Who Needs to Talk?

by Peter Yellowhammer

Rating: everyone
Tags: Random, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance
Length: 4184

After the royal wedding, two guards watch over the empty altar. They're not supposed to talk. But...

Additional Tags: M/M Shipping, Awkward

Canterlot's Guard is by far the most disciplined outfit in Equestria. Or at least it seems that way. If so, is that discipline worth the cost? After the royal wedding, two guards watch over the empty altar and determine an answer for themselves.

Published 2012-07-21 05:04:02 UTC
Last updated 2012-07-21 05:04:02 UTC

The Answer

With the wedding reception of the Captain of the Royal Guard and the Princess Mi Amore Cadenza finished and still being cleaned outside, two nameless guards were left to stand stalwart by the most tedious post in all of Canterlot: by the doors of the altar itself.

But the guards were only nameless to those who passed by them. Well, those who would pass by them: the imaginary altar defilers they had to imagine arresting. The two Unicorns were rotated to this chamber for the entire week, this day being their second to last until rotating to the city gates. When it wasn't used for the marriages of royalty and nobles and the occasional guard – or perhaps a staging point of a foreign invasion – it stood barren and hollow, more like an overly luxurious cave than a holy place. They had to keep watch from mid-morning until midnight, breaking for meals and one half-hour recreational slot where the new recruits would substitute for them. All the two of them had to do now was watch the purples of the evening skies fade into darker blues and wait for the stars to shine.

With only each other for company. The entire night.

As usual.

The grey Unicorn felt every muscle in his body pull to maintain the centuries-old stance that gave the Royal Guard its aesthetic and its vibe of purpose. Legs planted firmly in the ground, except the front right to hold the spear; head held up and facing straight forward; back slightly tensed, yet flexible in case of a call to action; spear leg flexed to swiftly employ its charge and skewer any scoundrel who would dare dirty this peaceful castle; all of it together made him look like one of so many. He liked being part of the Guard the same way most guards did, identifying with an unquestionably masculine tradition in spite of a sense of namelessness. But...

“Hnngh...”

No, no, he had to keep his posture strong.

“Hmph!”

If his superior – and the superior of the white Unicorn to his right – caught him slipping, then he would get his pay docked. Again. Although, the previous errors were only a few times related to improper stances. Usually, it was from something far more sinful and offensive: talking.

As would be inferrable by any altar defiler to the scene just created, this guard was not the stoic type. Holding the pose and having nothing to stimulate his senses left him weak with boredom. The Changeling Invasion – as harrowing as it was – had come and gone, and now the oppressive dullness of his post haunted him again. How was he to keep his sanity with the entire world passing by his motionless form without a care?

He preferred not to dwell on the invasion, in any case. The one time he ever needed to use his spear...never mind the fact it couldn't begin to fade from his mind yet, it would never be a pleasant memory.

Rather, he eagerly awaited standing guard in the Princess Celestia's court, hearing the more inane excuses and pleas of the entitled dressed in flowery language. The foreign diplomacy was interesting as well, if only for the pleasure of seeing self-righteous fools from other races be put in their place by the greatest ruler this world would ever see! It was the highlight of every season, and he still had to wait two months for the event. Two horrible, ever-lengthening months.

Whistlenote sighed despite himself. It wasn't like his superior would still be awake, anyway. Light sleeper or not, the odd sigh or grunt would only rudely remind him of his duties.

Suddenly, he remembered his situation in greater detail. He was making a fool of himself in front of...no, no, it didn't matter! The post had to be maintained; a true guard didn't concern himself with anything but that. Still, he couldn't help but look to his right.

Just as he thought, his white friend hadn't twitched a single muscle. Then again, if he did, Whistle wouldn't know it with how poor his peripherals were. The only clue he might have had to any movement was a recent, curious addition to the guard's attire: a blank sheet of parchment tied against the left flank. Whistle's excellent hearing – besides making him eligible for guard duty – would surely expose any crinkling or rustling of that page against the guard's usually restful hide. But what was it supposed to be? Or do? He supposed it wasn't any of his business...but it did add to the mystery of the stallion with which he worked every day.

Silent Vigil lived up to his name in everything he did. Or rather, everything he didn't do. If the typical guard were the picture of protectiveness and solemn duty, then Silent Vigil was the very spirit that inspired that picture. Simply by doing what he was told, he transcended the burden he bore until he became the burden himself: it all shone almost unrealistically from his appearance. Visitors and travelers would pass by Whistlenote and the ideal guard and instantaneously come to feel at ease. But Whistle knew full well it wasn't the false, dingy ghost he let radiate from his form, mostly for fear of losing his job. It could only be his partner's indomitable presence that comforted them. All of this warmth and wisdom seemed to come from nowhere, since Silent Vigil truly did only what he was told. He stood completely still and said absolutely nothing.

What made that effect truly striking, however, was how seriously the white Unicorn played the part. Even back in the barracks, Silent Vigil was quiet and very secretive. Whistle heard that the only time the unit heard the colt's name was when Silent was first inducted; even then, it was read off the roll. He ate alone and slept alone and either spent his breaks alone or ignoring whoever else was with him. Whistle and the other guards made a game to try to make him talk, even the smallest word...but it always ended in disappointment. Even when the rest of them left and he stayed, the one-on-one interaction made no difference: Silent's lips never quivered, and nothing happened. Whistle supposed nothing would ever happen...nothing he wanted, anyway.

CRASH.

“GAH!”

Whistlenote jumped, then snapped back to position while mentally berating himself for losing focus. The noisy disturbance had to have come from outside the doors. It also undeniably sounded like somepony in full armor falling over. If it were true, it would be without a doubt one of the most exciting things to happen to him while on duty!...Should he? Incidents beyond the doors could easily be managed by those on that side. But those guards could have been the victims of said incident. Was it worth the risk of leaving his own area half-unprotected?

Having assessed the dangers and screwing up his courage, Whistle cast a simple permeation spell and turned around to poke his head through the wall. He was initially careful to not knock into his superior on the other side...but he saw there was no need for such caution. Both Steward and his partner had slumped to the floor in a deep sleep. It seemed that neither of them had “crashed” into the floor, per se. However, the sound did come from directly behind him, and he knew his superior did prefer to sleep on his side from seeing him in the barracks. The only conclusion he could find was that the old veteran had simply surrendered to a different sleep cycle. This time was much clumsier than usual.

Excellent.

Now was his chance: he would finally get Silent Vigil to talk to him. It was perfect! Not a single distraction or excuse impeded him. All he needed this time was the right hook, something irresistible to grab the guard's attention. And boy, did he have it. It was bold; it was irreverent; it was provocative; it was--

“I love you.”

...not that.

“I-I-I mean...! I didn't—it wasn't—y-you gotta understand, it got mixed up in...my head...”

He dared to look to his right. Silent Vigil hadn't moved even slightly. However, the serene aura that emanated from the soldier had dissipated, replaced instead with an unspoken anxiety. Or at least Whistlenote guessed that was why looking at him felt different.

“Dammit. I was gonna try to get you to talk to me, that's all. B-But I guess I just shut down communication there, haha...”

Nothing.

“You know what? M-Maybe we can reach an understanding here. You don't have to talk to me, you can just...just listen. Listen to me for a bit. Okay?”

Still nothing.

“I'll take that as a yes. Okay. Uh. Gee, where do I start? It's kinda weird. You see, I-I've been feeling really lonely lately: my family hasn't talked to me in a while, I can't find a date to save my life the last few weeks, all the other guys won't talk to me longer than fifteen seconds or whatever when they just start ignoring me. Stuff like that. So I think...I was just reaching out for some affection.”

Silent didn't even blink. The white guard just looked straight forward and ignored him.

“I-It's not like I would be in love with you or anything! D-Don't get me wrong! I shouldn't have just blurted that word out, but...well, you know me, we live in the same unit. I just gotta talk sometimes! S'nothing intimate. B-But don't think I don't like you, either! By Celestia's mane, you're the most likeable pony I know without saying a damn thing! Haha. You're really something, Silent. You really are...”

The dark blue sky was now completely overtaken by starlight.

“You know something? I...I really admire you. I mean it. You may not think that I or the rest of us do – o-or maybe you do, how could we tell? - but we do. It's crazy. I think you're more or less the ideal guard. Y-You wouldn't think something like standing still and looking like a statue would be inspiring, but it is in your case. It's...oh, listen to me, I sound like a moron. Um...”

No movement came from beyond the doors. It was still safe.

“They talk about you, you know. When you're not there. That one time I had cleaning punishment, they were trying to imitate you. Or poke fun at you, or guess why you're the way you are. Usually, it's all of that at the same time: see, one guy holds the pose, and the rest of us—er, them kinda grade the guy on how statuesque he seems. Even the lieutenant gets in on it sometimes. It was...it was cute. I don't like that word, but it's the only one that fits. It's cute how we act because of you.”

Silent was perfectly statuesque. He had even recovered that indelible serenity. Those other guards could never capture that feeling, not if they tried. They might as well not even...bother to try...

“Oh, pony. Oh, gee. It just occurred to me; that could have been just light-hearted practice. Maybe...sheesh, they probably just use you as an example because you do it so well. Well, never mind, then.”

A stray cicada had managed to fly up from the valley and hover around the chamber. Its incessant noise was, sadly, welcome at that moment. As if sensing the awful tension, it then flew away as quickly as it came.

“So...all that drivel probably doesn't mean anything. Oh, pony.”

As soon as Whistlenote apologized, he realized the gravity of the situation. With his one thread of intrigue – if it could be called that – unraveled, nothing stood to clarify his mistake.

“I-I made a real fool of myself, didn't I? Eeyup. I'm good at doing that. Hahaha!”

What was he to do?! His tiny little livelihood could be twisted into something absolutely unbearable! His superior could furthermore be rid of the need to discipline him forevermore! He could lose what little connection he had to somepony who...

“Well, you don't have to worry about any of it! Nnope! I'll deal with my own messes; you can just stand there. And do nothing.”

Somepony who...

“I wouldn't want you to do anything anyway. You're best when you're as you are. I can just--I--handle it--I can--”

Somepony who made him no promises whatsoever.

“I...it's so—simple, it's ridiculous. Dammit, it hurts. It shouldn't hurt; I have no right to be in pain over this. I'm just a fool.”

If only he would say something.

“Well, let a fool speak his foolish mind. I...I love you, Silent Vigil.”

Anything.

“...No, I don't. Dammit! W-Why would I? I know nothing about you; we don't even talk! Well, you don't. You could be a...a secret criminal mastermind or something. How would I know? When you don't shut everypony out, you just stand in one place like a damn tree a-and let ponies think whatever they want! It never changes! Not once have you stopped to consider--”

Just at that second, Whistle heard his superior rouse from slumber with a grunt. Each clank of metal against marble floor made him that much more aware of exactly how futile his efforts were. Assuming the position again, he felt as if Silent Vigil's spear had cleft him in two. He had to keep playing soldier; but he couldn't. If he didn't, he would lose his job. If he did, he would go crazy and all his thoughts would go unvoiced.

But then...it wasn't like anypony else would listen. They had never done it before. The disheartening reminder hastily sewed him back together and made his path clear. Nopony would listen to paranoid ramblings. So why should he even bother?

As predicted, the lieutenant pushed the doors open and poked his head through to inspect them. Whistlenote knew exactly what he saw: two unremarkable guards holding the correct pose silently. Absolutely nothing would have stood out to anypony, not even an old guard with a trained eye. And so the lieutenant would be satisfied and resume his--

“I'm leaving you two in charge of this section,” Whistlenote heard Steward say. “See you tomorrow.”

Oh.

The lieu was finally going to stop breathing down his neck and take a rest, along with whats-his-face that shared the post. An old guy like that, he understood completely; the other guy probably just took encouragement when the lieu fell asleep. It was about time, really. That just left the two of them to guard both sides of the doors. That was easy. After all, nothing ever happened to just one part of the castle.

It was always easy.

“...I'm sorry. For all of that.”

He didn't want easy. But that was what he had been after this whole time.

“I was completely out of line.”

He would never be brave enough to seek what he really wanted. He wouldn't even be brave enough to start.

“I'll just be quiet now...”

All he could do was feed off of fantasies and the sound of his own voice. At the very least, he still had a voice...If only he had anything desirable to say.

“...*sniff*...”

Unable to maintain composure, Whistle dropped his spear and slumped to the floor, kicking the former to the side. He could get ratted out and lose his job by this point; what did it matter? Maybe he could find a job where he could actually talk. So what if the Royal Guard was what he admired above all else? It wasn't worth this anguish...this humiliating pressure to swallow his tiny little dream and act like the executive elite of Equestria had no heart for anything but cold, swift justice. Nopony he desired would care for him for any moment longer than a quick peck on the--

*Smack*

--cheek?

It was perhaps the oddest sensation he had felt in his entire life. A pair of lips had seemingly planted and parted from his right ear...but he couldn't be completely sure. The event was completely noiseless; no saliva, no clicking tongue, no 'smack' or anything! He had no method whatsoever of comprehending this phantom phenomenon. All he knew was where it had originated.

And the mere thought of it made him even more thoroughly confused than before. Confused...and frightened of the hope welling in his chest.

Although he found it difficult to see at that moment, he looked to the right to see Silent Vigil laying next to him, the other spear (and armor!) similarly laying on the ground. The inscrutable guard had just given him a kiss where his tear had fallen and was now carefully wiping any other trace away with an unprotected hoof. He didn't even hear the pony move, and he couldn't hear anything now.

Silent Vigil's face held an almost apologetic look. Why did he look apologetic? For what did he have to apologize?

“...H-Huh?”

Soundlessly, the other guard lowered the comforting hoof and levitated the sheet of parchment beside the armor, to lay in front of Whistlenote. That was right: why didn't he hear the parchment rustle when Silent moved? He scrutinized the white Unicorn carefully, despite only seeing his front. The only way sound could be so thoroughly muffled (or even removed) would be through magic. But he certainly didn't know of any spell that could--

Whistle's thoughts sublimated as Silent's hoof directed him toward the parchment. He couldn't see why until he actually held it in its sights. It wasn't blank anymore. A handsomely written script had taken up the center of the light brown paper. Even without reading the text, he saw it had the format of a poem. A poem? Why did Silent want to show him a poem?

My voice is strong and clear beyond redoubt.
With roaring vigor, it will first redeem
The lives of every cur and every lout
That hears its tones, its truth, as any dream.

My voice will then rebuke the smaller foe
That knows not what his sins are or compose,
For he is muddled. 'Tis a simple woe
That balks before my tone, in quakes and throes.

Yet my brave voice lies in another soul
Who knows not how gallant he is to be.
He sings my words. I yearn for every roll
Of his slippery tongue that speaks for me.

Yet we are always distant! Still I fear
He would grow silent, should I pester him.
Instead, I float on each note of my peer
And feel the might of duty to the brim.

I write this in frustration, deep and bright!
My precious fool flounders from night to day,
Desperate for music staunchly 'gainst the right.
If only I could soothe my voice's bray.

I wish I could simply tell him his bliss,
How much I treasure him, for great and poor.
But my curse is to stand with naught amiss.
I'm sorry, but I shant say anymore.

Except...to say I adore you, my friend.
Thank you for all you do, despite the end.

*Smack*

Whistle had absolutely nothing to say. With each word he read, it became clearer and clearer that it was penned by Silent Vigil...that the “voice” was his own...and that it all together meant he actually had...!

All other thoughts blasted from his mind, Whistle deliriously threw his own helmet aside, grabbed Silent's muzzle, and forced a very loud kiss on the tight-lipped scoundrel. He heard himself whimper with relief and joy, but he wasn't ashamed. He had found the one who would accept his disheveled soul without judgment or agenda. He had found the one whose lips would happily dance with his own. He had found--

Wait. Poetry would be subjective, wouldn't it? Maybe he had taken it too far...!

Hastily parting from the impact zone, Whistle fell to his knees and ducked his head as he looked upon his victim. Exactly as he feared, Silent Vigil looked horribly confused. It was over. His last shred of hope from a half-peck was crushed under his own hoof. All he could do was face his conclusion with eyes wide open, to watch his poor partner...roll his eyes...and bow down to return the kiss with a highly amused grin. What?

But as he was prompted to stand, it became shamefully apparent to him. Poetry was subjective, true, but only bad poetry was misleading.

He looked at Silent again, but this time, he truly saw him. Without the helmet, his clean-cut mane had fallen softly behind his head; the stony look in his eyes was replaced with an undeniable warmth and endearment; and the armorless hide revealed that simple, yet expository cutie mark. A tall, black feather seemed to float effortlessly on a pure white breeze, the sharp point of the tip even gliding along with the body. It looked as if it couldn't make any noise if it tried. His own cutie mark contrasted almost hilariously with it: a bright red whistle theoretically emitting a shrill melody.

“Even if it tried, it couldn't make a sound...”, Whistlenote whispered timidly. “I've always wondered about your mark. If I understand you right, that means your talent is being completely quiet. Well, it does make--”

Silent Vigil shook his head, pointing to the parchment again. The answer became immediately obvious.

“Oh. You're a poet. Of course.”

Silent laughed softly, even though it could only be seen. But as soon as he finished, he drooped into a more anxious expression, eyes seeming to implore Whistle for a response. A response to what? His thoughts already swirled mercilessly in his head, scarcely leaving him energy to focus.

“Uh...”, he stalled. “I like poems? I do! T-This is all a lot to take in! I'm not the best at stuff like that. C-Could you just tell me exactly what you meant with--”

Silent threw his hoof against his own forehead. Whistle felt like doing the same out of sheer embarrassment. He wasn't understanding something here, but what could it be?! Well, whatever it was, his admirer could simply tell him what it was and save him the trauma! What stopped it? It wasn't like the pony couldn't talk or--

“Oh.”

Silent looked to him, hoof still firmly against the forehead. But the nonverbal exasperation had faded as their eyes met. The noble stallion seemed...weary. Tired. Defeated.

“But that's—that doesn't happen! I thought mute ponies were ancient history!”

Silent cast a spell without prompt and pointed to the parchment once more. Did the answer lie in the poem? Even if it did, the poem had disappeared and was replaced with prose.

I can't make any sound whatsoever, not even with objects. I've been this way since birth; that's why I was named Silent Vigil. No expert can tell me why, but even if they could, they say it doesn't really hurt my career because I can still communicate. I've been a simple guard for ten years, so obviously it's anypony's guess.

Nine years of apathetic guards taunting me or avoiding me...then you came along and started being NICE to me. In your way. You were such a breath of fresh air; you have no idea. So what if you bent the rules? I don't care anymore.

I prefer nonverbal, but this false ink parchment is great for sharing poems with civilians on leave. But before you ask, using it for translation is annoying. I don't do this unless I have to make a point.

By the way, are you doing anything during break tomorrow?

Whistle read the page several times, making sure he wasn't adding or removing any words. But the dizzying feeling behind his eyes wasn't from fatigue. It came from the raw truth the page spoke, forcing him to see what he had somehow suspected from the moment he met the reclusive stallion. To see it plainly—undeniably in front of his own eyes...!

“I...I thought you were just antisocial. I thought you had quiet hooves or something! I-I swear I didn't know, it wasn't--”

*Smack*

“Uh...I am now.”

Silent beamed, leaning in to nuzzle him. While he happily surrendered to and returned the embrace, he spied the parchment again. He had seen it all this week, leading up to the wedding. He knew what that meant now, beyond a doubt.

“W-Will you show me more of your poems, then? I would love to--”

He wasn't interrupted. He stepped back and he drank in the sight of his smiling date in the gentle, silvery moonlight. No poetry could do justice to the sight he was gifted that night.

He leaned in and greedily kissed his prize.

“...You know?”, he huskily whispered as their lips still touched. “Who needs to talk, anyway?”

Silent Vigil closed his eyes and gave his answer.

If you enjoyed this story, then I have a feeling you'll enjoy this as well :) My most heartfelt thanks and appreciation to the artist and to everyone who got something from this story. To everyone else, well, have a good one regardless XD