He placed everything where he was told. Two shirts, swimming trunks, and a pair of shirts on the submerged chair. He ignored the water lapping up around his legs, the scattered jewelry thrown across the wooden boards beneath the tidal surges, and the terminally clear sky above him. He had a mission, a job to complete, and nothing else mattered to him. He checked his sword one final time, it was the one piece of his gear he would never need, and it was the only thing he knew he had to check. Once it was securely fastened away he turned to begin his climb.
He wondered, vaguely, about all those that had sacrificed to bring him here, and the weight that would release from their parted souls when the news reached the stones at the ferryman's head. He cared for them not, he thought of them not, but he knew that this meeting was not to be chance. He had been guided here upon a cloud of indifference, force fed lies about honor and duty, been forced to spit out love and tolerance. So much had been lost, and so little gained, all because of her.
He started to climb. The boards on the floor creaked, but the stones of the wall held fast. His hoofing was solid as he ascended, making his way higher, heading towards his dance with the sultry temptress of fate. This was his moment now, no force could take it away from him save for his own errors. Every trial that had lead him to this point was culminating into one final song. It played in the back of his mind as the wind kissed at his white cloak.
It's just a little dream.
The window slid open above him, and he waited as he had been directed. Instinct held his heart in check and slowed his breathing. He had to wait for the right moment, he couldn't rush this. Poetry demanded each stanza complete, and every line deserved its own attention. This was the way in which history was written, this was the will of his universe. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds later, he climbed to the window sill. Inside was the room he had expected to find, lined with golden lanterns and carved wooden baseboards. It was in no way plain, but the lack of the one who had just stood within its walls made it feel forebodingly empty, like a carnival in the rain.
He slides in the window, treading softly over lavish carpets, leaving behind the sea salt in his prints. He dare not open the door until the proper count had passed him by. He had to wait for the signs, follow the rules, and obey the careful logic of the situation. His chance would come.
He opened the door, slowly, careful not to make too much noise. A glance down the hallway told him everything he had needed to know. Princess Celestia stood in a doorway at the end of the hall and off to his right, staring into the next room as if expecting the shelves to begin moving about on their own. Her careful gaze was filled with the apprehension of one haunted only by the trivial things in life. In seconds, her characteristically sickeningly sweet smile had returned, and she regarded the room in a new light. She was completely unaware of the stallion slowly sliding down the hall behind her, bypassing her narrowly to gently open the door five hoof lengths away, at the hall's end.
The stallion closes the door behind him, not even allowing it to click with the gentleness of his touch. He had to be careful now, analyze his situation more closely. Was he really about to do this? Was he really so bold and so brave? He wondered how many had come before him, how many had tried and failed. How many bodies lay crumpled in a heap that this mare could still sleep at night. Though sleep was far beyond his thoughts now, the mission came first and nothing else mattered.
He scanned the room carefully. A desk, two chairs, bookshelves, an office was sprawled out before him. The other door sitting on the same wall as the one he had entered through, was the only object that caught his gaze. He carefully made his way towards it, walking straight past a bust of the once mighty Luna, leaving not even the smallest hint of his passage upon the air or the sounds which meandered through it.
As soon as he made it to the door he opened it. Celestia was gone, the door to the hall they had just shared closed behind her. Another door now open on the other end of the room, emanates with fading hoof falls, leading muffled echoes towards their final destination. The stallion looked over the room with casual indifference, it was another library. It astounded many how those with no end of books could glean so little from the wisdom of their pages. He made his way carefully to the open door and peered down the hallway after the Princess.
There were three doors down there, as expected, two on the right, and one on the left. Princess Celestia stood facing the farthest door on the right, debating whether she was to trot inside. After a few seconds, she follows through with the will of fate, closing this door behind her. Silence fell on the dimly lit hallway as the stallion slowly made his way forward. It was close now, ever so close. He could taste victory on his tongue, and sweet revenge rolled down his throat like honey nectar.
The world was deafened by rising silence as he carefully made his way to the very door the Princess had entered through. He had to see for himself before he made his move, he had to know, he could not lose himself without knowing for sure. His tools slid down his left sleeve, worked their way through the air to the pistons of the lock, and in only a few seconds of cursory effort the fruits of his efforts laid bare in a crack in the door's frame. He opened it, peering boldly into the room with only the slightest levels of apprehension.
Princess Celestia was laying upon the bed, already asleep, as he had known she would be. This was it, there was no turning back now. He had to follow this through, if not for himself, if not for his love, then for all those that had been lost tempting the same fates that spurred him on. He gently shuts the door, allowing the lock to slide back into place. Then he shifts to the door beside it, letting it slide open at his touch. He trotted into the adjacent room, looking over the furniture with a careful eye. It was vacant, as promised, that was a good sign. He closes the door behind him and locks it, separating the hall from the two rooms forever.
A small trot to the connecting door, nothing significant, a small journey. It opened before him like the turn into a lost and hidden valley, stretched out across the lavish space of a single room. It was, much to his comfort, the same room he had peeked into just now. Sure in his mind, heart racing in the cavity of his chest, he began to round towards the one and only bed. The chess board lay out before him across the sheets. The pieces lay scattered, some broken, others still standing boldly at their positions. Though only one side truly remained, the opponent's pieces were nowhere to be found. The White Queen and her midnight Princess, standing boldly at their original place at the head of the board, ruled over all the pawns and fallen souls before them.
The stallion's heart thundered in his chest as he stepped forward, climbing atop the sheets to stand over the chessboard from above. This was his moment, the thing he had been most waiting for, the culmination of all his remaining desires balled up at the tips of his hooves. He dives down on the chess board with the bluntness of the rook, tearing aside the midnight pawns, and leaving only the white queen to face justice alone. This was his moment, the beginning of revenge.
His hoof smashes down on the chess piece, striking the white queen with all the force his hooves could muster. Again, and again, and again, hit after hit connect with their intended victim. Each forceful strike causes its pristine white surface to crack, each bare attack causing the facade to shatter and rend free. More and more pieces began to fly off, bits of the ceramic and marble components going airborne and littering the board. The stallion continued, fueled by the sheer ferocity of the display itself. Before long, a huge pile of unrecognizable bits of stone sat before his hooves as he continued to smash the weight of his blinding fury down upon them. Then at the height of his rage, it had suddenly become a mountain of pointed golden spires, sitting upon the sheets and refusing to give way as wax poured from the candles of dying light. Each spire a monument to his achievement, assembled in a crown far too large to bare, and surrounded in a mixture of the stone bits and the mysterious wax. It was a monument to their misdeeds, and the chessboard was lost to its construction.
He had done it.
The stallion sits back, lost in his accomplishment. He alone had succeeded, where countless millions had failed. He raised his hooves and dared not look upon them, wax rained down from them like scarlet fire, and he knew finally that his time had passed. He looks up from the culmination of his efforts. Three doors lined the room, one for peeking, one for entering, and one for leaving. He bounded off of the bed and made for his exit, fumbling desperately with the lock as silence deafened him once more. The door suddenly, and violently gave way. He fell out of it, down into the ocean just below. Though before plunging beneath the surface entirely, his hooves landed on carefully hidden floor boards. He trotted over to the submerged chair and took the clothes he had once left behind. Then, without even thinking, he dived into the deep water and began swimming towards the empty horizon. Only the sun greeted him at his passing.
It's just a little dream.