the wound has long healed. However, I do not care for eye-patches, hence the bandages. An empty eye socket is unseemly. Some called me cripple years ago, and these quickly found themselves trapped in a transfer to a dead-end job at an arctic research base that only recently had most of its funding stripped without prior warning. And as there simply hadn't been enough money in the newly-limited budget to even heat the base, the project was abandoned. Sadly, the message only reached the capital long after the ship delivering the latest employee was on its way, and there was no way to contact the ship at sea until it had returned to its port, after which the ship had to go back for its wayward passenger. I believe the fool had taken a rather severe case of hypothermia and had to have his ears amputated as well as assorted areas over his body where he could no longer grow hair. Terrible misfortune, that. Ironic misfortune.

The insult quickly died off; the new, brash fools learning from their wiser, senior fools.

There is but one book left now, and it is the one substituted for a pillow. The book is safe from watery torture; she seems to be the sort that didn't drool. The sort to enjoy learning... the sort to be organized... the sort to be extraordinarily obedient, if my reports on her are accurate, and they are always accurate.

She would be a good candidate for induction into the Foundation under any other circumstance. However, highly placed as she is her absence would be noticed. She also has parents. I prefer my Agents to be orphans, typically unwanted orphans and the younger the better. They try so hard once they realize that you're the only one that cares about them. She also has friends and other family that would report the disappearance. Scratch friends, she's a loner. The type to hide in books. I believe that, subconsciously, she realized that the other unicorns of the Magic Academy, nobles all, just wanted to get closer to her for the sole reason of using her status as Celestia's personal student to their advantage. She dove into books, subconsciously disgusted with the actions of the other students.

Twilight Sparkle.

The day of her induction into the Academy, or whatever they call it around here, was interesting. As I understand it, she caused quite a large amount of damage and worry, enough to the point that Celestia herself had to intervene. I certainly noticed the large dragon sticking its head out through the roof across the castle grounds. I couldn't help but make the connection between the dragon, its coloring, and the coloring of the egg that Celestia had bade me acquire some time before that. There had also been a strange phenomenon in the air that was distinctly rainbow-colored...

So she's powerful, to the point that she can accelerate the physical development of a dragon straight from its egg and force Celestia to intervene.

Powerful, smart, organized, not given to friends... Hmm... the potential is there, to be certain.

I am old. I won't be carrying on like this for much longer; old age tends to bring death. Perhaps this Twilight Sparkle wouldn't mind a small... nudge in the proper direction.

Age brings about a worry for one's legacy. My legacy in my previous, humanoid home was lasting, if a tad difficult to see and fully appreciate (bringing peace and maintaining it through any means makes enemies, despite how many of those I killed off on a daily basis), but I have no legacy here. I don't feel like wasting away for little-to-no purpose, being a governmental official is just a day job, to be honest. Equestria, and Celestia, have done little that would earn my loyalty. They've done enough that they have earned an able administrator out of me, but I wouldn't die for Equestria like I would my homeland. Overall, Equestria has been a neutral experience thus far, but I would prefer to return home.

With that option closed, I'll just have to remake my legacy here. I have practice at it, it shouldn't be too hard.

So... not another Agent in the Foundation. But perhaps a leader?

Interesting...

I do need a leader...

Someone would need to guide my Agents once I pass, and that day can't be too far off, no more than a decade or two. The Agents are extraordinarily dedicated, but only to me. If I were to die... there's really no telling what they might do. I, for one, refuse to invest time and effort into a product only for it to implode after some small thing like my death. There has to be someone to maintain what I've done after I die. The membership is relatively small, and due to the lack of subjects my training methods had to be altered, but they are still important. They are fanatically loyal, but if I were to introduce to them a secondary leader they would know what to do with their lives after I pass. I am not overestimating their loyalty. They will literally kill themselves before I come to a shred of harm.

Unfortunately, the Foundation is still very, very small. I've been here for seven years, the first I spent getting accustomed to this place, the next four were spent becoming a political powerhouse (the nobles were irritable until I informed them of my own noble status), and the years after that were spent enjoying the fruits of my labor.

In that time, I recruited only twelve members to the Foundation.

In seven years, in a large city like Canterlot with a populace of over 127,835 ponies living in it, there have only been twelve acceptable orphans. It almost boggles my mind. Ponies love their children, apparently, and the families in Canterlot are so large that there's always a spare family member to take over for the orphaned children, but I managed to find twelve. My methods had to change too, I didn't have the numbers for the high-cost, high-reward style training they were doing before. All twelve of my Agents are either training or fully functioning in society, no losses or major injuries yet reported. The hardest part in altering the training methods was that I had to cut out the emotion-killing section of it. I teach them to control their emotions instead. This allows them to feign emotion if necessary and experience actual emotion where proper, instead of being dull, obvious statues. Ponies are ruled by emotion, a pony with a lack of emotion would stand out enough to draw significant attention and my Agents can not draw attention. I've had to actually become a father figure to the orphans, instead of the leader/follower relationship I had previously.

Of course, legally they are my children. I adopted them, after all. Being seen as a generous, kind old 'stallion' certainly has its perks but having twelve children is a handful. Some of my 'children' (Agents) are old enough to have taken actual 'jobs' (Civilian Work) to help support the 'family' (Foundation), and Equestria has been kind enough to give me considerable financial assistance. I'm paid fairly well, and stealing more if necessary would be easier than breathing, but it's the thought that counts.

So, a leader for the Agents. Easily done, under better circumstances. Unfortunately, Celestia has the eyes of a hawk watching its eggs and hatchlings. So, non-optimal conditions, but I've not operated under optimal conditions for at least twenty years, and that's before counting the seven I've spent as a pony.

But how to appeal to Twilight Sparkle?

After no more than a moment, the answer came to me.

She loves knowledge. But she also wants someone to guide her through it. She has Celestia, in name if not spirit. She is her 'precious student' but there's only so much time the leader of a large and prosperous nation can spare for a pupil. If there was someone else who appears to be similarly knowledgeable and with similar interests, but with far more time on his hands for direct teacher/student activity... Yes.

I look up from examining my new apprentice.  The book to start with is in here somewhere, this place has everything.

Stoicism.

I was surprised when I discovered that ponies had thought up such a philosophy, ponies seem to lack the mental acuity and moral dilemmas that would make such a philosophy necessary, but perhaps there was a bright star in the pack of uninteresting snobs in the past.

Stoicism, at its very most basic, is essentially the idea that one must control one's behavior, actions, and emotions. Negative emotions lead to negative results, anger and the like will result in problems, dilemmas. Stoics seek inner calm, clear judgement. They do not seek to eliminate emotions, they seek to control them.

(Admittedly, controlling emotions is better for the Agents' long term effectiveness and their ability to blend in with society, but totally breaking their psyche and removing their emotions was so much more efficient and quickly done.)

There it is! With a simple articulation of the wings, the book is pried out from the multitude. I carry the book in the sling for my foreleg, so convenient. As I walk back to the young Sparkle, I can't help but think of all the things I dislike about pony custom. Specifically, the item at the forefront of my mind was their naming system. No family name at all. No deeper meaning, no sense of belonging to a greater clan. One could only tell whom one has blood relations with by comparing family trees. It wasn't as simple as taking a glance at a family name on a piece of paper. I might offend a large group of ponies without intending to, as despite the lack of clan names they rise to defend their own regardless. Irritating.

I am glad the youngling is so small. My wings have difficulty lifting most heavy objects. In only a few moments of manipulation, the heavily sleeping filly is safely ensconced between my wings on my back.

As I glance down, I notice the pillow book and what its subject matter is. Algebra. I'm not exactly sure on the exact math class per each year, but I do know that Algebra is advanced for her. The class either immediately before or immediately after entering high school, I believe. Their system here is so different but I've had a few 'foals' enter high school. But algebra is very advanced for one so young. Yet not a workbook assigned by the school, I notice. This is her studying numerous years ahead? Just how deep does her dedication, her lust for learning go? Very strange. I pick it up with a spare wing while the other holds Twilight in place, and onto a nearby stack the book goes.

As student to Princess Celestia and attendee of the Academy on castle grounds,Twilight Sparkle has her own dormitory in the castle. The castle is exceeding large, but all of the actually important rooms and areas are in the same general section of the castle, save the high-security locations. For instance, the student dormitories are one story below the faculty dormitories and two below the castle staff dormitories. We are heading in the same direction, then. I decide against a longer walk, and take the most direct route. No more than 5 minutes goes by before I reach my destination, a long corridor with artwork and a few torches scattered hither and thither. Thankfully, each dormitory is helpfully labeled with the student names on each door. Opening the door requires much less dexterity than picking up and manipulating numerous books. The room is fairly spartan; a bed, a nightstand, a desk, and a small closet for whatever clothes they deem necessary to wear.

Dropping Twilight Sparkle onto her bed gently is just about the most hazardous thing I've had to do recently. I'm sorry to say, but my life has been void of any danger since I've gotten to Equestria. But being caught in a female student's dormitory long after hours would be terrible for my reputation, especially since she was a minor.

I am not a pedophile. I have known and consorted with a possible pedophile, but it's just an unconfirmed rumor if the man truly was a sexual deviant in that manner. He certainly was a deviant, and no mistake. He was also a human. And Twilight's perfectly asleep, so there will be no rash accusations here if I can leave fast enough.

Thankfully, Twilight has one of the dormitories on the outer perimeter of the castle instead of inside the castle proper: she has a window. A small, highly placed window streams in moon light, enough to see and write by, but not much else. With my dark cloak, I would be surprised if Twilight could even see me were she awake.

I place the book on her nightstand and leave her a note.

The note reads:

If you are so insistent on learning until you collapse out of exhaustion, I will have to guide you down the proper path. Learning is far more efficient when guided. Read the accompanying book and write a five paragraph essay with no less than 6 sentences per paragraph on the history of stoicism and possible present-day uses of it. You have two weeks.

Learn the limits of your body, you should be aware when you are close to sleep.

Signed,

The Writer of this Note.

An easy assignment, to be sure. One of my more obvious attempts, and eventual successes, at manipulation. But it's not like this nine year old filly will know.

My dormitory is a very short stairwell away. Sleep comes easily: a rarity. A combination of my career choices and being a pony leaves me with very little comfort in my sleep. I have no doubts that the things I have done were right, but they were very stressful. And, more than anything else; relieving myself, sitting, and sleep are more than just a little uncomfortable in this quadrupedal body. With the future of the Foundation no longer in overly much doubt, I feel a small but noticeable weight lift off my back.

Morning comes swiftly. I go to sleep late and I wake up early. Thankfully, old people need less sleep the older they get. The four or five hours I get per night might be unbearable otherwise. Which puts the question into my mind, 'How long does Princess Celestia sleep?' Judging by the trend, she might not have to sleep at all. She might be energized just by being awake. Though, it is likely based on how old the body is, not the mind. Celestia isn't that old in appearance, and presumably the same is true for her body's inner workings.

Waking up is simple, I follow the basic routine that most follow, with a few added steps. Wake up, go to the bathroom, check front right leg and eye, just in case, step into shower, take shower, get out of shower, get dressed, leave dormitory to go eat breakfast in the communal cafeteria for the staff. Breakfast was usually a simple affair, and it is the same today. A few pieces of toast, fresh fruit, healthy eating.

I don't particularly feel the need to socialize with my co-workers, so I sit in a corner to myself while others sit with their own friends. A few have mustered up the courage to sit with me before, presumably in an effort to make me feel included. These rarely try a second time; polite, neutral conversation is rarely as stimulating as speaking with your friends over what they did or did not find in so-and-so's bedroom last night while cleaning it. Perfectly understandable, I hold no ill will towards any of the ponies.

A glance at the clock confirms my own internal clock's suspicions; time for work. I stand and walk off to the Throne Room. The cafeteria is a central nexus of hallways, my own path is very short. The guards helpfully open the heavy oaken door with their magic at my approach. This one is a side door, it opens behind the Throne where Celestia herself sits.

I shuffle up to the side of the Throne, only taking pains to make my hoof-falls clack and clatter when I'm near it, a slight warning of my approach for the uninitiated.

"And how are we today, Celestia?" I inquire once I am just behind the Throne, a whisper more than enough to carry the small distance.

Her face turns, ever slightly, an eye beholding me with a twinkle, her mane flowing to the other side of my position.

"I am doing well, thank you." she offers a small grin, "And how are you, Seneschal Danzo?"