Hindsight

Chapters

The Rumor
The March
The Purpose
The Stranger
The Train
The Report

The Rumor

It had started as a good day, a quiet day, a normal day, Brighteyes thought to himself.

The morning had been a very pleasant one, he had set his alarm clock earlier than usual without worrying about waking up his sweet Scramble Patch, and also had stretched while still lying in bed. As much as he loved his wife, the small pinto mare had the miraculous ability of taking up the lion's share of the bed while she was asleep, a behavior that even the thought of would mortify her in a waking state.

With the extra time, he had been able to update his To-Do lists and check some points, such as cleaning the sales area of his eyewear shop below the apartment, including the gargantuan round bay store window that was the reason his fine little business was only known as The Glass House.

He had even managed to scrub the drinking trough and some of the pigeonholes in his dovecote in the attic floor. With almost all of his prized birds being present today - his friend Peafowl had declared it unnecessary to take a whole flock of messenger pigeons on a three-day business trip, especially one to a civilised area like Manehattan -, the act of cleaning the colombier and himself afterwards had not been an easy task.

But this was Canterlot, and one hair out of place in his blonde mane and pearly white coat could ruin his good reputation with the members of the nobility and high society, so a routine of thorough grooming before opening the store was mandatory.

Hurrying through the streets in a frantic search for answers about life and death of his loved ones however was not part of a good, quiet and normal day, at least not in Brighteyes’ book.

It had been foolish to assume that today would be anything but eventful with what was considered one of the most important trials in the history of Equestria going on at Canterlot Castle. All because of some low scum of a reporter that had published horrendous lies about the young suitor of the Royal Pony Sisters, the pegasus guard known as Gosling. The newspaper and its owner Mister Mariner had been about to face consequences by the hooves of Prince Shining Armor and Prince Blueblood.

As if two unicorns as judges instead of an alicorn was not strange enough, the particular choice of Prince Blueblood seemed even stranger. He was the Lord Mayor of Canterlot, a respected member of society, but all one ever heard Blueblood to do was complain and be unpleasant. Brighteyes on the other side was just a little gentry unicorn, somepony like him had no right to question the decisions of the crown.

But, something seemed to have gone wrong. The participants of the trial and the journalists had been escorted from the castle and since then, it had been very quiet around its walls. If that wasn’t enough, the crown had scheduled a public announcement in an hour. It had only been the first day of the big and complex trial, it was impossible that they had already proceeded to final judgement.

Nopony knew what had happened in detail, only rumors were flocking through the city. That there had been a riot within the court room. That there were changelings on the loose in Canterlot. That the equalists, the radical group that wished to overthrow the princesses, had something to do with this.

That there had been a fight, even an attempt to assassinate one of the Royal Sisters. Some said that the target had been Princess Celestia, others claimed to know that it was Princess Luna who had fend off the attacker. Nopony had seen Mister Mariner exit with the others, so there were countless stories about him, some with him as a victim and some that painted him as the villain.

At first, he had ignored these ramblings. While all of this sounded troubling, these were only speculations, and many ponies in Canterlot had a wild and vivid imagination, and some of them had an even wilder craving for recognition. This was a city of artistry after all. Most of them had enough material and inspiration just from the normal oddities that Canterlot presented them though and did not make up such tasteless horror stories just to gain attention.

He had remained behind his counter, safe from all the gossip behind the polished wooden rampart, and sorted this afternoon’s mail to calm his nerves, into six neat stacks like always, one for business mail and one for private mail of each of this address’ inhabitants. What was he to do about the situation anyway, put a pair of lenses on it?

The last letter however had had a frustrating lack of indicators on its purpose. It had been one for Peafowl, of course, but instead of a return address, it only had featured a symbol of a dark magenta paint blot with the silhouette of a butterfly cut out from it. Not a company emblem as far as he knew.

There had been a few letters like this before, and after some internal debate, he had placed them on the stack for private mail. Peafowl had not complained about it, and the pegasus was never shy or short of criticism. On the other side, neither did he appreciate the art that was proper scheduling.

What had driven Brighteyes into the streets to listen to the announcement was the rumor that the major cities of Equestria were experiencing a crisis, and that Manehattan had been hit worst. Some even claimed that the telegraph had gone dead.

One of the owners of the neighboring tearoom, an earth pony by the name of Tiffin Treat, who was a bit of a chatterbox but very reliable, had brought this news instead of his usual cup of tea and run off to find out if her friends in Las Pegasus were alright.

Now he too had closed his shop for the time being, not without leaving an appropriate message of course, and was navigating through the alleys and passageways of Canterlot to avoid the crowded main streets.

Most of these paths weren’t very pretty, they were narrow, they were shady, and sometimes even neglected, nothing a tourist would want to see. Nothing a tourist should ever see for that matter, Canterlot had an image to uphold after all. But, they were a byproduct of a city that had been built on the side of a mountain and that had no space to waste, but at the same time wanted its main streets to be broad for the tourists to admire and the nobles to parade.

Brighteyes stopped when he stepped out of an alley into one of these streets. Right ahead of him lay one of the many telegraph offices of Canterlot. He felt his blood run cold as he surveyed the crowd that had formed in front of the building. The ponies seemed neither calm nor happy, and the office’s staff seemed not eager to let any of them in.

So it was true. The telegraph had gone dead, just like Tiffin had said.

This meant that ponies were not exaggerating. That Equestria in fact was in a state of crisis.

That Manehattan lay in anarchy, and his wife and his friend were in the middle of it.

Author's Note

Might be edited slightly in the future. So far, I'm quite content how it came out.

Please be harsh. I haven't written in some time and I want to improve.

The March

Night was falling as Brighteyes made his way through the narrow passages of Canterlot towards the meeting point. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna seemed to be able to perform their duties to the heavens even during the worst sort of situations.

Which was why the nobles, the gentry and citizens of Canterlot had organized a candle-lit march to the castle at short notice to show the princesses their sympathy and offer aid. How this aid was supposed to look nopony had mentioned. If it was of any magical nature, Brighteyes was not going to be of any help. He knew his spells, but he was nothing out of the ordinary, even if his family would have liked it otherwise.

Packed in a navy wool overcoat and equipped with a low grey top hat that matched the gradience of his legs, he moved behind the Treat siblings, who both were sporting cloak-like patterned shawls that they had wrapped around their bodies.

Tiffin seemed to have recovered from her earlier dejection, and she held a whispered conversation with her brother. Several small faint green spheres of light circled Tea’s horn to illuminate their way without disturbing anypony who had gone to bed already. From time to time, one or two danced ahead into the dark niches and corners that their path held, only to return to their orbit again.

Brighteyes had no intention of talking to any of them. Tiffin’s sudden raise in spirit annoyed him to no end, though he was not sure why. He had wanted to shut the door on her the entire time of their conversation before. He would not even have been here if there hadn’t been the mention of Fancy Pants’ involvement in this plan.

He owed the older stallion a lot. Ever since Fancy Pants had started commissioning monocles or bringing some for repair once in awhile, other members of the highest heights of high society were flocking into his store as well. Where Fancy Pants went, all of Canterlot went.

The burning frustration inside of him had not faded yet, and his thoughts kept circling around the secrecy that was only making things more difficult. You just weren’t worth anything nowadays if you weren’t part of some silly society that toasted to themselves all day and night.

He himself was in some gentlecolts’ club, but it was rare that he visited. He had a business to lead and a household to maintain after all. Something that he was perfectly capable of all by himself. He didn’t need to hire anypony for anything, thank you very much, Scramble Patch. Instead of letting out the angry snort that had been building up in his chest, he controlled himself and exhaled through his mouth in a slow and calming manner.

Occupied with his thoughts, he did not notice that the group had arrived at its destination, a small plaza not far from Canterlot Carousel. Tea and Tiffin had stopped, and Brighteyes, not paying full attention, bumped into both of them. After murmuring a short apology, he surveyed the others that had arrived before them. Fancy Pants, a few other famous ponies, acquaintances and relatives were in the crowd, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk to any of them. He buried his muzzle deep in his scarf and hoped nopony would come over.

Everypony was already holding burning candles, and Tea went off to get them some as well. Alone with Tiffin, he was not sure what to do. Was conversation necessary now that her brother had left? Or inappropriate? His etiquette lessons seemed to be erased out of his mind all of a sudden. But making somepony, especially a lady, feel unappreciated was always a social fauxpas.

Unlike his wife though, he was awful at small talk, and he did not know Tiffin enough for a substantial conversation. She was a cook and baker, she kept her dark mane in braided up-dos, she drank coffee instead of tea and… she had a brother named Tea Treat who was a unicorn. Very impressive, you twat, he thought to himself.

The decision was taken from him when Tiffin started to speak. “My dear big brother told me not to mention it to you, but he’s not the boss of me, so… Sorry about Patch.”

“Err… Thank you.” Brighteyes’ ears grew hot with shame. Tiffin was being considerate, and now he felt awful about his thoughts of slamming the door into her face earlier. About his desire for bloody vengeance against the culprits of the situation. About every angry thought against his wife and friend. What was wrong with him? None of this was an excuse to be rude or violent.

Determined to be civil and not let the conversation die, he collected himself and continued with the first thing that came to his mind. “So… Baking. Does it get hot in the kitchen when you…” Realizing what he was saying, and that some words meant multiple things, he stopped and stiffened.

Tiffin only blinked at him. Oh stars, this was worse than the time he had tried to flirt with Scramble Patch during their Canterlot Academy years. He had been the laughing stock of the locker row for a whole month. And he was a respectable adult now, not some stupid teenaged colt. His etiquette teacher would turn in his grave. If the old bat would have been dead, that was.

After what felt like an eternity, Tiffin started to giggle. “Haven’t heard this one in a while.” She let out a content sigh, at least Brighteyes hoped it was contentment, and stretched her front legs. “You’re funnier than I thought.”

“Yes. Funny. That I am.” He chuckled, a nervous chuckle if there was one. If he had said something like that during a lesson, his etiquette teacher Herr Knicke would have gotten out the ruler, the extra hard one, and then sent him home with an exquisitely worded letter of complaint to his parents.

Tiffin was about to reply, but her ears perked backwards and she turned her head to look over her shoulder.

“I must say, I have never thought of such a combination. Quite elaborate, Mister Treat.” Brighteyes’ ears too swiveled back to catch Fancy Pants’ voice before he bent his neck to look at the ponies that were approaching.

“Thank you, sir.” Tea Treat, holding three burning candles in his telekinesis, one of them in a candleholder, bowed his head to the older stallion as he talked. “Sir, this is my dear sister, Tiffin Treat. And I believe you already know Mister Brighteyes?”

“Yes, yes, thank you. Good evening, Miss Treat. How do you do?” Fancy Pants nodded to Tiffin, who answered with a friendly smile and a lax salute. Fancy Pants chuckled in turn. “A mare of few words, I take it?”

“A mare of deeds.” Tiffin smiled an innocent smile and batted her eyelashes.

Tea Treat, who was standing between the two, looked quite pale all of a sudden and levitated the candleholder nearer towards his sister, who would have to hold said object in her mouth conveniently enough.

Tiffin, noticing this, in turn only rolled her eyes.

Fancy Pants, who seemed to take all of this with humor, chuckled once more and addressed Brighteyes. “And young Master Brighteyes. So glad you could join us. It has been a while”, he greeted, pulling out a small monocle from a pocket of his smoking jacket and put it into its place in front of his left eye.

Brighteyes smiled. It had been a special commission, gold-filled frame with a gallery that, to his pride, was fitted to the millimeter and was as stable as it was ornamental. The lense, +3,00 diopters, he had ground and cut himself from special shatterproof mineral glass for a high refractive index that in turn allowed the vision aid to be as light and delicate as it was. It was also quite resistant to scratches, as Fancy Pants was often seen polishing his monocle as part of a gesture. Brighteyes did not rely on enchantments like other unicorn opticians, all it took was accuracy and solid skill.

“Indeed. I have to thank you again for your trust in my humble abilities, sir.” Brighteyes bowed his head and adjusted his hat and his glasses.

“Nonsense. I say, you are quite the meticulous fellow, just what we need in these times.”

Brighteyes, confused as to what Fancy Pants meant, hesitated with his answer. He was too afraid to ask, as he didn’t wish to look like an imbecile in front of his benefactor.

Before he could even reconsider, Fancy Pants spoke again. “Ah, we are almost complete as it seems. I say, we need to get going. One does not keep the grand old dame waiting, even if she doesn’t expect you.”

Brighteyes, even more confused and somewhat shocked that somepony in fact had called Princess Celestia ‘old’ in public, nodded, took one of the candles from Tea Treat’s green telekinetic field into his own light blue one and prepared himself for the parade to the castle.

The future Prince Gosling was really something else.

It hadn’t looked like their undertaking would pay off at first. Not the princesses, not the princes, but four other ponies had arrived at the castle gates to receive them. They were an interesting bunch, that was for sure. One, an earth pony that Brighteyes now knew was named Seville Orange, had snapped photos of their candlelit display and blinded those who dared to look in his direction with the flash of his camera. A quiet colossal draconic pegasus, Hush, and a loudmouthed red pegasus, Hotspur, both members of the night patrol, had flanked the stallion who was to be not only Princess Celestia’s husband, but by olden law Princess Luna’s as well.

Private Gosling was taller and more muscular than in most pictures that Brighteyes had seen in the papers. And he really did have a bright yellow rubber ducky for a cutie mark, how peculiar. But, the Canterlotians were right when they called him a pretty pony, and the Broncs pegasus had endeared himself to the crowd in only a few minutes.

He had also shocked them with the message that all this rabble, this sabotage of one wicked parvenu and his muckrakers had left Princess Celestia in a terrible state and even driven her to thoughts of abdication. Never in the whole wide world and the stars above had Brighteyes thought that the situation was so dire. The princess was the rock of the nation, the Sun Supreme, always calm, always collected, a literal shining example for the citizens of Canterlot.

This cursed day had turned everything topsy-turvy.

On top, the future prince proposed something quite peculiar to their representative Fancy Pants. He did not need fighters, not soldiers or battlemages, but administrators. Planners. Hard workers.

This.

Participating, doing one’s part not by brawl and violence, but one’s wit and sense of order, it sounded almost too good to be true.

Brighteyes could feel all frustration, all anger fading from him, leaving only a feeling of grim determination. Somepony had wounded his princess, and now he had the chance to help. Planning, scheduling, arranging, that was what he did all day, it was easy. At last, somepony seemed to recognize the effort that went into carefully arranged timetables and business plans. And he worked long hours into the night and got up early the next day on a regular basis. This was not going to be a problem, not at all.

He had always dreamed of working for the crown. Everypony in Canterlot craved for a chance to be of use for the princesses. And, from a business point of view, being a purveyor to the court gave one an especial amount of prestige and publicity. But, Princess Celestia’s favourite telescope maker Starry Eyed had no intention of retiring, neither did Mister Rimway, Royal Warrant Holder for everything else refractive. The ancient earth pony had to be almost as old as the princess herself.

He felt his spirits rising as the group strutted their way through the castle gates. Somepony had even produced a flag, a white banner that prided itself with their future prince and commander’s cutie mark, the iconic rubber ducky.

Author's Note

Ah, dialogue. My old bane.

The Purpose

Brighteyes felt just awful.

His mane clung to his neck, heavy with sweat, and everything from the tip of his horn to his hind hooves ached, even muscles and organs he had not known he had. He took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his fetlock. It was not that the work was difficult, quite the contrary and he enjoyed it, but the duration was gnawing on his concentration.

The final hours of darkness were passing in a rapid fashion, and he had drunken more coffee during this night than in his entire life before. It made him tremulous, and his telekinesis had obtained an unhealthy jitter to it. Right now, he was waiting for a new batch of messages to be finished, which he then was going to sort by location, importance and length to pass to the ponies writing the tiny notes that were going to be attached to carrier pigeons.

Many of the longer commands required to be written in normal size and then shrunken down with magic, only the most important ones though, since there was still much work left and the unicorns’ magic was a precious good that was not to be wasted on the more trivial notes. Others might need special paper and enchantments to protect them and the birds against the forces of nature. He was the runner, or rather strutter – this still was Canterlot - of the group that dealt with Baltimare, and in its current disassembled state it was not guaranteed that weather schedules were kept. The risk of wild thunderstorms was quite high.

Beside him, Tea Treat was weaving several spells of aversion, protection and enhancement into one that they would be needing soon while he sipped a cup of Celestial Glory tea. It had been quite surprising to find out that the quiet pony with the tea glass cutie mark had been educated at one of the best schools of magic that the Grittish Isles had to offer. Remembering Tea’s light orbs from earlier though, it seemed plausible. He had picked up on the intricacies of carrier pigeon enchanting in a trice.

Brighteyes, while not as magical as his neighbor and only taught in the magic of his craft and status, had long years of practice on the subject, and prided himself that every pigeon he had ever sent had reached its destination in tip top shape. Most of the times, this destination were his wife and his friend when they were roaming the wilderness of Equestria.

Attempting to ease the aches in his body, he rose to his shaky hooves, stretched and began pacing up and down a small adjacent hallway to prepare his muscles for another round of fast strutting. The castle was even larger than it looked from the outside, and he had only been in a tiny part of it.

He saw Tiffin prance by with trays of coffee and light tidbits balanced on her head and back in practiced perfection, doing what she did best – keeping the hard working ponies of Canterlot awake and well-fed. Within a few hours, the mare had taken over a kitchenette and whipped up batches of snacks that she promised would boost the mental facilities. With a professional smile and an impish gleam in her eyes she passed out cups of coffee to individuals that in everyday life would be offended into a boycott by even being reminded of the menu option of the black bean juice.

As he paced, he couldn’t keep his mind of the state of Manehattan. He had tried so hard to avoid any distraction, any thought of it. He had assigned the Treat Siblings and himself to a city they had no relation to so pesky feelings wouldn’t get in the way of effectivity. But there still were rumors about what was going on in detail. Some ponies just could not keep their mouths shut and focus on their work.

They said that Princess Luna prepared for leaving Canterlot for Manehattan soon. How they knew, he had no idea. But something terrible must have happened if the Night Lady herself wanted to get involved. Manehattan had no light, no heating and no social structure at the moment. There probably had been fights. Riots. Panic. And the two of the ponies closest to him were caught up in it.

It was not that they weren’t talented. He had seen Peafowl run – he was fast. And the pegasus had had to run often during their foal days, mostly from those that he had offended by being an obnoxious wisecracker.

Scramble Patch was in no way inferior. She had climbed most of the summits that Equestria offered and lived to tell the tale. When they were teenagers, a tour around the cliffs of the Canterhorn had been her morning walk. And what was Manehattan other than a collection of mountains made of brick and glass with ginormous streets that cut through them like ravines? He just hoped her senses weren’t thrown off by the material differences.

And she was not very gentle towards those who hurt the innocent. During the changeling attack of Canterlot, one of the invaders had made the mistake of stalking two little fillies. After a warning blow, Scramble Patch had ended the insect with one solid swing of her climbing axe and brought the little ones to safety.

Brighteyes had never told her, as she had been devastated about the quietus afterwards, but it had been one of the most arousing things he had ever witnessed. Even now, it sent the funniest feelings through his tired body, and he was glad that he wore a long frock coat. Full body blushes were quite the embarrassing affair when one had a white pelt.

Maybe he was never going to be able to tell her now. The thought of not seeing her again inflicted cold terror upon his mind. He would hire all of Canterlot, no, all of Equestria for his store if she just came home in one piece. Here he was, in safety, having fun sorting papers. She was probably hurt or worse, and there was nothing papers could do about it.

“Hey there, are you alright?” The voice behind him was warm and kind, and had just the faintest hint of a Broncs accent to it.

Brighteyes turned around, and his light blue eyes met the grey ones of future Prince Gosling. The tall pegasus stood before him in the perfect posture of a soldier, majestic, but not aloof. If he was tired, he was not showing it.

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I was stretching my legs while waiting for new material. I’ll be back to my post right away,” Brighteyes said as he snapped into a stiff pose and forced himself into a steady breathing. He had to look terrible right now, sweaty, disheveled and with a bright red face. He did not want the future prince to think of him as weak, or worse, lazy.

To his relief, future Prince Gosling nodded after a short while. “If there’s anything, just ask.” The storm grey pegasus turned to walk away and added, “You’re all doing great. The sun’s rising soon, just a little longer.”

“Yes, sir.” Brighteyes relaxed a little as he watched the other stallion depart for what had to be the way to the battlements. He found that he felt a little better. What was it about pretty pegasi that was both irritating and comforting? Peafowl and future Prince Gosling both. For a moment, he wondered what might happen if the two stallions met, but did not come to a conclusion.

He did not know much about the future prince, only what he had read in the papers. Private Gosling was what, fifteen years old? More than ten years younger than Brighteyes, and he was already commanding an army of scribes in a major crisis. He was not letting his feelings get the better of him.

And her. She was out there. She was putting her life on the line for others. She did not sit around sulking and feeling sorry for herself. She took action for those who could not. Find the lost and aid the helpless. Her sweet voice rang in his ears. His wife, the bravest, most caring and most wonderful pony he had met in his whole life.

His ears folded down in shame for a brief second. This was not him, this was not him at all. Sulking and quitting was never an option. Scramble Patch would not have cast him a second glance if so. Well, alright, she would have. She was friendly to everypony. But a second glance would have been all for sure.

Taking a deep breath, he brushed back his mane and returned to the hall they were working in to check on his own pigeons. Some of them did not take transportation or the enchantments very well, and the thought that an underperforming bird could be the last nail in Equestria’s coffin was just too absurd to be allowed to happen.

The sun already stood in its zenith when a royal chariot traversed the city of Canterlot. Its three passengers looked like they had partaken in excessive festivities, they were tense, they were disheveled, and they longed for nothing more than for their bedchambers.

The first, a white unicorn, was determined to keep his eyes open for his group. He sat there, stiff as a board and unmoving, processing the happenings of the last day and night with no outside emotion.

The second, a lime green unicorn, looked like he wanted to crawl into a deep dark hole and never come out again. He had repurposed his shawl to a hood to shield his bloodshot eyes from the bright midday sun. But despite all exhaustion and him struggling to keep an upright posture, a small smile could be spotted on his muzzle.

The third, a caramel earth pony, watched them with concern, but knew both of them were too stubborn to do anything but, so she decided to enjoy the ride and the warmth of the sun on her pelt. The view on the royal guards who were pulling the vehicle was quite nice from back there, too.

“Mister Treat?”

“Sir?”

“I was asking myself-“

“Why I’m a waiter, not a wizard?” the second one asked, his voice strained and quiet. A moment later, he coughed and added, “Excuse my interruption, sir.”

“It’s alright. And, err, yes.” The first one rubbed his left foreleg with his right hoof. “It wasn’t meant critical, I’m just curios.”

The second one sighed. “My teachers told me to be as versatile as possible. Swim in a few ponds, do not dive deep into one headfirst. I did, it sounded logical.”

The first one nodded. It did sound logical.

“But Equestria is a little different from the Isles. Most employers want specialized unicorns or a graduate from Princess Celestia’s school, at least from what I encountered. I did not find my niche, so to speak. So when my sister finished her education in Las Pegasus, I decided to follow my mark instead. But that was selfish.”

The first one nodded again. “The future prince is onto something, isn’t he? A civil service in addition to the guard?”

“Yes, sir. I would not fit in the guard, I think.”

“Me neither.” The first one smiled, not without sorrow.

“You’re both pansies, but I love you, comrades,” the third one chimed and laughed.

The first one chuckled, a weak, exhausted sound. “Call me Brighteyes, you two.”

“Sure.”

“I would like that, si- I mean, Brighteyes.”

While he searched his coat’s pockets for the key to his front door, Brighteyes watched the Treat Siblings retreat into the privacy of their tea room. Tiffin was still giggling, she probably had drunken too much coffee as well, and to his surprise, it filled him with deep worry. Was that brotherly concern? He didn’t have any siblings, he could not tell.

Comrades, Tiffin had said. Maybe that was it. Was this how the guards felt for their brothers and sisters in arms? He found that if so, he rather liked the concept of comradery. With his optician colleagues, he only competed. Everypony, even he himself, kept secrets to surpass the others, despite their shared duty.

Turning the located key in the lock, he entered his shop and closed the door behind him. Remaining in the middle of the sales area, he relaxed from his stiff posture and leaned against his counter as fatigue threatened to take over.

It was quiet in the house. And it bothered him. He liked it when it was quiet, but this was unnatural, oppressive even. He found that he missed the little sounds that the other residing ponies made more than he liked to admit. The rhythmic tapping of Patch’s hooves on the parquet upstairs or her sometimes slate singing. Peafowl’s frantic pacing in the attic when he was in one of his manias.

A numb, pressuring sensation creeped up his throat to his jawbone, and for a moment, he wanted nothing more than to be with the siblings in the tea room across the street.

He shook it all off. He just needed rest, and so did Tea and Tiffin. Brighteyes moved to the back rooms of his store with slow steps. He did not trust himself to climb the narrow staircase to the apartment in his addled state, so he crawled into the big cushioned armchair in which his customers took place in during a fitting. Curling up against the soft back, he sighed, closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing.

To no success, as he immediately discovered. Images of destruction and violence flashed through his mind. A Manehattan in ruins. Ponies were screaming and panicking. Death was everywhere. And a small bloodied pinto mare was sobbing over the broken body of a pegasus stallion, only to fall limp herself moments later.

His head jerked up in fright and he opened his eyes again. Shivering, he took a few deep breaths, but the pressure in his throat and jaw remained. He now recognized the sensation and clenched his teeth. He did not cry. He hadn’t cried in years.

What if all that could have been was lost forever? They had wanted a family, foals both adopted and biological, they had agreed on that even before their betrothal, but there had always been some hindrance. First he had wanted to establish his store, a steady income, not just rely on his family’s money.

Then she had become a ranger, travelling the wilds of Equestria, and joined forces with an old friend of theirs. Missions, campaigns and assignments had followed hoof. And he had kept... making excuses. That’s all his worries had been. Laughable, pathetic excuses.

He felt tears fill his eyes as he curled up once again.

Author's Note

I forgot to mention until now - Gosling belongs to kudzuhaiku of course.
Next chapter - Chekov's butterfly.

In my first draft, only Tiffin had a small part, that of telling the rumor. But, her and her brother crept up on me from behind and bribed me with tea and cookies. And ideas.

The Stranger

Taking a minute to process what he was seeing, Brighteyes blinked twice.

After a few hours of, thank Princess Luna, dreamless sleep and just when the waiting had threatened to become unbearable – and Brighteyes considered himself a very patient pony – Tiffin had rushed into his store, shouting that a friend of Peafowl had come to the tearoom and asked for him.

It wasn’t a stiff upper lipped one. Those that visited used his real name as a code, as almost nopony else did, and the stranger had asked for him as ‘Brighteyes’. Maybe he was a messenger? Not sure what to expect, he had taken his rapier with him.

Now he was standing in the middle of the Tea & Tiffin, the smell of wet pegasus mixed with incense and herbs strong in his nose. In front of him, laying on his back, was a stallion, an olive mountain of muscles, feathers and fur. Tiffin was nearby, smiling in defiance.

“Lady, I just-” the stallion began in a deep baritone voice.

“Quiet, creep!”

Brighteyes, deciding that asking would outdo any further observation, spoke up in the most cultured voice he could muster. “May I please know what has taken place here?”

“I woke up, and my brother was still sleeping, so I figured I’d make breakfast or dinner or whatever for us all, got started in the kitchen, and heard somepony enter. I thought t'was you, ‘cause the tearoom looks closed and we left the door open in case you needed something, but then I see him here lurking around, so I tackled him, he asked for you ‘bout something important, I told him I’d get you, but if he’d move one inch or if he was a spy or something, I’d buck his hide into next week,” Tiffin rattled.

“You’ve seen too many movies, lass.” The stallion let out a short laugh. “Evening. Brighteyes, right? Oleander Hawkmoth, travelling artist. Not a spy as far as I know.” He didn’t sound concerned about his position. His tone was chipper, and remained so when he addressed Tiffin. “Didn’t mean to spook you.”

“Spook me!? Aren’t we smug today.”

“You are not a messenger then," Brighteyes said, stating the obvious, disappointment and worry tainting his voice. What if he was some agent, or even a changeling? Other rumors had been true as well… The very thought made Brighteyes’ skin crawl.

“Nah, I was hoping for information myself. I was gonna meet Fow in Manehattan for lunch yesterday, but something got in the way. When I heard about the trouble there, I flew over from Cloudsdale. Just to let your fillyfriend ambush me,” Oleander explained. Brighteyes tried to place his accent, and failed.

“Let ambush!? I-”

Determined to not let things divulge into chaos, Brighteyes interrupted her. “Let’s not lose our heads and solve this like civilised equines. Tiffin, my dear friend, would you please get a towel for Mister Hawkmoth?”

“Milady’s unbound? Why, how fortunate,” Oleander said, mimicking Brighteyes’ Canterlot diction, making the latter’s ear twitch.

“Ugh!” Tiffin trotted off, her face scrunched up in revulsion. “Not in a hundred years, tramp!”

Oleander laughed and rolled over to get up from the floor. “Hey, beneath his natty clothes and science, Fow’s a tramp as well.” Now dwarfing Brighteyes, he shook himself, spraying water everywhere and grinned, revealing a row of white teeth that did not want to match his scruffy chin beard. “Sorry, weather’s been right crazy on the way.”

Brighteyes took a moment to answer. Though Patch had reassured him on the issue, the thought of wild weather and the stranger’s nonchalance about it irritated him - this whole pegasus was irritating. “I take it that with ‘Fow’ you mean Peafowl.”

“Yah. We’ve been on the road together.” Oleander’s grin became forced before it vanished. “He hasn’t been around much lately, and he’s acted distant when he was… I hoped he was here instead.”

It would not be untrue. Peafowl had the habit of hopping onto an airship that would take him and disappear for sometimes months without explanation. Patch never seemed too concerned, so Brighteyes had dismissed it as a pegasus thing.

“Prove it!” Returning from her quest, Tiffin tossed a large towel in Oleander’s direction and positioned herself beside Brighteyes.

“Prove?” Drying his garnet mane, Oleander’s face became thoughtful before he grinned again. Maybe it was a nervous habit for him. “I sent my letters here. I always put my mark on them.”

Unfurling his wings, he struck a pose to present his thigh. There it was, outlines fuzzy on his shaggy pelt - a blot of paint with a butterfly, or a moth, cut from it. “Fow said you do all the paperwork, you see the mail too, right?”

“I do.” All did match up – Brighteyes knew by heart that there was a gap in Peafowl’s schedule where a lunch meeting could have been yesterday. The letter had been a day late, but postal services weren’t always dependable. He decided that honesty was the best course of action. “But you could be an imposter.”

“You think I am one of these bugs?” Oleander blinked, only to burst into roaring laughter moments later. “The name gave it away, right?”

“I have to consider the possibility,” Brighteyes said, his voice icy. The pegasus’ response was most inappropriate.

When Oleander noticed that nopony had joined him, the laughter died in his throat and his flippant mien faded. “I-I don’t- I’m not-”

Before anypony could reply, his ears pinned against his skull, making Tiffin gasp and Brighteyes fumble for his weapon. “Fine, don’t help me! Don’t tell me if my best friend’s alive!” Instead of charging as Brighteyes had feared, the pegasus dropped his towel and began to make his way to the exit.

“He’s telling the truth.” Tea Treat’s voice cut through the room, stopping everypony in their tracks. The unicorn stood atop the staircase leading to the siblings’ chambers, undressed and disheveled.

Brighteyes’ ears drooped, and he felt his cheeks grow hot. A wizard would know. He glanced over to Oleander, who snorted in reply.

“Yeah, if a unicorn says it, it’s valid. Canterlot fancies, all the same,” he huffed.

The pegasus had a point. Had he been a more polished fellow, they might have believed him. Brighteyes hadn’t handled the situation like a gentlecolt, not at all like Fancy Pants or future Prince Gosling. His cheeks now burning, his mind raced for what to say.

“Sir, I-” Tea started to descend the stairs, only to stumble when he missed the first step.

Before Brighteyes could react, Oleander had darted forward and up the stairs, his agility impressive for his size, catching the unicorn on his back. “And they call earth ponies stubborn. Stupid unicorn,” he muttered as he climbed down again, taking one step at a time.

“Thanks, s-”

“Inventite veritatem! You could be dead! Stupid unicorn!” Oleander shouted, making Tea blink in surprise.

Tiffin, waking from her stupor, crept over to the stone staircase with shaking legs to help her brother off his rescuers’ back, avoiding both stallion’s gazes in process.

“Now if that’s all.” Oleander’s voice mellowed as he eyed Tea with concern.

“Please wait.” Summoning what nerve he had left, Brighteyes approached Oleander with a bow. “I thank you for saving my friend, and I apologize for my poor handling of the situation. I apologize for almost drawing a weapon against you. You suffer for the same reason we do, and I turn you away, just to be safe, not sorry.”

“We’re safe and sorry now,” Tiffin murmured.

Hearing what was either a huff or a chuckle, Brighteyes continued. “Let’s start over, Mister Hawkmoth, without games this time. I invite you to worry and eat with us. My treat, for all of you. In the meantime I’ll visit my dovecote and see if there’re tidings from Manehattan.” Looking up at Oleander, he found a face of indifference.

“Well, I can’t leave him alone with two amateurs, and it’s against my code to reject free food… Ah, shush, why not.”

“Good.” Brighteyes let out a nervous laugh. “I’ll be right back.”

Closing the door behind him, Brighteyes crept through the labyrinthic tearoom. The clattering of crockery filled the air, and he soon spotted his fellow sufferers near the kitchen. Tiffin trotted back and forth, hauling around several brimming bowls and platters, slowly filling their chosen table.

Oleander sat with Tea, guiding him with gentle gestures as the unicorn struggled to pour some sort of powder into a water glass without magic, and the thought of interrupting the tranquility didn’t sit well with Brighteyes. Maybe this pegasus wasn’t just irritating after all.

All sound died as the others turned their heads to look at him, hope and fear equally present on their faces when they spotted the string of paper afloat in his telekinesis.

Intimidated by the anxiety in the air, Brighteyes hesitated. How could he tell them something he had trouble believing himself? But, he had decoded the message three times to the same results. Clearing his throat, he pushed himself to speak. “They’re all alive.”

For seconds, it was so quiet that one could have heard a needle drop. Then, gasps of relief and joy filled the room, and Tiffin dropped a bowl of fruits to pull her brother into a hug.

Oleander, laughing, sank into his seat and smoothed back the strand of mane that covered his right eye, only to let it fall into place again.

Stuck in a state of joyous shock, Brighteyes managed a small smile as he watched his fellow ponies celebrate.

Releasing her brother, Tiffin trotted over and embraced Brighteyes as well. He struggled to breathe in her grip, but he didn’t mind. It was a reassurance that this was real.

Stepping back, Tiffin eyed the message with its little symbols. “A code?”

“Yes. To save space, mostly.” And for identification – it was a reversed version of the official telegraph coding they used for their pigeon post. “The Lady Patch writes that she is okay. Peafowl is injured, but recovering. Doctor Almond Treat and Doctor Majith Vishaghna are unharmed. And to her knowledge, there were no casualties in Las Pegasus,” Brighteyes reported, tripping over the Windian name.

Tiffin didn’t seem to mind, but before she could reply, a bell called her to the kitchen, leaving Brighteyes to seat himself at the table with the others.

Now closer, he noticed a red stain on Tea’s right pastern. Realizing what it was, his heart sank at the thought of his fellow unicorn’s self-inflicted bloodshed. “Tea, I’m-”

Tea shook his head with a weak smile and sipped his drink, holding the glass between his hooves.

Brighteyes was only somewhat reassured, but his aching stomach distracted him. He hadn’t eaten much today and now that stress faded, he felt it. He put pieces of scalloped bread, so called rarebits, onto his plate, longing for Tiffin to return so they could begin.

Oleander however just stared at his coffee cup, his feathers standing out from between his damp pelt. Whenever Peafowl’s plumage looked like this, he was stressed or irritated.

“Mister Hawkmoth, again, I-”

“Never mind,” the pegasus cut him off, “I’d be lying if I said that was the first time that that happened. Though last time, the mare was-”

“Nope!” Now it was Tiffin’s turn to interrupt. She added a plate of scones to the table and hopped onto a chair.

“Brute,” Oleander muttered.

“Numbskull”, Tiffin shot back.

“Silence,” Brighteyes said.

“Both of you,” Tea added.

“Snobs,” Oleander and Tiffin said in unison, causing Brighteyes to chuckle. Tiffin’s scowl faded away seconds later, but Oleander remained sullen.

Brighteyes, nibbling a rarebit, pondered how to approach the pegasus. If it wasn’t a grudge against them, maybe it was Peafowl’s injury. Maybe Oleander mourned his own absence from Manehattan. “It is better you weren’t there. One distraction less.”

Oleander shifted in his seat, but did not reply.

“And the Lady Patch is very compassionate. She might exaggerate her companion’s condition.”

“I’ve been a lousy friend lately.” Oleander sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I got angry when Fow did nothing but work on his science stuff. When some Cloudsdale fancy wanted me for his exhibition, I signed straightaway without remembering Manehattan, and then wrote that awful letter. While Fow was right to prepare after all.”

Brighteyes hummed in agreement. It wasn’t unusual for Peafowl to work for days on end. But, drunk Peafowl came to mind. Had he known about Manehattan? Brighteyes shoved the thought away and forced himself to focus upon the good. Nothing was over yet, everything could be clarified. “The letter was late. You may have it back if you wish to refine it.”

“You’d do that for me?” Oleander did nothing to hide his surprise.

“An undeliverable letter is to go back to the sender.”

Chortling, Oleander nodded before he took a large swig of coffee, clenching the cup rim between his teeth.

“Sir, may I-”

“Ask how a tramp pegasus knows fancy spells?” Oleander licked his lips and reclined, drawing everypony’s attention. “When a foalhood friend left home to learn magic, I tagged along for fun. Northern hamlets aren’t exactly epitomes of education and excitement. Boy, we were luckier than we were stupid. A wandering old unicorn mare took us in and taught us art and magic. Back then, I didn’t understand why she whipped it into my brain, but it’s been right good knowing what insanities unicorns get up to.” He nodded to Tea, who smiled with nostalgic delight.

“And you’ve been en route ever since?” It seemed so odd, to have no base, no haven. Brighteyes had spent his whole life in Canterlot, and planned to continue to do so. Most ponies did it. Even his wife and friend always came back here to rejoin civilization.

“Yah. More than half my life. About twenty years?” Aboat. A linguist would have a field day with the boasting pegasus. “My friend found a nice mare and settled down, I kept wanderin’. Fow and his pinto pal helped me out once.”

“Lady Patch.”

“You can drop the act, I know she’s your ladylove.”

“Wife,” Brighteyes corrected.

“Mazel tov. Didn’t know noble unicorns married earth ponies.”

Brighteyes stiffened. “My parents are both middle foals of their houses. I’m not likely to inherit anything, Patch is from a good family, so mine gave their consent.”

“Harsh.” Oleander grimaced, but soon recovered his mischievous smirk. “Why, if name is everything, an Oleander Tramontane Hawkmoth must be an équin extraordinaire.”

Feeling bold, Brighteyes quipped, “If length of name was most important, I’d rule Equestria.”

“Oh?” Tiffin leaned forward, pertness shimmering in her lilac eyes.

Knowing this had become inescapable, Brighteyes raised his nose heavenwards and scoffed in mock-arrogance. “Nothing! I said nothing! Pay it no heed, peasant!”

Tiffin, continuing the spiel, clutched her chest with a mock-gasp. “No way out, milord! Now you have to tell, or I’ll get my pitchfork!” she exclaimed, making Tea and Oleander chortle.

“A piercing argument. Alright, Brighteyes is a name after a semi-famous wizard ancestor. My real name is Gentian Escutcheon, and my full name is Gentian Beryllus Tabard Lares Brighteyes Escutcheon the Third.”

“The third?” Tiffin chuckled.

“It eludes me as well.” Simpering, Brighteyes remembered the last occasion he had needed his full name, his marriage certificate. Luckily, Canterlot registry office forms were designed for extravagances. The celebration had been intimate, with a big white earth mare, whose name for the life of him he could not remember, as Patch’s bridesmaid and Peafowl as both couturier and best stallion, who had later flirted with the mystery mare, then a minotaur waitress, and after one drink too many, a colourful pot plant.

“But I suppose Beryllus fits an optician,” Brighteyes said, returning to the here and now, “Peafowl told me the Germane word Brille for glasses comes from beryl.” Which in turn had been the source of Brighteyes’ family’s fortune, mined from within the depths of the Canterhorn.

“Been there, heard that. He always holds that lecture when gems and eyeglasses are in the same area.” Oleander smirked. “Why, milord seems to have a lady, a wizard, a wisecracking tailor, a cook who makes some fantastic coffee-” pausing, he gestured to Tiffin.

Hearing this, Tiffin puffed out her chest, left her seat to venture to a decorative glass filled with many green and a few lilac marbles and dropped a lilac one into it, making Tea smile and roll his eyes.

“-does he also need a court painter?” Oleander’s smirk turned into a deadpan expression at Brighteyes’ amused face. “Seriously, that exhibition’s just started. I don’t have a copper.”

Thinking back to apologies, clarifications and rectifications, Brighteyes smiled. “Indeed, there might be something. Do you have any experience in sign painting?”

Author's Note

Might need more editing, might have seen to much editing. Not even sure at this point. :derpytongue2:

Next chapter - homecoming.

The Train

Author's Note

Warning: Themes of queerness from here on out.
Since it is not everbody's cup of tea and there have been ruffled feathers on other Weedverse stories, I thought I'd mention. The resolve of the life-or-death-question has happened last chapter, so I think this is a fair point.

The Train

Pawing the wooden platform beneath him, Brighteyes glanced at his pocket watch. The eleven o’ clock train from Manehattan was running late, and it wasn’t disapproval he felt, but concern. He closed the watch, examining the silver lid and its rope and climbing axe engraving for stains or scratches before he slid it back under his coat.

Though Canterlot Station was bustling as always, it didn’t manage to distract Brighteyes from last week’s events. The inebriated joy and levity of the dinner-breakfast had dwindled soon after, leaving him in a hangover of worry and uncertainty, and it once again both disturbed and impressed him that life just went on.

In similar fashion, Patch’s latest telegram had featured a concerning lack of emotion, it had only revealed time and date of their arrival and the request to rent a cab. No information about the situation or their health status, nothing.

They had come home bruised before, but he feared the day one returned missing a limb or an eye. He was licensed to replace the latter and had done it before, but that had been strangers, not somepony close.

Shaking off the thought, he chided himself. His emotions had no matter in the regard.

He hadn’t had much time with his comrades either. Guilt-ridden, he had offered Tea a vacation in Ponyville, an idea the two others had supported. The successful persuasion had doubled Tiffin’s workload, and Oleander had departed for Cloudsdale to attend the exhibition the morning after their meeting.

At last, a whistle shrilled in the distance, and not much later, the corresponding train pulled into the station, flooding the rails with steam and making the ponies on the platform step back in respect of the pink marvel of technology. Brighteyes heaved a sigh of relief, his muzzle steaming like the locomotive’s chimney.

The carriage doors snapped open, releasing a herd of well-dressed ponies that rushed straight for the city, while more casual passengers took time to study their surroundings. Only when the crowd had dissolved, two lone figures stepped out of the rearmost carriage. They were clothed in black, asymmetrical cloaks, and the taller wore a large cavalier hat that obscured his face.

The smaller looked up, and her warm gray eyes met Brighteyes’. Despite the longing in her gaze, she didn’t leave her companion’s side, walking a step behind him to watch his every motion. With good reason, as he moved in a slow three-legged hobble, his swishing cloak revealing a foreleg plastered in white.

Heart pounding faster, Brighteyes trotted towards them with undignified hurry and came to a halt at a yard’s distance. As the two closed in, he could hear Peafowl ending what probably had been a long monologue.

“-maybe, but I tell you, the faster we get most of these clunky coal guzzlers substituted, the better.”

As soon as Peafowl had closed his mouth and stood still, Scramble Patch darted forward and flung her forelegs around Brighteyes’ neck for a long-awaited embrace, burying her muzzle in his mane. “Sorry for not writing more! There was so much going on!”

“No worries, dear.” Clutching her with one leg, he took in her scent of sage and rosemary, her fuzzy pelt, her gentle yet strong touch, all those little things that made him mad about her. He brought his muzzle behind her left ear and caressed the spot with his lips, causing Patch to melt in his grasp.

Only when Peafowl cleared his throat, the couple started to dissolve their embrace. Patch trotted off to retrieve their luggage, her white and brown face tinted red, while Brighteyes approached the pegasus. Memories of past arguments surfaced, trivial spats by the series, putting a lump in his throat. “I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but-”

Peafowl cut him off by pulling him close with his wing. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too.”

The early afternoon sun shone through the large window roof of the parlor, bringing light and warmth to the ponies who listened while they digested their extensive lunch. Not taking his eyes off Peafowl, Tea prepared an infusion of red fruits and roses, and his sister hang on the blue pegasus’ every word, nibbling a cookie as if in trance.

Brighteyes shared a big seat cushion with his wife, enjoying the sensation of her body heat as she snuggled up on him. She had been both surprised and pleased upon spotting the ornate Help Wanted sign in his store window and was now being very affectionate, making it difficult for him to concentrate on Peafowl’s monologue.

“-I thought I had lost them, but they cornered me at Central Station.” Head held high, Peafowl paused for effect, surveying his audience from atop the chaise-lounge. Even maneless, with a broken leg, a bruised wing and his face, neck and ears wrapped in gauze, the stallion retained an air of pride and poise that Brighteyes couldn’t help but envy. “My arsenal was fairly depleted at this point. I had no choice but to detonate my flying helmet and run.”

“Detonate?” Tiffin asked, crumbs dropping from her lips. “As in explode? Go boom?”

“I was not going to let them study my masterpiece in case- Egal. It’s an implosion, setting free a wave of smoke. And since I prefer not needing a hearing aid afterwards, it is constructed to not ‘go boom’. Distraction, not destruction,” Peafowl explained, his soft voice calm.

Tiffin rubbed her chin in thought. “You said you broke your leg when falling, but you’ve been near the ground all the time, and what about-”

“Sorry. My memory’s fragmented from a certain point, and the medication blurs it even more.” Peafowl waved his left wing in dismissal. “Enough of that. How has life been here?”

With an expression of utmost innocence, Tiffin cocked her head. “Not sure, but I think we’ve joined a gang. We even had an emblem.”

Before speaking up, Brighteyes glanced to his wife and Peafowl, and instead of concern, he saw curiosity in their eyes. “A pretty pegasus guard smuggled us into Canterlot Castle, and long story short, the place is now full of pigeon poop.”

It took the three others a second to put two and two together. Tea just rolled his eyes as he tried to hide a smile. Peafowl shook in silence, eager to not move his battered face, while Patch skipped laughter and went right to giggling and snorting. She hadn’t spoken much since he had picked them up from the train station, and it was relieving to see her omitted. It softened the tension that lay in the air, one that Brighteyes had difficulty understanding.

“So it is true. Le poussin en gris has wrapped Canterlot around his primaries.” Nodding, Peafowl took a sip from his cup. After denying any sort of appetite because of the morphine, Patch and Tiffin had convinced him to drink something that was more heavy cream than coffee so the already lean stallion wouldn’t vanish entirely.

Scramble Patch shifted, minding the countless nicks that covered her right side, and spoke up at last. “Fowly, did you leave the contracts in your saddlebag?” She nudged Brighteyes with her muzzle. “He’s made an amazing deal with Powder Pyxis.”

Perplexed by both the sudden change of topic and the information presented, Brighteyes lifted his hoof to adjust the glasses he wasn’t wearing. “She was rather low on your list.”

Not once taking his gaze off of Patch, Peafowl narrowed his eyes before closing them. “My informants told me that unlike others, Miss Pyxis treats her employees well.” He opened his eyes again and glanced around the room with a smile. “But what’s more important, welcome beyond the surface, everypony. Should you wish to venture deeper, I’ll assist you to the best of my abilities.”

“Assist?” Tea asked.

Peafowl’s smile became one of mischief. “Why heavy armor when a vest or robe protects you just as well? Mister Teapot’s plants make for the most fascinating fibres, under my able hooves that is. I can intertwine your materiel with your very being, and weave in death for those who take what’s not theirs.”

Shifting again, Scramble Patch frowned. “Fowly, please stop saying ‘death’ for it.”

The pegasus huffed. “One, heavy skin irritation just does not have the same ring to it, and two, it is a possibility.”

On the other side of the room, Tea Treat didn’t look concerned. No, to Brighteyes’ surprise, his fellow unicorn looked intrigued, fascinated even.

“What to do for you, Mister Treat?” Peafowl tilted his head and squinted his left eye as his mind drifted off to a place where only fabric and formulas existed. “A capelet, not too long, navy maybe or bordeaux with a pale gold hem, matching shoes-”

“Shoes?”

“Yes, Mister Greenhorn. In urban surroundings, broken glass is a dreadful enemy.” Peafowl unfurled his good wing and gestured to Patch’s marred side. “Glass.” He brushed over his bandaged nose with his primaries. “A unicorn attacking me with glass shards. I think he was trying to hit an artery or cut my throat. Somehow, he evaded my precognition long enough, I dodged late and… Well. He received a knife to a very private place in return.”

Brighteyes shifted his hind legs in horror, and he noticed Tea doing the same.

His eyes widening, Peafowl made a raspy sound that resembled a gasp. “That was shortly before Princess Luna arrived. I was playing lookout on a roof. He managed to hit me with a flame spell, a weak one, but my mane caught fire. To my shame, I panicked and fell instead of gliding down. From then on, everything’s a void with snippets of sounds and images.” The stallion sniffed and folded his wing again.

Silence spread over the parlor, and Brighteyes felt Patch press against him. Even he recognized that this wasn’t a moment of comfort, and that one question was looming. Brighteyes knew that Tea wouldn’t ask it. He was somewhat surprised that Tiffin hadn’t done so already, but thorns needed to be pulled out before the wound festered, even if the process hurt.

“Did you know all this would happen?” Brighteyes asked, looking Peafowl in the eye.

“No,” Scramble Patch answered right away.

Peafowl took a deep breath and let it out before he spoke. “No. Make no mistake, I was dead certain that Mariner would throw his weight and money around, that mangy son of a rabid wolpertinger, but not in this capitalistic terrorism. I suppose I was wrong for curbing my loathing for the true tyrants of Equestria.”

“Fowly…”

“But why live in the past. If he doesn’t have some ace up his sleeve, he’s dead anyway.” Peafowl’s acrid expression softened as he leaned into his cushions. “Now, Miss Treat, what do you think about a faux leather jacket and a jumpsuit, teal and black perhaps?”

Breath held, Brighteyes sneaked into the dark parlor, a bundle of letters held in his telekinesis. Since there was no bathroom in the attic, Peafowl was sound asleep on the chaise-lounge, a side table with everything he might need nearby. Worried that the hum of magic might wake his friend, Brighteyes ended it by placing the mail beside the bottles of drink and medicine.

Just when he turned to leave, having kept promise to Oleander, he heard a whimper, and it took him a second to realize it had come from Peafowl. The pegasus squirmed in his sleep, his good wing fluttering against his side, and the sight made Brighteyes’ heart sink. It couldn’t be from pain, he had followed the medication plan to the smallest pill. If it was a bad dream, then only Princess Luna could help.

Reluctant to both leave and stay, Brighteyes stepped into the corridor and stopped before his bedroom door. Patch had already gone to bed, and a part of him hoped that he would find her sleeping. The tension hadn’t faded after his foolish question, it had only become heavier, sharper, and he almost regretted asking.

Pushing the door open, he strutted forward and took position beside the bed to face the agog Scramble Patch atop. “I won’t ask any more questions. I’m sorry that I ruined the afternoon, but I think it would have done more damage not to ask. I know you have enough to worry about, but I want to stay involved. I’ve had much time to think, and Tea is right, we’ve been selfish with resources, he with magic and I with money and name.”

“Don’t you want to talk about this in bed?”

Brighteyes gasped for air, breathless from his speech. “You’re not mad?”

Lips pursed, Scramble Patch swatted a pillow, sending it flying against Brighteyes’ pastern. “Bad husband, wanting to help others! Bad!” Leaning back again, she cocked her head. “Is that enough?”

“Ha ha,” Brighteyes deadpanned, picked up the pillow and hopped onto the bed. Once he had gotten comfortable, he took her hoof in his and planted kisses over her foreleg and her nose before resting his head on hers. “I thought I just wanted my shop and a family. I mean, I still want that. Let’s start a family. As soon as possible.”

“I’d like that,” Patch answered, rubbing her cheek against his throat.

“I only joined the march to the castle because I felt I owed it to Fancy Pants, and while I’m ashamed of that, I want to try to do what he does, even if it means parties and whatnot. I’m not a fighter, so I want to help in any way I can.”

Scramble Patch lifted her hoof and started brushing little swirls into his chest fur. “Oh, I don’t know, you were pretty heroic during the changeling invasion.”

“Are you kidding me? I was scared out of my skin.”

“But you stayed. I couldn’t have done it without you.” She smiled up at him, pride gleaming in her eyes.

Smiling back, Brighteyes kissed her forelock. “I think I’ll be of more use in an office of sorts.”

“If that civil service’s the guard in anything but name, the future prince will hear from me.”

Brighteyes’ answer was a nervous chuckle. Her looks of disapproval alone were like an ursa major – seldom, but deadly. It promised an interesting sight though, the compact mare lecturing a tall prince.

“We’ll start small with the networking. Maybe for whatever Peafowl’s planning next. If he’ll tell me about it.” Scramble Patch sighed, and her face contorted into a frown. “Did you see the scar on his back?”

“It looks old, but I didn’t know he had it,” Brighteyes answered, calling forth the mental image. Seeing the pegasus without clothing had become a rarity, and the long jagged cut from withers to loins seemed to be the reason why.

“Neither did I. I’m worried. He’s keeping things from me.”

“What is he doing when he vanishes?”

Scramble Patch smiled a bitter smile. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Deciding that now was a good time, Brighteyes started to tell her about Oleander and his similar concerns. While she listened, Patch’s frown intensified, and she let out a low nicker when he was finished.

“That lunch’d better been just a platonic get-together.”

“You mean- They..? They’re..?” Patch had mentioned Peafowl having both fillyfriends and coltfriends before, and now that Brighteyes thought about it, Oleander seemed to fit the tall and muscular type his friend preferred. If so, he could have mentioned it. Canterlot wasn’t some backwater village.

“They had a few summer dalliances. They’re friends, they keep dancing around each other, but I fear Mister Hawkmoth finds mare, mead and music more important.”

“Flying through a storm seems quite dedicated to me.” Brighteyes shuddered, still at odds with the mere thought of uncontrolled weather. “Thinking I might never see you again set my priorities straight. Maybe it was similar for him.”

Scramble Patch sighed and pressed her nose against his neck. “I just don’t want Fowly to get hurt.” Running a hoof over her face, she pulled back and groaned. “Sweet niece and aunt, I’m mothering him again. No wonder he won’t talk.”

Feeling heroic, Brighteyes settled for a daring suggestion. “Maybe I could try speaking with him. Stallion to stallion.”

“That,” Scramble Patch blinked a few times, her eyes darting around, “could just work. You’re both not very good at talking about feelings. He won’t feel intimidated.”

Brighteyes kissed the corner of her mouth. “Oh, I’m the very worst…”

“No self-debasing humor,” she commanded, angling her head to lock lips with him.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he leaned forward to deepen the kiss.

The Report

Never before in his life had Brighteyes felt more confused and afraid. This was worse than the changeling invasion years ago. He had barely qualified as an adult back then. Did he now? As a husband and established shop owner, he liked to think so.

The changelings were a clear enemy, twisted creatures to whom nothing was sacred. But this turning of pony on pony, this… this civil war was something that scared him countless times more than an army of black insects.

He wasn’t the only one who was overwhelmed. Tiffin Treat was being very quiet as they walked back to their home street, and it was odd to not hear the suave mare talk for once. Using the narrow alleys, which somehow looked even darker and nastier now, Tiffin did nothing to keep up appearances. She moved in a lazy shuffle, dragging her hooves over the uneven cobblestones.

Tiffin’s brother Tea Treat was already waiting for them. The lime green unicorn stood in front of the Tea & Tiffin, head held high, his curved ears flicking back and forth in a rapid fashion. They immediately pivoted forward when he spotted his sister. “Bad news, I take it? Vanhoover as well?”

The caramel mare only nodded, waved Brighteyes goodbye and continued inside her and her brother’s cozy tearoom in a lethargic gait.

Brighteyes, a goodbye on his lips and not sure how to continue, remained in the middle of the street. He liked the siblings, they were good neighbors and honest businessponies, but he was not nearly close enough with them to invade such a situation. Waiting for the other stallion to approach him, he had to keep himself from shivering in the icy autumn breeze, having left the house wearing only a button shirt and a vest.

With a flick of moss green telekinesis, Tea Treat smoothed out his embroidered suit collar before he cleared his throat and addressed Brighteyes in his clear Grittish accent. “She has a lot of school friends in Las Pegasus, and our parents are currently attending a symposium in Vanhoover. New findings about antidotes and sera, I believe. Mother is one of the speakers.” He let out a nervous cough and took a deep breath.

Brighteyes nodded and, in a voice heavier than he intended, replied, “I’m sorry to hear that. Them being trapped in the city, that is.” Now it was his turn for nervous coughing. He adjusted his window glass spectacles and continued. “Prince Blueblood did not go into too much detail. For the better, I suppose.”

Tea Treat raised an eyebrow. “Prince… Blueblood, sir?”

Glad to be able to leave the awkward exchange of formalities behind, Brighteyes began recounting the conundrum that had happened what felt like hours ago in minute detail.

Indeed, he and many of the other younger ponies in the crowd had been surprised to see that not one of the princesses or Prince Shining Armor, but his colleague Blueblood had come to inform and console the public. The stallion had shown none of his trademark demeanor, no scoffing, no complaining, no air of hubris and superiority, just a professional composure, albeit a dead serious one, which had only been appropriate for the information that he had brought.

The prince had confirmed that the telegraph had gone dead, a truth that he had admitted most of the citizens of Canterlot already must had figured out themselves, and had promised that the crown’s technicians were doing everything in their might to fix the problem.

What still sounded too horrible to be true was the confirmation that the major cities suffered major problems. Fillydelphia, Baltimare, Las Pegasus, Vanhoover and above all, Manehattan were experiencing severe economic, social and industrial troubles like power cuts and mass evictions.

Prince Blueblood had ended on a determined and confident note, both ensuring his audience that the crown was working to repair the damage and expressing his trust in the ponies of Canterlot to keep a level head in this time of trouble. How that was possible for anypony in the crowd who had relatives or friends in one of the affected cities the prince had neither told nor did Brighteyes know it himself.

When Brighteyes finished his report, Tea Treat rewarded him with a slow nod. After a moment of thought, the tea sommelier spoke up. “Thank you, sir. For everything. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, thanks. I’ll manage”, Brighteyes replied and hoped he was not lying.

“I’ll go and console my sister then. Again, thank you, sir. Until then.”

“Take care, Mister Treat.” With these words, Brighteyes turned around and began heading towards his store.

While unlocking the front door and entering, he could not keep his thoughts from circling around the issue at hoof. Why had this happened? Who had allowed this to happen? Could it even have been prevented? Could he himself have done something to prevent it?

Prince Blueblood had not outright confirmed Mister Mariner’s involvement in the happenings, but he had hinted at it. The rumors painting the businesspony as the villain of the situation had not been so far off after all. Brighteyes knew from the newspapers that Mariner was a tycoon of sorts who possessed a little bit of everything, but the thought that his might enabled him to schemes this grand was concerning.

However, the fact that he had indeed acted upon it left a burning feeling of anger in Brighteyes’ chest. Leading a business brought responsibility. Products and service were supposed to help the public and not make them susceptible to blackmail and violence. A pair of glasses prevented horrible accidents and bad school grades, and sloppiness on his part could endanger the future of his fellow equines.

But this was not sloppiness, like one could claim in case of the trial, where Mister Mariner had not been involved directly in the press incident that had sparked it. No, this was intentional harm inflicted upon ponykind, causing a disruption in their trust and their sense of security. It sounded more like something that the Spirit of Chaos would once have done.

All this had left Brighteyes feeling stupid. Everypony seemed better informed than him. While the gathering had been dissolving after the announcement, he had heard ponies discussing the inevitability of the situation.

Some nobles had only sneered at the fact that maybe an uncouth social climber like Mister Mariner had caused this, but others had brought forth valid arguments. Or so Brighteyes thought, as they had talked in economic terminology that he did not understand. He knew how to draw balances, how to get the best purchase prices and how to calculate in supply and demand, but some of these turgid terms were ridiculous.

It was strange, really. He read the same newspapers that everypony of his status read, royalist papers that supported the crown, the nobility and the citizens of Canterlot. None of them had mentioned anything about the extent of Mariner’s empire or the possibility of this sort of blackmail. Or had they, and he had failed to catch it?

He entered the back rooms of his store and climbed the narrow spiral staircase that led to the apartment. Had his friends known? None of them had expressed much concern, only support for the crown’s decisions. Peafowl had dozens of newspaper subscriptions, national and international, and the pegasus made no secret of his despise for capitalism.

Scramble Patch favoured environmental papers and journals, especially those published by Miss Tree Hugger and her associates. Those would have a negative view on somepony with a large business empire and no care for society as well, right?

But now that he thought of it, there had been this one night. His wife had already gone to bed, and he himself had been cleaning up in the kitchen when Peafowl had come home drunk. While Brighteyes had fixed him some of the coffee that his friend kept hiding between their large collection of tea, the pegasus had rambled about how fragile the future was and how scared out of his mind he was sometimes. Or so Brighteyes thought, as Peafowl had been mixing several languages into one crude lingual construct. Whatever this... incident had been about, Brighteyes had not taken it too seriously, as his friend liked messing with others on occasion and had been quite soused on top of that.

He let out a graceless snort. He had tried to take his thoughts off his wife’s and his friend’s situation for the past half hour and now failed with flying colours.

Maybe they even weren’t in Manehattan. Yes, maybe they had taken a day off and ventured into the outskirts of the city before the tragedy had struck. Maybe they were enjoying a short break and a walk through the East Equestrian countryside. Maybe they had stopped by Peafowl’s relatives in Ponyville. Ponyville was a safe place. Princess Twilight Sparkle watched over it like a dragoness over her hoard.

Struck by these thoughts, he climbed the stairs another time to the attic and his dovecote. They had already sent the pigeon back with a message of their off-route location for sure. There was no way they had not heard about the situation, and Patch was always a thoughtful one, she would remember to send a message.

Surveying his pigeons, he searched for the one his friends had taken. The big, sturdy specimen named Montblanc was nowhere to be seen, but the bird had been bred for stamina, not speed. Maybe he was just a tad late. Or his dynamic duo was caught up in some other plan of theirs and had not had the time to scribble silly, tiny notes.

The two got sidetracked so often that it was almost comedic, at least to them. Not to this poor stallion who had to rearrange their schedules every single time though. Yes, Scramble Patch was responsible, but if something had happened on their way to Manehattan, she would not have ignored a plea for help. His beloved earth pony mare never yielded, even in the face of eternal night or a changeling invasion.

Brighteyes closed his eyes. Which was exactly why they were in the middle of the trouble in Manehattan with certainty.

Their schedules weren’t filled with trivialities, but projects they cared about and would not desert. His wife had wanted to meet several politicians and ranger colleagues about the possibility of the expansion and better protection of nature reserves all across Equestria. Peafowl had been ecstatic at the prospect of promoting his fabrics, designs and mixtures to the small and independent manufacturers of Manehattan.

And even if they had been miles away, his friend had the inequine tendency to run towards the dangers that his strong pegasus senses pointed out to him rather than away from them, and it would have torn his sweet, brave wife apart to abandon both her friend and those who might need her.

The anger that had been building up in his chest flared and rose up his neck to the tip of his horn. For a moment, he had half a mind to grab the ornamental rapier from the wall in his parlour and run off to Manehattan. Or at least find the scum who was responsible for this and introduce them to the cold metal of the heirloom weapon. Mister Mariner seemed like a good candidate.

He shook his head. While both blade and spell had been useful in defense against a few changelings, his magic was nothing to boast about, his fencing skills were rusty at best, and even if he could reach Manehattan, he would only distract those with ‘stiff upper lips’.

He let out a frustrated snort as he left the attic for his office in the back rooms of his store. That phrase. These three words Peafowl, Scramble Patch and some of their visitors flung around from time to time. Those letters from Manehattan that made his head hurt when he tried to concentrate onto them for longer than a second. He had no intentions of invading anypony’s correspondence, why did they have to be so vicious?

Patch had not wanted him to get involved. For his own safety, she had said. For the neighbors’ safety, she had said. To many of their visitors, he officially was only a receptionist, an uninvolved intermediary. What good was that now? He did not know what to do, who to approach, where to turn next, nothing at all.

Just when he picked up a stack of paperwork, he heard a loud knock on the front door, accompanied by Tiffin’s nasal voice. “Mister Brighteyes? Are you there? It’s important!” With a grunt, he smashed the documents down onto his desk and went to answer the door.

Author's Note

I do that, too. Mixing English into German when I've had alcohol.