“But it is to society alone that we owe that safety which we and our possessions enjoy in a state of civilization; in all we do we need the help of others, and they in their turn, must have confidence in us before they can have anything to do with us.”

-Arthur Schopenhauer

The conquerors of Equestria were disgusted with their lot. They were the overlords of a nation not their own and had trained a peaceful population in the ways of mindless and savage cruelty. They had turned more than half the population into mutilated slaves. They had remade an advanced and technologically sophisticated society into the same kind of stone-and-mud misery they had had in their own land, and destroyed all trappings of the past beside.

Yet they were vexed in their lot as well. For all their advantages they stared down a rebellion led by a creature they could not decide on. They did not necessarily believe he was a ghost, but had they discovered he was, there would have been little surprise. A single faceless figure was bad. But they did not have a single faceless figure.

At some time, the origins lost in the inefficiency of their systems and the simple lack of attention paid to non-sexual things, another faceless creature came. A female figure, which shocked and disgusted the northmen, as a woman with power was against their god-chief, the Heartless Hind. According to the fuzzy-minded ponies that still had something like memory, the figure was from before the invasion. A figure that mostly appeared in print, as The Mysterious Mare-Do-Well.

Because of the nature of reports, before they were written down, the strange figure appeared in a far slave processing town, but which one was up for debate. According to the rumors finally written in reports the figure had wings and a horn, cast magic freely, slew with ease, and had never been harmed. No guard was fast enough, no soldier strong enough, and no facility fortified enough to stop her.

She was set, with secure focus, on the liberation of the processing facilities, freeing women before they were properly mutilated. Horns, wings and marks remained. That was almost as big of an insult. Women were left with power. And the execrable invaders could not allow such a thing.

They did dispatch what few extra soldiers they could, but as ever, were undone by their own general cultural idiocy. The rampant sex affected the collation of data, and the correction of errors which had crept in thanks to the sex was slow and inefficient, which kept them from getting facts straight. The soldiers ended up storming empty facilities, or breaking into places that were running properly. They were a disorganized mess, chasing the ghost of rumors.

The rumors drew more than the filthy subjects of the Stag King. They attracted the rebels. They were far more organized and intelligent but moved more slowly. They had to carefully steal or otherwise acquire data, then properly sift it and determine what was most probable.

Their methodical process paid dividends, in some sense. The rebels arrived in time to find the freed women and bear them away to safe havens. They also had a chance to examine the dead facility staff. The ponies and caribou all indeed bore the marks of a sword assault, though some had been poisoned and others electrocuted. It looked like the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well had been giving the impression she had only one means of killing.

A small rebel group poked through the ruins of a small warehouse that had formerly been used as a concentration and distribution center for captive females. The females had been moved off to a rebel camp for counseling and rest, while those remaining dug for clues in the destruction.

“Primitive devices for containment, torture and training. Exactly what the caribou love,” a pegasus mare said as she emerged from a small room. “All destroyed, with appropriate violence.”

“I noted a single entry, from the roof. She carefully caved in a segment, slipped into the rafter beams and then launched some kind of attack,” a stallion said.

“The freed captives saw little. They were traumatized by their treatment and didn't pay attention when the screaming began,” a zebra mare said. “Most only reported some kind of magic fog, heard what could have been wings fluttering and then the screaming and choking and chopping.”

“She's about as mysterious as he name would imply,” the detachment leader, a donkey, said. “She's nearly as inscrutable and ghostly as our leader. Maybe that's for the best.”

“All dead moved in other room,” a Diamond Dog male said, coming out from another side-room. “Not go in.”

“We've all seen dead bodies,” the donkey snorted. “Hammers and sickles aren't clean killers...”

“No, is not dead bodies, is Dangerous. Dogs only,” the Dog insisted. “Only safe because knew smell.”

“Smell? What smell?” the donkey queried.

“Coming from silver-white smears on dead,” the Dog said, “Smell dangerous. Small, small taste tell all. Cobaltite, CoAsS. Sulfur and arsenic liberated from matrix. Sulfur dioxide choke, arsenic cause organ failure.”

“'Cobaltite'...” the donkey said. “Was it a Dog?”

“Dogs know cobaltite, and smelt out cobalt, sulfur and arsenic. But not liberated like Dogs do,” the Dog answered.

“Professional zebra chemists, especially the magical ones, liberate individual compounds without reaction products,” the zebra mare said. “Magic is the catalyst and leaves no trace. You get just what you want, not another compound.”

“We're clearly dealing with an intellectual,” the donkey said. “Knows geology and metallurgy, or at least geochemistry, and can use magic to separate elements. And posed them in there to look like they were hacked to death.”

“Maybe it really is the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well,” the pegasus said. When all eyes went to her she shrugged. “Hey, makes as much sense as anything else.”

“Whatever is going on, we missed her again,” the donkey said. “Move out back to the rendezvous point.”

For all the effort expended, neither side could catch her at work. They tried and failed, the soldiers to murder her, the rebels to recruit her. All they ever found where she had been were the bodies of the oppressors. That suited the rebels well but they wanted her for more formal and directed action.

In another unnamed town, the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well stalked. It had once had a name, when Equestrians lived in it. It had had thatched-roof, multistory homes and businesses, a thriving market and peace. The homes were crumbled and burnt, the light colors splattered with mud and blood. The cobblestone streets were plagued with loose and missing stones. The statues of the princesses had been destroyed. The market stalls were burned, broken or toppled, or all three.

The caribou had turned the town into a bivouac, being used to living in such ugly squalor. They kept a full complement of soldiers there, along with the required number of sex slaves. It was rare to find a full detachment of the northmen away from Canterlot. Since the losses of important bucks through the action of the former Arch-Magus of Canterlot the Stag King had decreed his brainwashed stallion soldiers be the ones to die for him.

She stepped slowly though the ruins of town. The piles of debris provided her with perfect hiding places when she saw patrols coming through. They were attentive, in some sense, but still missed her dark attire despite it being broad daylight. She couldn't take on more than one armored soldier at a time. She could try but didn't want to risk the possibility be being hurt by one of them, or having one escape to get help.

“Did you hear? We're supposed to be somewhere near... you know, that woman,” one of the bucks said.

“Yes... what was her name? These stupid Equestrian creatures and their foolish language make dumb names,” his companion stated.

“Something Mysterious. But no matter. If she appears we will cut off her horn and wings, burn off that foolish mark and then cut off her hands and hooves,” the first said with a casual cruelty. “To think she wants to stop us doing that.”

“It's the only right and proper way to live! To imagine there is any other way to live than to rape, mutilate and enslave females is to be a fool, like how these stupid ponies were before we destroyed their worthless culture. It's a good thing we imposed our will on them,” the second huffed.

“Do you think she's a rebel?” the first asked, with some hesitation.

“Don't be such a doe, you idiot. The rebels are weak and helpless creatures who will die by the thousands if they ever face us,” the second asserted loudly.

“It's a strategic question, not something made from fear!” The first yelled, snorting loudly.

“If she is actually a rebel, then we will torture her to death, and also torture all the rebels with her. That is the simple solution to the problem of insolent females,” the second huffed.

“I'm just so eager to kill her or mutilate her and go back home. I'm already bored with the slaves we brought. I think I'll kill one of them, it might be more entertaining,” the first said.

“No! Don't you dare do such a thing! The rest of us still want to brutalize them! Once we're all bored you can kill one but not yet. Foolish idiot,” the second snorted.

“I need a personal slave to harm and kill. Is there a facility we can take from nearby?” The first inquired.

“No. That... Mysterious female raided the local ones. It's why we're here. She's supposed to be here. Our job is to bring her to his invincible highness, where she can be chastised for her serious crimes against our dominion,” the second answered.

“Disgusting and against nature!” the first said, punching his hand. “He will surely torture her in fascinating ways.”

“It's the correct thing to do. We have to keep the weak females in li-” The statement of the second was cut off with a wet, pained gurgle.

The first buck had been looking away from his friend, but turned on hearing the horrible sound. “What happ... no! N-” His scream was silenced, then he, too, let out a gurgling sound and went silent.

Mare-Do-Well chanced a look from behind her pile of debris and saw the two buck on the ground, dead. Both of them had had their throats cut, and had been laid out to show how deep the cuts had been. Their killer was still in evidence, crouching behind the bodies and using his finger and their blood to write a message on the ground. He was a caramel-colored pony stallion, dressed in the stained and tattered remnants of a black suit with an open jacket and ruffled shirt. He had a shiny and slick black mane, and a silver knife strapped to his side.

His writing done the figure stood up slowly, his back to Mare-Do-Well. “I used to know the original Mare-Do-Well. Or should I say, the originals. There was more than one. It why they could both fly and use unicorn magic without being an alicorn,” the figure said casually.

Mare-Do-Well silently regarded the scene, still just barely looking over the pile of debris. She was so still she could barely be seen to breathe.

“Now which type are you? On the one hand, your horn hasn't been seen often, and has only been heard to work in hearsay. However, your wings have never been reported to open, except in stories that could more indicate great speed and deftness rather than flying, necessarily...” the stallion said, still turned away from Mare-Do-Well. “You could be an earth pony. But there are reports of magic. Specialized magic. I have some suspicions.”

There was a slow motion, Mare-Do-Well sliding more of herself out from behind cover. She was still silent, staring intently at the mysterious stallion from behind her goggles.

“Dog knowledge, zebra knowledge, with magical capacity to catalyze reaction, and an active mind that is intent on selling an image that might not be the whole truth,” the stallion said with a bit of mirth in his voice.

“And... what... do you think it means...” Mare-Do-Well asked softly, slipping fully from behind the rock.

“You were college educated, before the fall. You specialized in chemistry, most likely with an emphasis on magical varieties. You probably liked literature in your spare time, probably logic and detective stories, which explains why you know how to misdirect. None of the magical deaths were actually caused by magic, because magic can't do that, not now that the Arch-Magus is... but I digress. The deaths by lightning scream pegasus, except there was gem dust in the wounds and no reports of clouds being moved. I'll say you were a student in the Grand Veldt, and took advantage of tuition deals in Equestria. That you're a zebra,” the stallion said, turning around to show himself to be the Black Knight. “Am I right?”

Mare-Do-Well slowly lifted her goggles, showing off her almond-shaped eyes with blue irises. “You know much, don't you? You're the only one to ever find me.”

The Black Knight shrugged a bit and gave a winning smile. “Just lucky, I guess...”

“More than luck. I have heard of you, Phantom. Heard of the rebellion's leader who forces the Stag King's forces to chase a ghost,” Mare-Do-Well said, looking at the Black Knight firmly. “You are clever. That is most important.”

“Call me the Black Knight,” the Black Knight said with a bow and a smile. He slicked back his shiny black mane and brushed off his tattered attire. “I just happen to know this, that and the other thing. Nothing special.”

“You hide behind a kind of humility, but your capabilities speak for themselves. Your reputation is spread well among the evildoers and that is good,” Mare-Do-Well said with a nod.

“So it is, so it is...” The Black Knight said with a nod. He casually strolled towards Mare-Do-Well. “I've killed the ones around here. We can talk freely. And I'd love to hear your story. I've heard thousands of them, but one more is always appreciated.”

Mare-Do-Well twitched slightly away from the approaching stallion, then relaxed slowly. “If you think it would be appreciated. It may just anger you.”

“I have learned how to channel anger,” the Black Knight said. “I can make it productive. Please, do tell.”

Mare-Do-Well nodded slowly and started to pace around by the rock. “I was born on the Veldt. But my parents moved to Equestria when I was young, one of the border towns. I grew up Equestrian, but with a strong connection to the nation of my birth. I did, as you say, enjoy reading when I wasn't focused on my chemical and thaumatochemical studies.

“I dreamed of the usual zebra dream. A professional job as a chemist of some variety, making important compounds or developing new things for industry and home use. A bright future. Then it happened. I went to bed one night in an ordinary college, and woke up in Tartarus.

“The males had gone insane, though a small contingent, mostly magical engineers and similar, held their sanity. Many women were captured and brutally abused. I didn't think I'd be one of them, but as the engineers tried to flee we were all caught by... them. The caribou. The northmen. The monsters.

“A few of the unchanged men did manage to escape. A few others were killed trying to resist. The rest were taken away. I've heard rumors of what happened but I don't want to believe such a thing could be real...” A sob caught in her throat and she sniffed before continuing.

“All the women caught fleeing were sexually assaulted and physically brutalized. For days... we... we... well, we both know what it entails. After they were done some of them had agreed to serve just to make it stop. I refused like some others. They took up along through destroyed countryside towards what was promised to be a processing camp for the resisting.

“I feel guilty about what I did. I should have stopped myself. I could have done more...” Mare-Do-Well said with trembling breath.

“You leave behind some because it is inevitable that fate will conspire to make it so,” the Black Knight said, with a hushed tone. “The regrets are quick to come and slow to fade. But reality is what reality is. Sometimes there are greater concerns. You had the chance and nothing you could do could have saved them all.”

Mare-Do-Well nodded sadly to the Black Knight. “I imagine you have had to see many of those sad situations.” She sucked in a breath and went on. “I took refuge in a demolished village. I hid in a store selling party supplies. Only one of the searchers ever came close, a straggler who continued after the others had given up. He stood right next to the counter, and nearly looked down at me. I rammed a broken-off broom through his throat and stuffed his body securely away.

“There were lots of costumes in the shop, and I needed clothes. I almost say it was some kind of fate that let me find one costume package in perfect shape. An adult Mysterious Mare-Do-Well outfit, with fake horn, fake wings and all the trappings. The stallion I had killed had a sword he didn't need, so I added it to the attire. Zivante the escaped slave went into that shop. But I made sure the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well came out.

“You know what happened after that. Death and destruction. I raided the village for any supplies they had missed and all the materials I could turn into useful compounds. I gathered up a stock of food and compounds and went out to kill. I bathed the blade in the blood of my captors. They had already delivered my compatriots to a well-guarded facility, but they were alone, and fell to poison gas and cuts of the sword. From there...” Mare-Do-Well shrugged. “I lost count.”

“As you can imagine, the idiot caribou don't keep good records. But the estimates are impressive. Just what drives that kind of rage?” The Black Knight asked.

“I had two nations, once,” Mare-Do-Well said, with a wistful sadness. Her fists clenched tight and she trembled a little. “Now I have none. This great land that I grew up in is ruined. The land of my birth is a wasteland as well, ruled by a collaborationist cabal of traitors sending their own citizens to abuse, violation and death.”

The Black Knight smiled. “You do have a strong connection to the world that was, as do we all. But it's a dangerous path you walk. They won't be satisfied with just taking you to a facility. They'll do worse to you than you can imagine.”

“The world that was was good to me,” Mare-Do-Well said. “The civilization. The states, Veldt and Equestria, both nurtured and protected me and my family. We owed them everything. Now that they gone we owe only loyalty to what used to be. Maybe we can get it back.”

The Black Knight's ear twitched, and he smiled more broadly. “The rebellion needs you. The underground is in desperate need of your like. You already kill and save. Come do it with a purpose in your heart and information behind you, and a support network to catch you if you start to fall. We're not a whole nation yet. But we have the governments in exile. If you still retain loyalty they're there to appreciate it.”

“The ministers... survived?” Mare-Do-Well asked in shock.

“Almost all of them were rescued from the capital city before it fell to the traitors. The bulk of the legitimate government and a decent cadre of the elite askari came with them. They are now securely settled in a secret and fortified location along with the remnants of other governments,” the Black Knight said, with some measure of pride.

Mare-Do-Well went silent for a moment, then nodded and stood at attention. “Then I will join you. Do you need me to relinquish this attire?”

“No, keep it. Wear it with pride. Carry the name as long as this fight lasts,” the Black Knight insisted. “We fight a war of words since our numbers pale before the new order. Propaganda is paramount. Symbols are precious and necessary. And you, a hero of the old world, are one of the most precious of all.”

“Thank you. Where do we go from here?” Mare-Do-Well asked.

“Well first, we finish your usual and depopulate this bivouac and release the slaves,” the Black Knight said with a casual ease. “After that I will lead you to the underground.” He whipped his silver-bladed knife from his waist and gave it a spin while he smiled. “Ready?”

Mare-Do-Well smoothly unsheathed her sword and gave a few graceful, easy swings. “Always.”

The underground was aptly named. Though they did extensive aboveground work the Stag King still had access to a few airships and had plenty of traitorous pegasi to serve as evil eyes in the sky.

The Diamond Dog tunnels had been aggressively redesigned when the schism hit. The government and loyalists had collapsed as many passages as possible and fled with the other refugees to places that the collaborators had abandoned. The collaborators chose to hole up around conquered Canterlot and only left to work at the behest of the new order.

The remaining tunnels had been fixed up, in order to make it easier for non-Dogs to get around in them. More living and work spaces had been added. Important equipment had been brought in and placed in easily accessible areas for quick moves. Space had been set aside for the governments in exile, Veldt and United Colony, as well as a kind of makeshift embassy for griffins. The High King had retroactively granted all expatriates living outside of the Kingdom dual citizenship, making a diplomatic space especially important.

The Black Knight had his own passages for coming and going, as well as private spaces for planning, contemplation and practice. He led Mare-Do-Well through those and to a cleverly hidden room.

The space was carved out in a large hexagon, with the door opening in one corner. The walls, floor and ceiling had been dressed and polished to the peak of Dog art. Further, professional artists had been called in to reproduce the famous stained glass windows of Canterlot in paint, though the bodies of the prior Element bearers had been blotted out. In the center was a pedestal with three figures on it. Princess Celestia, Princess Luna and the Arch-Magus. The three looked out towards three different corners, able to regard the contents of the walls.

In the center of each wall stood an alcove, elaborately carved and decorated with trappings representing what it held. Each one had one of the six Elements of Harmony, in sphere form, with the name elaborately carved into the alcove.

“It was true. You raided the heart of the evil one himself and stole these precious gifts,” Mare-Do-Well said.

“Symbols,” the Black Knight said softly, looking at the alcoves with a sort of hushed reverence. “We need symbols to bring this fight. Of paramount importance is that the folk know that the old world really can rise from the ashes of the old. Thus, we maintain connections to the old world however we can.”

“I see. And you wish for me to be a symbol as powerful?” Mare-Do-Well asked.

“In a sense. You see, through a circuitous path I need not disclose, I was once acquainted with the previous bearers of the Elements of Harmony. I knew them before...” the Black Knight faltered, voice catching in his throat, though he did his best not to look and sound affected. “I knew them.”

“And I'm certain you knew how powerful they were. With these as a reminder of what power Harmony could hold the rebellion would have much success, I would think,” Mare-Do-Well noted.

“It's much more than that. Very much more,” the Black Knight said, strolling over to stand before Luna's statue and look where she looked. “The three statues gaze on the elements I think suited them most closely. Her Majesty Princess Celestia, Kindness and Laughter. Her b- Majesty Princess Luna, Loyalty and Generosity. His Honor The Arch-Magus of Canterlot and Equestria, Honesty and Magic.”

“You want so many connections,” Mare-Do-Well mused, stroking her costumed chin. “To remember the past through the Element names and their connection to those who came before. I heard of the Arch-Magus through the ones I killed. I think I would have liked to have known him.”

“He was a fine teacher, and wonderful citizen of Equestria,” the Black Knight said with a nostalgic tone. "But they are not here to represent those elements. However, others might.”

“Just what do you mean?” Mare-Do-Well asked, glancing aside at the Black Knight.

“I mean what I said. To have them in this form is to have the power of a memory. But memories fade. However strong the symbolism they are not of much active use to the rebellion. And I must leverage all we have to succeed in this endeavor. We cannot have static symbols with no use except as things to see. Especially since none but I and those I choose can come here to see them,” the Black Knight said.

“Are you implying..?” Mare-Do-Well asked with some disbelief. “No, impossible. The bearers...”

“Were only the most recent,” the Black Knight completed. “Their Majesties held them before. The Elements do not belong to any one figure. They are passed to those who embody the elements, and who will use them proudly to protect and defend the nation.”

“You seek new bearers...” Mare-Do-Well said, then stopped as she considered. “Me? But I am a zebra! Aren't these Elements a pony creation?”

“Harmony knows no species and no border,” the Black Knight said, slowly leading Mare-Do-Well down the path of Luna's gaze. “The one best suited to bearing it will be given the chance. The Elements choose.”

“Do they tell you who they choose or are you just guessing?” Mare-Do-Well asked, her goggled gaze moving between Loyalty and Generosity.

“I don't know if they speak or not,” the Black Knight said softly. “But even though they're sleeping, I know they're there. They're just waiting for the right bearer to awaken them. The thing is... there could be a lot of bearers. There may not be one perfect representative of, say, Generosity, or Laughter. There may be many. But one will arrive because the Elements' call is not equally heard, but it must reach out when necessary.”

Mare-Do-Well looked with trepidation on the two still and silent stone spheres. “But, me?”

“You said what I needed to hear to know what you are. You come to the aid of women, unafraid of the consequences, thinking only of the good of others. You are connected to your learning, as well as the liberty of others. You faithfully cling to the ideals of Equestria and the Veldt, and to your righteous indignation towards the evil caribou. You exude dedication to the causes and ideals that have informed your life before and after the fall. Taking up the identity of the Mare-Do-Well just proved it,” the Black Knight said, with some reverence. “So, let's see if I guessed right. Touch the sphere of Loyalty and see what comes of it.”

Mare-Do-Well hesitated for a moment, her face unreadable but her bearing uncertain. She slowly reached forward and placed her fingertips gently on the quiet lump of stone.

A bright light surged around her, and she held her other arm in front of her face, while her trembling fingers remained pressed to the sphere. The stone broke apart into several gem shards, which floated slowly around Mare-Do-Well's throat. The circling gems came closer and closer, whispering past the hairs standing on her neck before flashing again, brighter, and pressing in against her.

The fading light revealed Mare-Do-Well with her hand outstretched and touching nothing. Around her neck rested an elaborate gold necklace, ending in what looked like black and white alabaster in layers, in the generic shape of a sword with a surface like a cut gemstone.

Mare-Do-Well slowly touched the necklace with her gloved hand, panting softly. A tear worked its way from under the goggles and ran down her masked cheek. “An Element... an Element lives again. Stands against the cruel caribou.”

“And a bearer rises,” the Black Knight said. His normally unflappable expression was filled with awe and wonder, and his voice was even more reverent than before. “I was right about you. And now, we are one step closer to that old world.”

“I remember. I remember everything...” Mare-Do-Well whispered, gripping the sword pendant portion of the necklace. “What freedom felt like, what happiness was, a good college education, dorm food, friends, and liberty from fear.”

The Black Knight regained his composure and slowly took a deep breath. “Come back to the main part of the facility. There are more preparations than you can imagine that must be set into motion.”

“I understand,” Mare-Do-Well said, slowly reaching up for her mask. “Shall I take this away and become Zivante again?”

The Black Knight shook his head. “Leave it. I told you, we need symbols. Powerful symbols. You are the Mysterious Mare-Do-Well now. You are something that cannot die. An ideal, a representative of strength and protection. And also an Element of Harmony. If you wish to be known, be known separately, to keep hope alive. I once saw a line that I carry with me. 'Even if you break their hearts, you should never take away their dreams.'”

Mare-Do-Well stroked the sword-shaped pendant again, and nodded slowly. “In this world of ugliness, darkness and dread we all need dreams to carry us through. In dreams we can see the old world once more. And with a goal, we may work.”

The Black Knight motioned to the exit once more. “Then let us dream our dreams and work to make them true. One Element reborn, and five more are yet to come.”

Author's Note

The situation- In a small sense, Zivante could be said to be like the Antonio Banderas Zorro, who took up the identity from the aging original. Masked heroes have that advantage. However, much more broadly the idea came from a DC Elseworlds comic, Batman: The Golden Streets of Gotham. The Elseworlds series was AU versions of popular characters done in the style of Penny Dreadfuls and the like, for example there was a Dr. Moreau version of the Justice League. But I digress. “Golden Streets Gotham” was set in the gilded age of robber barons and merciless exploitation. Bruce Vanekow was the son of Eastern European immigrants who made his fortune out west. He came home to Gotham to find his parents had died in an industrial fire, after the boss had chained the doors shut (and yes, that actually did happen.) He wants to stick it to the bosses so he decides to steal from them and use the money to help the poor. On his first burglary he find a costume someone had worn to a party (Looks like it was meant to be from the opera Die Fledermaus, The Bat.) From there he becomes The Bat, encounters the Union leader The Cat, and tracks down a killer who dresses like a clown and is barking mad (he was the watchman from the factory who barely escaped alive and watched all the people burn to death.) Anyhow, I liked the idea of an ordinary person finding a costume and assuming the persona of the hero it represents. It's very in the vein of Euripides, ordinary folk thrown into extraordinary situations.

The Line- That line is actually from a comic I dearly love. Castle Waiting by Linda Medley. The line is spoken by Rackham Adjutant (and no, I gave the name Racham to the protagonist in “The Proscenium Arch” not because of that, but because Bronystories suggested it; however, it resonated with me because I like this character so much.) He has just deflected the puppy love affections of a girl, but also supported her vision of Castle Waiting, even though it is not strictly real.