The Diarchal Advisor

Chapters

C,T - Twilight's Visit - Day 1
L - A Student For Luna - Night 1
C,L - No Meat In The Kitchens? Again?
C,T - Twilight's Visit - Day 2
C - Time Loop - The Artefact
L - Thestral Re-Integration - Night 1
C - The Canterlot Hoof-Wrestling Tournament
C - Flashback - Comforting A Big, Sad White Pony
L - The Tantabus - Night 1
The Swanifying
L - Thestral Re-Integration - Night 2
T - Twilight's Visit - Day 3
C,T - Twilight's Visit - Day 4
L - A Student For Luna - Night 2
L - Tantabus - Night 2
C - (Sun)day with Sunhorse

C,T - Twilight's Visit - Day 1

Arnon stood in front of the sizable, full-body mirror. Hands clasped behind his back, eyes rolling over the gleaming reflection.

Damn. He looked fresh.

As the chosen Advisor for his 'unique ideas' to not one, but both members of the Diarchy (For such scalding opinions as 'That is a waste of fucking time' and 'Actually, this idea is better', which were both things apparently never uttered in the Throne Room before), Arnon was dressed uniquely, but appropriately. The Uniform just came in today, specially tailored.

Reminiscent of the Militant Officer uniforms of Earth, he wore a muted dark jacket, tightly buttoned and carefully embroidered with gold. Designed as such to not draw the eye from the Princesses, but still grant the appropriate air of Royal Fashion. Though, being the only Biped in the castle often offset that.

Except when the ambassadors came around for discussions.

Each of the three individual buttons that held his jacket closed was styled after each of the Princesses; the topmost a golden star, the middle a deep-blue moon, and the bottom, a pink heart, each emblazoned on top of each gold button. While he didn't directly advise for Cadence, it was an acknowledgement of her position as a Princess, and of the Equestria / The Crystal Empires Alliance. (Plus, they got along well--both were quiet fiends for gossip, and Arnon's opinion was often requested through letter.)

Each shoulder strap held a ceremonial rope that effortlessly connected to its appropriate shoulder pad. His left arm, gold for Celestia; the right, silver, for Luna. Black belt with a simple, slick Cap clipped to it, Black jackboots, and to round it out, Black gloves. Arnon carried no weapons; that's what the guards were for, anyway. He received regular physical training, to ensure preparedness and general health. He tried to push for sparring, but they hadn't budged on that one yet.

His hair slicked back, Arnon ran a hand over his recently-shaved jaw, appreciative of the castle barbers for finally figuring out a clean shave. Looks were important, both hygiene, and the appearance that he dutifully served both Diarchs, no bias or favoritism. Which often included a rotating schedule to assist in both Day and Night court... which, as much as Arnon would love to explain how he made that sleep schedule work, the truth is, it really doesn't. Powernaps, Coffee, an incredibly liberal schedule and willingly being Twilight's Guinea Pig for Stay-Awake spell testing helped make it work, so far; that, and he took Sundays off. Actually, the Princesses did too. Got the whole castle on a downtime day; that was one of his first recommendations that Arnon hard-pushed for, and he was truly shocked they managed to get it to stick. For such a radical idea as an off day, it was starting to be pretty clear the Princesses would run themselves pretty tired, too, and quickly grew to like the idea.

Most upstart comments about Arnon's status as an Alien, or a Non-Noble, or whatever complaint the Nobles of Canterlot held (especially regarding his ideas) were often quickly shut down by the Princesses, who backed him fully, claiming that his 'Unique Origins' were a prime source for outlier ideas that could benefit Equestria in many ways.

He thinks Tia really just likes being able to relax on Sunday.

The nearby cough finally draws Arnon's gaze from himself, sliding the hat from his belt and onto his head. His dedicated Day-Guard, Bronze Bulwark, a Unicorn, was a stern sort. As with most of the Royal Guard, he bore shiny, golden armor, with a light-brown fur and dirty-blonde mane; though a pin tacked to his chest plate titled him as the sole Human Ambassador's Day-Guard.

Having been given a unique role, one of two holders of such a rank, the only other being his Thestral Counterpart for when Arnon worked the Night Hours. He took it very seriously, but was learning a level of... liberal thinking was required when working with the Human.

"Day Court is opening in a few minutes, Sir. You're expected to be at the Princesses side when it begins." He sternly warns from the doorway.

"Gimme a minute to enjoy these sick duds, first. It's not a far walk." Arnon chides, taking a moment to start posing. The side? Slick. A little flex? Also sick.

"Sir." Bronze Bulwark repeats, slower reminding urgency.

...

Okay, one little boot clack.

Arnon clicks his heels together, the sound satisfying to his ears. He spins on the spot, arms clasped tightly behind himself, taking long, purposeful strides.

"You know you can just call me Arnon, right?" Arnon says, giving Bulwark a playful look as he passes him.

Bulwark is quickly on his heels, shutting the doors behind him with the soft orange glow from his horn.

"No matter how many times you request it, I will refer to you as your proper title, Sir." Bulwark reaffirms, stout in his demeanor.

Eesh. Pretty much the same for every guard, maid, cook, butler... no wonder Tia enjoys his more lax approach, Arnon muses. Must get tiring of every single Pony you interact with treating you with such a professional glaze. Especially for the last 1000 years? Yuck.

"You'll slip one day. I'll wiggle the idea into your mind until you think its your own. Then? Boom. Unprofessional. Slandered across the Guard as the first to falter. And it'll be like dominos, one after the other, all getting to know me on a first-name basis." Arnon jokes, as the pair now cross through Canterlots extensive, ornately build halls. His room was on the same wing as the Princesses rooms; each had their own 'wing' of the castle dedicated to themselves, styled to match along the second floor. Arnon was placed squarely in between, close to the servant quarters. Meaning, they didn't have a good distance to go to reach the Throne Room, but since Arnon could neither teleport, nor fly, Bulwark ensures he keeps up a good pace.

"I would advise against such threats, Sir, or I may have to relay an unfortunate accident to the Princesses regarding a missed step and the staircase." Bulwark grunts.

Arnon pauses, feigning a dramatic hand on the chest, looking to Bulwark with shock.
"Really? For me? I knew you had it in you, Bulwark." Arnon chides, nudging the Guard on the shoulder before continuing.

Bulwark stifles a groan, catching up as they reach the stairs.

Arnon makes Bulwark go first.

The Throne room was quiet, basking in the calm before the Storm. Princess Celestia, ever the brilliant with her sheer-white, perfectly kept fur, and ethereal celestial mane flowing in an invisible wind, sat upon her throne; one of two, the other sitting empty. Both were of Regal craft, but accented in their associated Princesses minor colors, to distinguish. As if the giant, stained-glass windows behind each throne didn't do that already.

It was uncommon for both sisters to be awake at the same time, outside of greeting each other in mornings and evenings, or for special occasions like the Gala. Or grim events that called the safety of their subjects into question.

So, they were both awake about once every one to two weeks.

Royal Guards lined the walls of the room, adorned in their sturdy armor and armed with sheathed swords and spears, several stationed by the doors. Morning light softly filtered through the elaborate stained glass that lined it, splashing their array of colors carefully across the walls, carpets, curtains and floors.

Princess Celestia sighs softly, enjoying the momentary peace. For in a few moments, the doors would open, and her days Court would begin. This would often last for hours, only punctuated by a lunch break, resuming, and finally ending just before dinner.

Sometimes, it would run even further.

It had become a comfortable, if sometimes straining norm. The Ponies of Canterlot didn't always have the most... important issues to bring forward, but she viewed it as an important practice to stay in the know with her little ponies. To ensure they felt comfortable, their concerns heard.

The doors to the Throne room, from deeper in the castle beside the Thrones, slowly open. A new, heavy clicking of boots took the hall, gaining a curious gaze from Celestia. She peers around her throne, watching the Royal Advisor strut his way towards her. Good to see he enjoyed the outfit.

Arnon stops directly beside Celestia's throne, clicking his heels as he stares forward, chest puffed. She stifles a chuckle, giving his requested outfit a glance-over. Beyond the Monikers dedicated to the Princesses, it had been Him and Luna's mixed design. Something that invoked authority from Arnon's Homeland, and which coincidentally shared design with the fashion of Ponies from before Luna's Banishment, which her sister had been quite fond of. Celestia could see the appeal. She would have gone with more White; maybe tighter pants.

Bulwark files into his own position silently, nodding to some of the nearby guard as he takes his post underneath the raised Thrones, on the ground floor. Close to his Charge, still posted nearby.

"I can see why you delayed, Arnon. I was wondering what had been taking you so long, but you certainly look the part, now." She muses softly. "A little... outdated, perhaps." Celestia adds, grinning.

Arnon drops the stoic demeanor, blowing a raspberry.
"Bench, please." (He'd been requested to stop calling Ponies, especially the Princess of the Sun, a Bitch in public eye) "If I'm to be the reality check to this silly affair, I'm to look the part. Luna was actually looking into getting her own."

"Several, probably. Have you seen her Wardrobe? Half of it is armor. When she finds an outfit she likes, she obsesses over it." Celestia giggled, finally facing forward as the Guard by the door calls out. Celestia wondered how she herself would look in such. Twilight would probably manage it well, herself.

"Your Majesty! Is Day Court ready?" The Guard shouts across the hall. Celestia shifts in place, fixing her seating, and gives a long nod; the Guards shuffle to begin opening the doors, taking several to pull open the grand stone doors.

Arnon takes his usual seat, an ornate desk that's promptly produced from behind the thrones, as he sits beside Celestia. On most days, Raven Inkwell, the head scribe, would join beside him at her own Pony-sized desk; but she was currently on vacation. Something Arnon pushed her into taking, and didn't take no for an answer.

The transition from using a computer to writing with a quill wasn't the smoothest, but he'd picked up on the speed of it. He didn't have to record everything, anyway. On one side, a stack of the submitted petitions, issues, requests, and other processed tasks that would be handled first. On the other, blank paper for recording, stamps for approval and denying, and several ink jars. Once everything that was pre-submitted was handled, Day Court would open to the rest of the public concerns.

Day Court was a long process, and was a mixture of gauging the public, appeasing, connection... it was good for the health of the Kingdom. If... a little bloated. One of Arnon's long-term goals was to trim the fat, narrow down just how much time was needed to be spent listening to Nobles whine.

In the midst of Celestias mental preparation, watching the crowd start to enter through the doors, guided by the Guards and sectioned accordingly, she's torn from her focus by a loud stamp beside her.

"Bullshit." Arnon mutters, scribbling furiously with his quill before setting a page aside.

Celestia raises a curious eyebrow, leaning to peek. A letter from the Mayor of Ponyville...
"...And why is a letter from Mayor Mare, of Ponyville, 'bullshit', my dear Advisor?" She asks, judgement waiting patiently. Arnon had a habit of starting reviewing the submitted petitions before Court had even opened its doors; specifically the stack where their submitter would not be present, and the topic was to be weighed by Celestia alone. It saved a surprising amount of time.

"Inquiry into whether or not local tax should be raised. She's the Mayor. The... Cutie-Mark-Elected Official?" Arnon was still coming to terms that Ponies careers were essentially chosen for them by puberty magic. "Adjusting local tax should be decided by looking at their budget, income, general economy and debt, and only mailed here as a properly formed proposal at the least. This is just... asking if they should or not. It's a waste of paper and the courts time. Like mailing the Queen of England if you can use an Outhouse." He huffs, already squinting at the next letter.

Celestia hums. She didn't exactly... disagree. Her Ponies were often tentative with making their own unprompted choices. "Reaffirming the confidence of of our local officials, however, is a matter worth our time." She says, using her softly-glowing golden magic to pick up the letter, looking it over.

"Sure, when they ask in a proper proposal which we can Approve or Deny. This is just bureaucratic bloat that should have been handled by their own office." Arnon tsks. "You know what?" He mutters, grabbing the paper out of the air, from her magical grasp, and scribbling something down.

Celestia looks at him expectantly, her magic quietly dissipating. Few creatures could simply... ignore, her magic. 'Earth' as Arnon had said, was a place with no magic whatsoever, whose Sun and Moon moved on their own. This gave Arnon an almost... absorbent property when it came to Magic, some level of being simply resilient to it. Even fewer had the gall to snatch something she was reading.

"Scheduling a Canterlot Accountant -- honestly, it's probably going to be Inkwell, because she's one of the most actually competent Scribes I've seen -- to review Ponyville's Administration. If they're not confident about taxes, I want to know why." Anon quickly relays, as he slaps the paper down again, before working on the next.

Celestia sighs, but shakes her head, smiling. He cared in his own... blunt way. She'd have the written letter forewarning of an inspection worded a little nicer than 'Bullshit', as amusing as it was. But, this is why she appreciated his bluntness. She did often wish her little ponies would be a little more... self reliant, and Arnons cut-straight-to-the-point attitude helped eliminate a few issues they didn't even know might be issues.
"I'm still surprised by the amount of compliments you tend to off-hoofedly offer, when you're irritated. I had expected you to be as insulting as you are when you're calm." She smiles.

"I appreciate competence. It's nearly extinct, apparently." Arnon tsks.

"Do try to be kinder to my Little Ponies, dearest Advisor; they are a reflection of myself, after all. I'd hate to have to personally interpret your... opinions of them." She warns coyly.

He glances up from his paperwork.
"...Apologies, my most Fluffy and Benevolent Regent. I pray, that in your infinite kindness, you do not send me to the moon."

Celestia glances back and forth, checking if any guards are watching -- before her horn glows for but a moment, and she smacks the back of Arnon's head with her magic. It's gone as quickly as it came, Celestia easily maintaining her dignified, royal posing.

Arnon rubs the sore spot. He had that coming; his natural state of Anti-Magic helped mute the punch, anyhow. Tia was a playful sort, and there were few she could do such a thing with, other than her sister.

The crowd of Canterlot Ponies, mixed of Nobles and city folk, is mostly gathered inside, as Guards form the line for the pre-submitted speakers to take priority. Multiple single-file lines on the long carpet towards the throne are formed, by rank of priority.

"Oh, Tia. Also. We still on for tonight?" Arnon prompts, looking back down to his current parchment-bound inquiry.

'Removal of Local Competing Flower Shop'.

...

Fucking Nobles, Arnon frowns. He stamps it Denied. Petitioning government to close your competitors. "Adapt or die, the Capitalist way." He mutters.

Tia huffs, leaving him on this one. Asking her to close a competitor was... well, she would put it nicer, but try to sell your product better. Arnon often mumbled odd things, and if they were particularly interesting, she'd ask about it later. Like this Queen of England...

At first, it was concerning how in the first week of his role as Advisor, he so bluntly ripped through so many petitions, but she's learned that his reasons are usually quite sound, even if she has to have it reviewed by one of her other Scribes to be worded a little... kinder. The first time was quite memorable now, where Inkwell sweated about the pile of torn Petitions, only to report he had filed them accurately, and only torn the most... well, ones where answering were be more undignified than not responding. Like Suitors.

"Yes, so long as Court does not delay into the evening. There should be a window between Dinner and Twilight Sparkle's late arrival, where we will be undisturbed." Celestia affirms, kneading the throne with her hooves in anticipation.

One of the Guards, that had been directing the crowd approaches, probably with a name that related to yelling, cleared his throat before shouting -- it carries through the hall, silencing most of the whispered conversations.
"SILENCE! DAY COURT IS NOW IN SESSION! Presiding, Diarch Princess Celestia! First presenting, Golden Showers, for the case of his Defaced Painting!"

A particularly prissy looking Noble trots forward, clearly pouting, with a mustache that would put western barkeepers to shame.

Arnon barely manages to stifle the loud snort that escapes him, as another soft golden glow smacks the back of his head.

The train from Ponyville hisses to a stop, as its passengers disembark. Among them, is a particularly Purple pony, with a penchant for magic.

She could hardly wait. It had been... a month, and three days since she last got to visit her teacher! She used to count the hours -- minutes too, but Princess Celestia had requested that she, at the least, keep it to counting days.

And to stop reminding her in her Friendship reports.

Trotting through the Train station, the path up to Canterlot Castle was one she was vividly familiar with, her suitcase of luggage, and her other suitcase of reading material she was partway through, trailing her, covered in the purplish hue of her magic.

She'd arrived in the late evening -- and was to be staying at the Castle for a whole Week! The girls had offered to take turns checking in on Spike for her, to make sure he was doing fine handling the Library in her absence.

The evening chill was looming, with Princess Luna's moon soon to rise. She picks up her pace, the most efficient path well burned into her mind. It doesn't take long for the gates to come into view; and her familiar purple visage is quickly waved through, given access. She was Princess Celestia's prized pupil, after all. She giggled, a feeling of pride brimming in her chest.

Once inside the Castle, one of the attending maids leads her to her assigned guest room. She barely unpacks, already brimming with the excitement to see her Teacher again.

Its muddled by a small pang of guilt as she remembers. Arnon. It was her fault, her messed up experiment that brought him here... and she didn't take it very well. Yes, she, not Arnon. Arnon was actually fairly composed about the entire situation, as much as one being thrown into an alien world could be.

For Twilight though, she handled the situation... poorly. She'd been on a multi-day stretch of no sleep, frustrated, and... well, when the spell she thought worked, didn't...

She takes a deep breath, and sighs. She received a heavy, harsh scolding from Princess Celestia. One of the worst she's ever gotten. Thankfully, Arnon had been willing to forgive... something about "It's hard to be upset when a cute little purple thing is yelling so loud half her words are strained squeaks". She was thankful he was a patient creature, and seemed to think she was cute.

Still, she had some lingering feelings of guilt whenever she thought about him, but they were working through it. Like today! She was to meet with the Princess and Arnon in the Royal Study! Twilight was brimming, practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of discussing books with her Teacher.

Leaving her luggage thrown on the bed, she trots down the hall to the study, grin plastered on her face. She knows exactly where it is, and reaches to open the door with her magic.

It rattles. Locked.

What?

She tries again. Locked.

Was she early?

She tries with her hoof. Locked.

Was she too late?

She squints, pressing an ear against the door. Nothing.

A furrowed brow of worry settles on her face, starting to trot in circle, consumed by thoughts of panic. She wasn't too early. She wasn't too late. She had been perfectly on time! Was the Princess late? She'd never forget about her star pupil, obviously, so something... something must have happened!

Resolute, she spins in place, charging down the hall, towards Celestia's wing. Something must have happened. An attack? A looming threat? A thousand possibilities race through Twilight's head as she barrels past concerned staff and observant guards, headed straight for Princess Celestia's room.

As she slides to a stop in front of it, she glances around. No guards. It's silent in this branch of the castle. She creeps closer to the door...

Pained whispering. Mutters, two different voices.

Twilights eyes flash open, and a resolute scowl quickly takes her face. She spins in place, tensing -- before bucking the doors as hard as she can with her hind hooves, slamming the doors open. She quickly twists, barreling inside.

"PRINCESS, I'M --"
She stops almost immediately, eyes wide as she bears witness to the crude scene.

Princess Celestia is sprawled on her bed, flank raised, head tilted back, eyes closed, practically purring. Her Regal armaments are laid on the floor, wings fully stuck out and tail lifted as Arnon is positioned directly behind her, pressing his hands deeply into her back, grasping her sides.

Celestia cracks open an eye, glancing at her pupil. A soft, pink blush takes her face, but she retains her composure. Somehow. Despite being ass-up on her bed.
"...I told you we were running late." She tsks, glancing back at Arnon, before looking back to Twilight. "Good to see you, my dear student. Was your trip pleasant?"

Arnon glances up, noticing the slack-jawed purple pony.
"Oh, shit. So we were. Hey Twilight." Arnon smiles, giving a little wave, still gripping Celestia's side.

The three are stock-still, frozen, an awkward tension hanging in the air. Twilight trying to process the visual of the situation, Celestia trying to figure a way to play off this massage, without revealing just how much she was actually enjoying it, or making it seem like it was something more raunchy than it was.

Arnon just shrugs. Purple has walked in on him doing worse to himself.

He promptly resumes kneading above Celestia's flank, and she lets out a low, pleasured groan.
"...You simply must try this, Twilight. I thought the massages at the Canterlot Spa were nice... but hands. Hands! Opposable thumbs!" Celestia huffs, resting her head on her hoof. She could hardly find the time to actually get out and visit the spa without being bogged down by bright-eyed denizens shocked to see her so much as walk the same road as them. These weekly massages that Arnon had offered... were a delightful compromise.

"I took masseuse classes back on Earth; found a Class that was doing a holiday discount for the first, like, month. Now, that discounted month was the only classes I took; but I mean, it's pretty simple stuff. Just don't ask for a happy ending." Arnon explains, throwing in a smug smile. He took a lot of short classes, courses and got involved in a lot of odd hobbies. Kind of an accidental jack-of-all-trades situation while trying to find himself.

Celestia glances back, raising an eyebrow.
"You've mentioned this 'Happy Ending' before. Why can my ending not be happy? I am more than content with your massages."

Arnon snorts.
"Happy Ending means we end the massage with this same position, but I wouldn't be using my hands."

Somehow, Twilight's jaw drops further. Celestia coughs in surprise.

Twilights brain is abuzz as it tries to process all this new information. This is what her teacher did in private with the human?

...

She felt very complicated feelings about the situation, that she wasn't sure she was ready to tackle yet.

Celestia snorts loudly, looking away.
"I... good to know, Arnon. Let us keep our endings... content, for now."

"Oh, just for now?" Arnon teases. He squints as her tail flicks over and smacks him.

"Behave." She tsks. "...Not in front of my Student." Tia adds after, quieter.

"Sure, sure. We're about done here, anyway; you're always tense in the hips." Arnon adds, receding and stepping down, letting Celestia stretch. Probably because she had to haul around the biggest flank in the kingdom all day.

Celestia groans in contentment, stretching out before laying on her side at the edge of the bed, with a heavy thump.
"Well, Twilight?" She prods, snapping Twilight out of her funk.

Twilight blinks several times. Wait. Really? Just... join her Teacher, on her own bed, and get...

The visualization of herself, flank up on her teachers bed, with Arnon grasping her hips behind her is a lot for the poor mare's mind, and a deep blush settles on her face.
"B-but this is... it's so personal, and its your room, and I wouldn't want to intrude and the study but its late and I wouldn't even know where to begin but also I'm honestly feeling fine and I think--"

"It was simply an offer, dear Twilight. If you would rather we head to the study as planned, then we can do so shortly." Celestia interrupts, trying to draw her student out of her spiral with affirmation.

Arnon is sat on the bed, legs crossed, watching. Unlike the naked Princess, the only thing he took off were his boots and gloves.

Arnon swore he could see steam coming off the purple one.

For Twilight... that wasn't affirmation. Was that disappointment? Oh, buck. Did the Princess just invite her into something personal, after she barged in, and she just refused? Oh, buck. Buck. Uhh....

She clears her throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure as she takes a few steps towards the bed, the doors slowly shutting behind her as they fizzle with her purple magics.
"I, uh... I think I could... let the books, wait if... I could try, uh..." She trails on, before pursing her lips.

Twilight sighs, steeling herself under her Mentor's gaze.
"Yes I would like to try a massage. Please. If that's okay. If it's not that--"

"Mouth shut, butt on bed." Arnon cuts in the moment she confirms, pointing beside himself. Celestia giggles, watching her student with playful eyes. A good opportunity to throw Twilight into a new situation, and reinforce the bond between her and Arnon, to hopefully settle that nervous guilt that seemed to take her student any time they were close. And she had no doubt with how deeply Twilight would spiral into worry, she was probably quite tense, and could use the pampering.

Twilight gulps, slowly crossing the room under the pairs awaiting gaze, stepping onto her teachers bed, hoof sinking into the plush mattress. Pushing herself up, Twilight tries to swallow as her thudding, anxious heart threatens to leap into her throat.

Now only a foot from Arnon, she purses her lips, unsure of what to do. Well, before Arnon promptly grasps her, spins her so her side is facing him, and plops her on his lap. She can scarcely complain before his hands are already kneading her back and bysweetbuckingcelestiatheseare HANDS

Celestia openly giggles, before covering a yawn with her hoof as she watches her student's face melt of any timidness, sinking into Arnon's lap as he rolls his thumbs between Twilights shoulder blades, the little purple Pony making very similar noises to what Celestia had been making but moments prior. God damn, she was tense. Figures, with how much she put up with on a weekly basis.

They didn't get to the study that night.

Author's Note

L - A Student For Luna - Night 1

"Say... Princess Luna." Arnon suddenly speaks up.

The two had been quietly walking the dimly-lit halls of the castle following a brisk Night-Court. Some minor scuffles that needed orientating, and the start to an outreach program for other species who also found appreciation for the night. All in all, a good night of work.

The quiet, moonlight splashed halls offered the pair some semblance of privacy, mind the odd Thestral Guard posted at a doorway, who politely bows as they pass.

And Vivid Streak, of course, ever-attached to her Advisorial Charge, who softly treads just slightly behind them.

"Yes, Arnon?" Luna's ears perk, glancing to him as they walk side-by-side.

"You're aware of -- well, obviously you are, but I'm trying to bring up... hm." Arnon tsks. He taps his chin in dramatized thought.

"A difficult topic?" Luna fields curiously, head tilting.

"Not really. I was going to try some 'Nuance' as Bulwark had been suggesting --" Vivid rolls her eyes. "-- but I'll just stick to what I know. Being blunt. Did you want to take on a Student?" Arnon rounds out, pausing in place.

Luna's hoof-steps cease as a frown forms on her face.

She glances back and forth. Ruminates softly. Processes the idea. The implications.
"... Do we?" She mutters. She hadn't actually thought about this before.

"Just an idea I've been sitting on. Celestia has taken several students before; but I haven't found any records of you having ever mentored a Pony before." Arnon explains, looking at her expectantly. Vivid parks beside them, curious on the topic herself.

Luna's ruminations have her speaking in a softer tone.
"We have not, no. That is... not something we ever actually put thought towards." She admits, a tentative, if... concerned look set upon her face.

"Do you... think we are ready for one?" Luna asks surprisingly quietly.

Arnon scoffs loudly, crossing his arms.

"A simple 'No' would have sufficed." Luna scowls, turning away to continue down the hall, alone.

Vivid gives Arnon a plentiful stink-eye, but Arnon groans, slapping his head. Forgot this Princess wasn't nearly as playful.
"No, I'm trying -- no, not no like that -- it's like a scoff of do you even have to ask -- god, damn it. Luna!" Arnon yells, followed by the sound of a parchment being flapped around.

Vivid's stink-eye at him turns to a healthy heaping of a squinted glare, too. Shouting at the Princess? Thin ice.

Princess Luna pauses for a moment, several feet away, before slowly glancing over her shoulder, scowling. Arnon is holding out a paper. Maintaining her choice of judgemental stare, she plucks it from his grasp with her magics, the deep-blue wisping the document over and in front of herself.

Her face starts to soften as she reads it. The Document is a Dossier for a potential student, written by Arnon.

Princess Luna Student Recommended Application - Moondancer.

Similar to Twilight, Moondancer, one of her old friends, is also an astute for knowledge, and gifted the Cutie-Mark that can be related to a mastery over Magic. Uniquely, her Cutie-Mark also represents a Moon, which is further enforced by her personal preference for sleeping during the Day, and studying throughout the Night. It is my recommendation that she be treated as a Primary Candidate, thanks to these conditions, and her close proximity, currently residing in Canterlot, to become Princess Luna's first Student. I believe there is much unique to the Night to be imparted, and the two could explore such together. An invitation is currently written up, and waiting for signed approval.

Luna slowly turns back around, glancing up from the paper.

Arnon was watching with worry, biting his nails -- but the moment she looks at him, he crosses his arms and tries to look disinterested, glancing away, up towards the ceiling.
"Of course, it's entirely your decision, Princess. Just a recommendation." Arnon says offhandidly, shrugging.

Luna slowly trods back over beside him, folding the paper with her magic, and pushing it to his chest. She looks like she's trying to formulate words, when Vivid cuts in.

"Perhaps work on your delivery, Sir, when speaking to Princess Luna." She softly chastises, before giving Luna a polite head-bow.

"...Thank you, Arnon." Luna says surprisingly kindly, given her mood moments before. He has a feeling she's thanking him for more than just the offer, but he isn't going to push it. "Though we would advise following Vivid's advice -- We would like to try." She nods, affirmed.

"Of course, Princess." Arnon bows dramatically, once he's taken grasp of the paper. "I shall have the invitation sent post-haste, and time allotted for a meeting accordingly."

Vivid bows to Luna again, as Luna starts back down the hall, no longer in a huff. She does pause after a few steps, however.
"...And you may refer to me as Luna, as long as such a tone does not return to your voice." Luna says over her shoulder, before continuing walking.

Once she's a good distance down the hall, Arnon sighs heavily, leaning on his knees. Wow, he almost fucking blew that. Definitely need a more... well, blunt approach with her. Which was kind of funny, because he's been trying to do the opposite during the Day, for Celestia.

Arnon waves the folded paper in front of Vivid.

"Deposit this at Inkwell's office, would you? I need a nap." Arnon 'requests', bapping Vivid on the nose with the parchment several times, her head flinching back.

She frowns, batting it away with a hoof.
"I am your Guard, not your Servant. Sir." Vivid says with some sting.

He purses his lips, staring down at her. Tough cookie.
"...Fifteen minutes, ear scratches." Anon mutters suddenly.

Vivid's eyes widen, ears going flat against her head. She glances up and down the hall repeatedly, before looking back to him.
"Are you-- what?! You can't be serious! Who do you think I am?!" She whisper-shouts, chastising him.

"...and a ten-minute back scratch." Arnon adds firmly.

Vivid stares at him as if he's insane, stuttering several times. Her wings, however, betray her as they slowly unfurl.

"...Fine." She suddenly huffs, snatching the paper with her mouth, trotting back up the hall towards the Records Wing.

A wide, devious grin sits on Arnon's face as she departs, fingers flexing. He alone held the keys to an untapped currency. Favors, for Pets.

The Opposable-Thumbed Conniver slowly strides down the hall, hands clasped behind his back.

To say Moondancer was nervous? A significant understatement.

She had no idea how she even got noticed; she wasn't active in any programs, and she handled her studies independently, far from any prying eyes. Far, far from them. Many a time, many a night, Moondancer would read and write by the moonlight, her studious approach carrying well into the night hours.

Supposedly, that's actually what garnered her this opportunity. To be the first student of Princess Luna -- to be granted personal importation of knowledge from one of the Kingdoms leaders. Oh, be still her beating heart; while she might not truly know the cause, she wouldn't besmirch a chance at the royal archives, or private tutelage underneath one of the royals.

She was, however, a sweaty, nervous wreck. She hardly felt like she was appropriately presentable to be meeting one of the Princesses one on one. She'd chosen her least-ratty sweater, and tried to clean herself up a bit. She hadn't worn her mane down like this in years, usually bundled up and tied back simply; though her self-cut in the bathroom mirror left some bangs... not quite as flat as the others. It was reminiscent of how Twilight wore her mane, inspired by the same style when they were Fillies... Moondancer shakes the old thoughts out of her head. No point thinking about poor, forgotten friendships like that.

The letter had arrived yesterday, detailing a desire for her presence to discuss her direct tutelage, based off her academic capability and preference for nightbound hours.

She spent the entire day panicking, trying to decide how best to present herself, and finally, preparing to leave. She barely got a wink of sleep, and every waking second was spent in the effort to be as presentable as possible. Now, it was late evening.

Then, a knock at her door.

Cautiously, she peers through the corner of her window, moving the curtain with her soft-pink magic.

It's a pair of royal... oh goodness, those are Thestral guards, adorned on their night-themed blue armor; past them, a chariot sat just outside the fence that surrounded her unkempt home.

Moondancer swallows hard, trying to steel what little nerves she had left as she reaches for the door handle.

Twinkling Sprite, Luna's ever-endeavoring to please personal Scribe, knocks on Arnon's room door.

A mere moment later, Vivid Streak peers through the door, squinting. Until their gaze meets, and both smile, the door opening.

"Guess whose napping." Vivid states simply, gesturing to the desk nestled deep in the room. It was, predictably, Arnon, catching a power-nap.

"I see him asleep more then I ever see him awake." Twinkling comments, getting a bemused grin from Vivid. "Yet, I find my hooves full of parchment signed off by him. How does he do it?"

"Unhealthy amounts of coffee, sporadic naps the moment he has an opening, and me kicking him awake, of course. Shall I?" Vivid answers, before nodding at the snoozing Advisor.

"If you wouldn't mind -- Princess Luna's prospective student, Moondancer, has arrived and is waiting in the Throne Room." Twinkling explains, as Vivid trots over to the desk.

"Quite the fitting name. I've high hopes for our Princesses first mentoree." Vivid hums warmly, before firmly slamming her back hooves into Arnon's chair, rattling him awake.

"Wheugh." Arnon grumbles, rubbing his eyes.

"Moondancer has arrived, and is waiting in the Throne Room, sir." Twinkling surmises aptly.

Arnon gives a thumbs up, getting a curious head-tilt from the pair of Thestrals occupying his room, who watch as he slowly shuffles from the desk, towards the mirror sat by his bed, in an attempt to fix a cowlick.

"Coffee?" Vivid asks.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmyeah." Arnon groans.

Moondancer's nervous mood was clearly visible from every step, including how she nearly tripped when climbing into the chariot. Or how she was practically vibrating in place.

Now she sits in front of the Throne Room, directly in front of the pedestal that held the two Princesses thrones. Lit by flickering deep-blue flames that sat in elevated sconces, and highlighted by the light from the moon peering through the stained glass. A few Thestral guards idle about, but otherwise, Moondancer is left to stew in her own building anxieties.

The doors behind the thrones open, the sounds of hoofsteps approaching. She flinches, sitting up straight --

It's not the Princess. It's a Thestral and some... weirdly dressed monkey man. He's holding a cup of coffee with weird, wiggly hooves.

"Hey, Moondancer?" He speaks up, stepping around the Thrones as he approaches her.

"U-uh, yes. Hello." She quickly nods. "Is Princess Luna...?"

"On her way. I get it, I'm hardly as exciting as the Princess -- I just wanted to check on you before she got here. Doing alright?" He offers, pausing and leaning against the bottom of the lifted platform that hoists the twin thrones, sipping his drink. The thestral guard, Vivid, sits beside him.

"Oh, uh... yeah, I'm okay. I... don't know what you are. I've read a lot of books about Equus species, and have never heard of something quite your... shape." Moondancer comments.

"Human, and Royal Advisor to the Princesses." Arnon nods. "Think of me like a big, hairless monkey. About as close as it gets, really."

"Oh." Moondancer notes, tilting her head. "If I can ask... how was I selected? Not that I don't appreciate the opportunity--I just didn't think I'd be... noticed."

"Asked the librarian which Pony was the most studious night-owl. And she said --" Arnon points a finger right at her. "--you, Moondancer. Just absorbing as much knowledge as you can, huh?"

"She did? Really? I'm... uh, yeah, I like to read. A lot. And study. A lot." She nods after a short pause.

Arnon nods, sipping his coffee again -- Moondancer idly glancing around. Was that... it?

The doors behind the thrones open again; this time, hoof steps that demanded attention could be heard, as Princess Luna, flanked by a pair of guards, emerges from between the thrones. Dressed in full regalia and wings unfurled, her head is held high as her galaxy-like mane softly swirls in the air. The guards part, taking posts on each side of the thrones.

Moondancer is quick to bow, as Luna stares down her snout at her.
"We take it thou must be Moondancer?" Luna calls loudly, firmly -- tapping a little into her Canterlor voice.

Arnon quietly sips. He can read how both of them are nervous in their own ways -- Luna pulled all the stops and is trying to impress her potential student. Cute.

"Quit sipping so loud." Vivid whispers at him, nudging his leg. He gives her a dismissive shooing wave.

"Y-yes! My name is Doonmancer--er, Moondancer! It's wonderful to meet you, Princess!" Moondancer stutters.

"As it is to meet you, Moondancer. We have heard of thou... potential, your diligence, and proclivity for the night." Luna continues, only pausing a little bit after Moondancer's little slip. "We ask thou here, if thee would hold the interest in becoming... our student."

"O-of course! I w-would love to learn anything you have to offer! O-oh, and to see the Royal Archives!" Moondancer excitedly utters, before pursing her lips and quickly bowing again.
"W-what might you be willing to teach me, if I may ask, Princess?"

Arnon sips quietly in the silence that follows. Why did it get so quiet? They had a good thing going --

Luna is glaring at him from the corner of her eyes. Her stout, regal face is cracking a little. Was he sipping to loudly? Was he --

No.

Oh my god she has no idea what she can even teach Moondancer.

Internally, Arnon tries to avoid doubling over in laughter. It is a monumentous, herculean effort; but his coffee cup lowers, and he clears his throat.
"The exact details of your educational doctrine would be discussed between the two of you at a later point; this meeting is primarily a formality to assure you are willing, and agree to Princess Luna's tutelage. Though, one could assume insight on The Princesses unique brand of magic, untold knowledge, and martial prowess might be some of the things in store for your future studies." Arnon explains, throwing on a hefty dose of sounds-like-he-knows-what-he's-talking-about.

Moondancer looks absolutely stoked, eyes practically glinting behind those crooked, tape-held frames she keeps adjusting. Luna quietly breathes a sigh of relief, resuming her more regal posturing.

Arnon needed to remember that while she was willing, Luna needed a launchpad more often than not.

"As our Royal Advisor has stated; thou would be expected to carry thyself as our protégé, but wouldst receive the numerous benefits that come from such a position." Princess Luna continues, confidence raised once more.

Moondancer nods excitedly -- but shows a flash of hesitancy.
"...Sorry, Martial?"

"Of course. Think... HEMA. Historical Equestrian Martial Arts. There are oceans of knowledge that exist outside of books; and ones personal self-care, of both body and mind, is vital. Princess Luna is no layabout in such matters." Arnon informs, his flattery earning him another glance.

"O-oh! I've never, uh... done that kind of stuff before. But if the Princess is willing, I would love to learn!" Moondancer exclaims, looking up to Luna excitedly.

"Then it shall be so, Moondancer. Thou, art Princess Luna's first student." Luna proclaims.

Neither can truly keep the smile that grows on either of their faces tucked away. Moondancer, given the chance to learn a whole new world of knowledge, under the direct teaching of an Alicorn Princess. Luna, given the chance to teach her own student, impart her own knowledge, and take another step towards truly being her own Princess, that can stand on her own four hooves.

Arnon sips. A little too loudly, evidently. Everypony glares at him, and Vivid smacks his leg. Oops.

Arnon is leaning beside the doorway to his room. The coffee barely helped. He needed some proper sleep, in his bed -- he was almost there, Vivid unhelpful as she simply watches him try to reach the door knob. Several times.

Arnon groans, rubbing his eyes. Jesus Christian Christ above. The third miss, he was at the end of his wits.

Vivid quietly opens the door for him, staring at him expectantly.

"...Thanks." He mumbles.

He was only expecting to be up long enough to get Moondancer to agree, and sent back on her way. Instead, Luna wanted a headstart on planning her students general education plan. So he spent the last few hours ironing that out with a very excitable Princess of the Moon.

A mixture of learning about Moon-Magic, knowledge of the Nightmares and topics related to the Moon, Ancient Equestrian History, HEMA and general Fitness Classes... the list went on. It was extensive.

Well, the Princess was visibly excited the entire time. As was Moondancer. He had a good feeling they'd get along well; despite being a complete and utter fucking nerd, they seemed to hit it off, and Moondancer seemed willing to learn absolutely anything, even the physical classes.

It was deep, late night now. Ugh.

"Goodnight, Sir. Not bad." Vivid grins, stepping aside as he stumbles through.

Arnon pauses, leans down.

Plucks Vivid's helmet off despite her confusion.

Pets the pesky Thestral, further confusing her. Puts the helmet back on.

And goes the fuck to bed.

Vivid is left standing outside his door, generally confuzzled.

She's about to trot off and enjoy the rest of her own evening, when she glances up to see Princess Luna standing a few feet away.

"...Shall I get him, Princess?" Vivid asks, praying to any entity above that Luna didn't just witness that.

"We came to thank him... What in Tartarus did he just do to you, Vivid?" Luna trails off, visibly confused.

Vivid goes pale, sighing.

Arnon, freed of his uniform, is sprawled across his bed, the grace of sleep tugging ever so softly at his eyelids.

Until his door opens.

Arnon audibly groans.

"Arnon." A familiar, firm voice speaks. Sounds like Luna.

He cranes his neck, squinting at the figure in the moonlight peering through his open curtains. Yep, Luna.

"...Yes, Princess?" Arnon mumbles, taking a long, slow blink.

By the time his eyes open, the Princess is already stoop beside his bed.
"Originally, we sought to thank you for your assistance. However, now we are left with a question."

"....Mhm?" Arnon grunts.

"That thing you did, to Vivid. She says you... pet her. What is the significance of such to your people?" Luna questions, leaning down to bring her face closer to his.

Anon simply reaches up, and begins scratching the Moon Princesses neck fur. Theres an audible gasp at the door. Probably Vivid.

If Arnon wasn't so dead tired, he probably would have approached this with a refined, candid mindset.

But he tired. Pet. Pet Pony. Hoh. Soft. Very soft.

Luna is silent, the eyes that has watched his sudden hand movement with suspicion now... simply watching his fingers gently rake through her coat.

He finally stops, tucking his hand under his own head again, nestling into the blankets of his warm bed.
"Humans pet cute things, because it makes feel-good juices in our brain." He offers simply, stifling a yawn.

Luna is silent, staring at her bed-bound Advisor.

"...We see. Have you pet our Sister before?" She asks firmly.

"Mmhm. Twilight too. You're the softest so far." He sighs.

Luna squints.
"...Very well. We expect more, at a later date. Enjoy your rest, Advisor."

Luna rises to her full height again, stalking out of the room.
"Good night, Vivid." Luna states simply, trotting down the hall, quickly gaining distance.

Arnon is already snoring.

Vivid is left wondering if that actually bucking happened.

C,L - No Meat In The Kitchens? Again?

Arnon, the starving | Canterlot Castle

Ugh.

Being stuck in an arm-sling, treated like a Ceremonial role during a long recovery was one thing. A forced vacation where he just idly wandered these fancy halls, bothering Ponies as he liked? Sure, he could work with that. He basically just got to be usual nosy asswipe, and everyone had to be nice to him, because he was hurt.

The idleness of it was starting to get to him, though. There's only so much royalty-mandated nothing one can do before even that starts to get boring, and Tia was pretty pokey about making sure he actually rested.

Princess Celestia, the benevolent and feeling-guilty Diarch, would check in on him multiple times a day; eerily good at tracking him down, no matter where in the castle he was. Every few hours, poof, there she was, keeping to her promise. Before she went to bed, before she started her morning tasks -- if she had time during Day Court, she'd probably pop by and say hello in between every visitor.

He'd be lying if Arnon said he didn't like the attention.

While Princess Luna didn't seem quite as concerned herself, hearing that her Sister was the one who caused such injury put an oddly bemused look on her face, spurring a giggle-fit from the pony of deep blue.

Luna didn't check on him quite as much -- but his evening hours found themselves beholden to the Sun Princesses blue-flanked counterpart, showing her own measured, muted concern. So that was both surprising, and sweet... though she did demand more 'pets' each time she visited, which kind of defeated the point. Half the time, she'd even demand he come to her quarters for it. Wouldn't hear Arnon complain about it, though. Luna had this incredible softness to her fur. Princess Celestia's fur was more akin to... what you'd imagine the perfect pony fur to be, if absolutely well maintained to the umpteenth degree. Princess Luna's fur was almost otherworldly, and borderline un-pony-like with a unique, plush texture that betrayed her cold outward expression. A thousand years on the moon apparently does wonders for the complexion.

And of course, Arnon didn't hear the end of it from his personal Guards.

Bulwark was, at first, surprised by just how much Princess Celestia came by to check on him, stepping out to give them privacy, and softly ribbed on him for getting his arm broken in such a macho attempt against the princess. He got used to it once it very blatantly became the norm.

Vivid was livid, but not really about anything in particular, considering the situation. Mostly just irritated at him for getting hurt, and not folding before his arm did. Arnon wasn't about to tell her about exactly why he toughed it out though. She didn't quite adapt as quickly to Luna visiting Arnon like Celestia did, and throws him suspicious looks every time.

What really sucked though?

There had been an issue on one of the supply deliveries for the castle. Not the most unusual thing.

Except it was for food.

His food.

Again. He hated when this happened.

This was now a full month, of Arnon being forced to only choke down pony-brand food. He's getting a horrid whiplash of his first time in Equestria, trying to figure what wasn't a Hay-based product, or something that wasn't a salad. Sure, they had fruits, vegetables... potatoes were honestly his lifeblood for a while, before he got this position.

But trying to get said resources provided by a distant nation that actually knows how to process such, consistently, without issue... ugh.

But he wanted meat. Proper, fatty meat. Delicious. Juicy. Dribbling.

It doesn't help there's a particularly meaty off-pink furred flank that keeps visiting him. Repeatedly. Constantly.

By that same flank, or whoever Faust was, or God, if he still had some reach in distant pony land... Arnon was hungry.

He groans, slumping back in his bed, sprawling out, drool down his cheek. He could feel himself wasting away... oh, woe is he... the hunger...

Princess Celestia, Diarch of Equestria | Looking for Arnon

Celestia plods through the castle halls. She'd wrapped up one of her meetings in record time, and had exactly thirteen minutes before her next one, with one of the local business owners.

Which, including the average time it took to cross the castle without blatantly teleporting everywhere... (something she had to stop doing to visit Anon, after nearly scaring one of her poor staff ponies into a coma by repeatedly popping around the castle, searching for him.)

If Arnon was where she thought he was... then Celestia had about ten minutes she could dote on him, before she had to whisk back for the meetings. Delightful, if true.

Her overabundant excitement was suddenly pestered by wayward thoughts, as she trotted down the halls. Was she being a little much? It was her fault. She got competitive, something long since unusual for her. She hadn't been like that since her youth, a thousand years prior.

When was the last time she felt that little spark? Towards anyone that wasn't Luna, anyhow... but even then, they hardly felt like equals anymore. Not to besmirch her sister, but Celestia did have quite a few years on her, now. The older-sister gap was all but titanic.

Celestia couldn't exactly pinpoint what had changed between herself and her Advisor, but... seeing Arnon actually hold his own, even if it went poorly almost instantly... there was a flutter in her chest that their flirting just couldn't quite keep up with. But, that's where her foolishness yet lied, to get over-excited and harm one she grew too close to. Or maybe she simply had fun unabashedly doting on him.

Once she had dropped him at the hospital, she had meant to leave... to give distance out of guilt. But he'd grabbed her side, mumbling and asking her to stay. So she did, bearing the shame... but he bore no upset with her. Easily forgiven, he was even playful as he reminded her of their little bet.

She sighs softly, as his room nears. She easily recognizes his spot in the guest wings, central to the castle, equal to the sisters. Though... she'd be lying if she hadn't thought about moving him into her room.

Such thoughts are quickly tucked away, as her goal comes into view. Brass Bulwark is on duty, stood outside his room. Ever dutiful, that one, and a solid choice to guard her Advisor. He bows when the Princess approaches, well used to her continuous and constant visits at this point. He nudges the door open, letting her through.

"Anon~! How are you feeling? I know it's only been thirty-three minutes since you last saw me, but..." Celestia's sing-song voice trails off. Had she been counting the minutes? Maybe Twilight's habits were starting to become her own. Hrm. She glances around the... empty room?

Celestia pauses, the smile falling from her face. Her big, pointed ears twitch, scanning for any sound as her violet eyes roam the space.

His Alicorn-sized bed, made at request... no Arnon. The sheets were thrown about, the pillows scattered. He was scheduled under her for the week, with Luna for the next, so he wouldn't be sleeping...

His desk, stacked in blank and half-written parchment, messy with numerous ink wells and quills, is also empty, the chair left dragged out. Like he was in the midst of something, and simply... disappeared.

The curtains are half drawn, barely keeping the room lot. Celestia's brow furrows as the spare minutes she held slowly tick away... where could he have gone?

The door clicks shut behind her. Did Bulwark--?

Bulwark, Day-Guard of the Royal Advisor | Outside Arnon's Room

As of recent, the Royal Advisor had been making a bad habit of slipping past Bulwark. He had this annoying capability to get away, despite being as tall as Princess Celestia.

Not today, though. Bulwark stands firm, having been stuck to Arnon like glue. A prompt and slightly out of regulations check on his charge every half an hour confirmed that yes, Arnon was still in his room. Bulwark was done with getting skipped around like some fledgling rookie. He got this position from being one of the best, wily biped be damned.

Though, the rampant attention from the Princesses was new. Bulwark and Vivid were both aware that the Princesses held the Advisor in... a personal regard, but ever since the Hoof-Wrestling competition, they've been visiting him numerous times throughout the day. And night, according to Vivid.

Speaking of, here comes Princess Celestia again. He bows, of course, and opens the door to his room. At this point he knows the routine.

Up until the door suddenly clicks shut. His eyes widen, as a soft, muffled yelp can be heard.

"Everything alright, Princess?" He asks, surprised, turning to face the door.

"O-oh, uh... yes! Everything is--frhh, Fine! Just... the door, closing! Startled me! M-must be, a... whoo. Windy! Wind. Open window." Bulwark hears through the door.

He purses his lips, nodding solemnly.
"Of course, Princess." He affirms, turning to face the hall again. Her secret was safe with him -- it wouldn't do for it to be known than the Princess herself was startled by a closing door, would it?

Bulwark holds pride in his chest, knowing how trusted he is to her.

An entirely false assumption, but Bulwark is none the wiser.

Royal Manchester Arnon, Princess Celestia | Arnon's Bedroom

She's biting her lip hard, back hoof twitching in response.

She certainly wasn't prepared for this, if the surprised noise that escaped her was anything to go by.

She tried reason, but... he was in some sort of fugue state. Arnon had been in the room, after all -- hidden behind the door. And the moment she was inside, he'd shut it, and lunged.

His hand, rough, kneads into the pudgy, meaty folds of her flank. She'd always been proud of that underlayment of muscle... but she hadn't exactly been light on the sweets lately, having never gotten around to that diet she was supposed to put herself on. Ever since that visiting baker, she's kept on a bit more... jiggle.

It's not just his hand, though. He's using his teeth. He's... biting. That little carnivorous side from being an omnivore -- he'd been complaining about the lacking Griffonian imports, lately. Was this --??

She barely stifles a moan, a shiver running through her body. Her stance shudders, faltering, taking difficulty in standing. Why? She wasn't that easy to make fold. But... well, this was something only a hand could do. Her ears are pinned against the side of her head, breath growing heavy.

This was... too much. Too much. Carefully, she puts a back-hoof against him, and pries him off, quickly trotting forward for distance.

Arnon lands on his butt, sat on the floor as Celestia moves deeper into the room. He stares forward, in a daze. Good, a moment to...

... That's not a particularly civilized face he's making at her. Is he... drooling?

Obviously, she's in no real danger. She knows he'd never hurt her -- not to mention the obvious, that very few creatures on this world even could. But... the low, predatory stance he takes as he rises from the floor, the drool he wipes from his mouth.

He growls?

She swallows hard, chest thumping. Oh Faust. Nope, not appropriate, not now, not while he's recovering, not while he's in this... state. Guilt peppers her chest; he wouldn't be going through this if she ensured his diet was being sufficiently met. He'd always made what he needed clear. This was her fault.

"I'm sorry, Arnon. Forgive me -- but please, wait but a moment. I will find you... something." She quickly mutters.

Time to go.

She closes her eyes, quickly willing forward a teleportation spell -- anywhere.

A firm hand suddenly grabs the base of her horn. Her eyes slowly open, widened in shock.

He'd already crossed the room, his hungry face inches from hers.

She could feel her magic being... stifled. Rebuffed, her spell fritzing and turning to errant sparks. His lack-of-magic was working as a ward against her spells. If she pushed, and pushed hard, she could probably force out a spell. But she might hurt him, and the fear of causing him more pain makes her hesitate.

Those aren't Arnon's eyes. Those are the eyes of a hungry beast, a creature on the prowl, driven only by carnal urges.

She knows she's not in any danger. He can't hurt her. Not just that, but... he wouldn't. Right?

His breath is hot on her face, as Celestia stands stock-still. Tense, waiting. Wings partially unfurled, eyes focused -- but entirely unready for this unusual caliber of confrontation.

He slowly licks her snout, all the way along her cheek, tongue tracing over the short fur as another growl slips from his throat. Her back-hoof stamps, tail hiking instinctively in further surprise.

"O-oh." She mutters, watching him.

Even with one arm, the other still in the sling, he's oppressive in this sudden carnal assault, gripping the base of her horn tightly, and using it to lean her head this way and that, breathing in her scent. Inspecting her... sizing her up. Not since her ancient battles with dragons, hundreds of years back into her heyday, has she been sized-up like prey like this.

His breath teases her neck... and he pauses. To slowly, firmly place his teeth against her furred flesh, toying with her. Pressing down, but not hard enough to break skin.

He pulls her head down, lips tracing up... and he bites the tip of her ear. Holding it in his mouth, Celestia can feel his grip loosen on her horn... and slowly trace back along the other side of her neck, down towards her back.

Celestia surprises herself, the way she instinctively arches as his grasp reaches her shoulders, a tremble running through her. Slowly, let's go of her ear, following his hand as it trails along her back, tracing the newfound arch in her spine...

She's free of his firm grasps, for the moment, now assailed only by teasing, soft touch. Celestia knows she could cast her spell now, and be free of this... But a hard, firm squeeze of her flank warns her against it. She bites her lip, a taboo feeling stuck firmly inside.

She can barely keep the gasp that escapes her quiet, eyes flashing wide-open. This time, his mouth finds its way not to her flank, but to her slicked folds instead. She nearly crumbles to the floor, legs shaking as he traces along her nethers with his tongue, hand still gripping, kneading, pulling at her hefty, jiggly flank, digging in with his fingers while he tastes her.

Face pressed into her, his tongue slipping deeper, a breathy moan escapes Celestia as her focus slips, eyelids fluttering. The rampant thought of being caught, the taboo feeling of the situation, and moral worry of what was happening... all culminated to play with her feelings, while waves of pleasure slammed against them, shattering her reason. They'd never gone quite this far before -- and certainly not even close when they had guards stationed right outside the door.

The teasing and often heavy flirting was one thing. Playful, a small relief from the tedium of court decorum and the behavior demanded by her station, with another who could understand. But this...

She... was probably going to be late to the next meeting. Celestia wasn't entirely sure if she could... or even wanted to try and cast her spell again. This was --

"O-Ohahooo..." She suddenly moans, legs buckling. She falls forward, barely catching herself wobbling fore-legs as he goes deeper, with more intensity. Her flank doesn't get the chance to fall, held in place by Arnon's arm.

She's panting, watching him past her own flank. She bites her own lip, letting herself indulge, if just a moment.

Brass Bulwark, Scribble Scrabble | Outside Arnon's Bedroom

Bulwark idly glances down the hall, noting an approaching pony. The Princess had been having one of her longer visits with the Advisor, thus far... she must have found a prudent moment for a visit.

Distantly, a familiar pony to Bulwark comes into view. Scribble Scrabble, one of Raven Inkwells assistants. Often used in her fetch-tasks and minor duties to alleviate her own. A mottled grey and white mare, with a contrasting bright yellow eyes.

"Bulwark -- just the pony I was hoping for!" She calls out, trotting over, her wings flapping excitedly.

"Oh? How so?" Bulwark tilts his head back, sitting on his haunches.

"Raven sent me to find the Princess! She's nearly fifteen minutes late to her next meeting... have you seen her? I heard she's been visiting the Advisor a lot, recently." Scribble cheerfully informs, tapping in place once she reaches him.

"Ah. Yes, let me..." Bulwark nods, standing and pushing open the bedroom door. "Prin..." He starts to call.

His eyes widen, staring into the room.

There's a long silence.

Scribble tilts her head, leaning to look.

Bulwark suddenly slams the door shut, Scribble flinching back.
"I will, uh... inform the Princess right away. Thank you, Scribble. You may go." He stumbles out, clearing his throat.

"Oh? Are you sure? If she's in there, I can --" Scribble starts, stepping forward.

Bulwark slams a hoof down, shaking his head. "Thank you, Scribble. Dismissed." He states firmly.

Scribbles eyes widen, and she quickly nods. Friendliness aside, there was a firm disparity between their ranks, and Bulwark held the power, here.
"S-sorry, Bulwark! T-thanks!" Scribble quickly rambles out, darting back up the hall, getting little air-hops with fluttering wings on her longer strides.

Once she's out of sight, this wing of the castle quiet again, Bulwark lets out a HEAVY breath, his composure dropping entirely.

A body-racking shudder of horror worms through him for a moment.

A lot to process with that little peek inside. And all the visits made... the giggles, the whispers, the candid interactions... made it all make a lot more sense, now.

He saw the Princess. Chest to the floor, flank hiked up on the bed, as Arnon...

Well, Arnon might not need Dinner tonight at the rate that he was going. Honestly, after witnessing that, Bulwark might skip his dinner too.

He had a lot to process tonight. He might actually take a sick day or two. First, however...

Without looking, Bulwark slams the door several times with a hoof.
"PRINCESS! A scribe has informed me that you're fifteen minutes late to your latest meeting!" He calls loudly, aimed at the door.

He waits, ear perked.

"Wu--oh! OH! FAUST, Faust-- lost track of time, I need... hey, you stop that!" The Princess mutters, giggling, before her tone gets firm. "Behave. You had your fun. Now, sit and wait here. I'll get you something to... actually eat."

Bulwark does his best to drone out the muffled voices with a long groan, blinking hard and slowly. Maybe he should retire. He was halfway to retirement age. That was close enough, right?

...

The Princess suddenly emerges from the room after a hefty pause, looking... well, to the untrained eye, regal as always.

As somepony in a constant view of her, however, Bulwark easily notes the flush to her cheeks, the idle biting of her lips, and just how bedraggled she looks.
"...May recommend stopping at your room for a touch-up, Princess." Bulwark idly comments, staring down the hall.

Princess Celestia's face scrunches in realization, looking herself over. She quickly pats Bulwark on the helmeted head with a wing.
"...Thank you, Bulwark. You're appreciated as always. And, er... do not open the door. Advisor Arnon is... in a state. I will have it handled shortly."

"No worries, Princess. Don't think I'll ever open that door again." Bulwark mumbles.

Sheepishly, but with not much time to dilly dally, Princess Celestia disappears in a burst of golden light, leaving Bulwark to his thousand yard stare.

... He needed a raise.

Diarchal Advisor Arnon, Princess Celestia, Princess Luna | Canterlot Castle Dining Hall

Evening light gently soaks into the stone works of the dining room. Three of it's regular visitors are currently within it, 'enjoying' a quiet dinner.

"Well, ist good to see that someone ist feeling better." Princess Luna idly comments, sipping her 'breakfast' coffee.

Celestia tilts her head, torn from her thoughts by the comment.
"Ah, Arnon? Yes, I... 'procured' something to help stem his... ailment, while we review our failing supply lines." Celestia nods with little energy, glancing at Arnon, sat beside her. For once, she didn't seem to have much of an appetite, picking at her own dinner sparsely.

Arnon looked... tired. Better than he did, now that he ripped into that... she didn't know the details. All she did know, is that plate was very empty, and Arnon looked far more content then he did.

He also claims to not remember anything that happened. His general lack of shame and confusion when Celestia tried to bring 'what they had gotten up to', had her believing it was true.

Following Celestia getting wrapped up in back-to-back meetings, Celestia finally found the chance to track down a Griffon she knew, who kept a... supply. She didn't ask what, or where, simply paid the feathered creature, and brought back something made of meat for their dear Advisor.

When she'd returned to provide said meal to the supposedely still-contained Advisor, however, she found Bulwark wrapped and trapped in a blanket, and generally looking quite done with his choice of career.

They managed to track Arnon down through the castle... and into Lunas' wing. Unlike Celestia, however, Luna had him pinned against a wall with various weapons, only a single, large bite-mark on Luna's mottled-black flank. How he got past the guards, none were sure, but the glare she levied at her sister told her plenty.

In the dining room, however, Luna seemed a fair bit more calm. Mostly because she'd spent most of the time ribbing them both about it.

"Delightful. One teeth-mark upon our flank was plenty..." Luna mumbles, throwing Arnon a glare. Looks like whatever he did, he damaged what good will he had built up with the Princess of the Night. Woops.

"Again, Princess. Apologies." Arnon says, lowering his head. Honestly, he was just amazed he wasn't ass-up in the dungeon or something. They must be pretty fond of him, or god-damn forgiving, if he could bite both of their asses and not end up dead.

"I'll, uh... if you'll excuse me, Princesses. I've a days worth of work to catch up on. My, er... sincerest apologies for the trouble I've caused." Arnon pushes back from the table, giving both a short bow. Celestia nods, dismissing him, Arnon quickly exiting the dining hall.

Arnon's still trying to figure out why he tastes... vanilla, as he awkwardly strides towards the exit. It wasn't the food -- that taste was on his lips since before the first bite, he was pretty sure. Plus, who seasons meat with vanilla? There was another taste, too... couldn't put his finger on it, though.

The door slams shut, leaving only the Princesses.

Lips pursed, Celestia pokes at her food, a question clearly forming.
"...Sister. When Arnon... took it upon himself to try and 'eat' you, for lack of a better term... did he do anything else?"

Luna pauses mid-sip, glancing up and raising an eyebrow.
"We're unsure of what you mean, sister... though we may recommend reviewing why we placed a creature that eats meat in the heart of our kingdom, without properly securing our supply lines to keep him sated from repeats if he's going to have these... 'episodes'."

Celestia glances back down to her meal, nodding quietly.

Luna squints, tilting her head ever so slightly, her tone sour.
"Unless... you ask, because there may be a reason? Pray tell, sister... it sounds like your experience was different than ours. Did Arnon do something to thou?"

Celestia coughs, quickly rising from the table.
"What? No, not at all, Luna. Just... concerned, for my sister. If that is all, then I should really head to bed... good night -- er, morning, Luna. Dear sister. Mmhm." Celestia rambles, looking away.

Luna quietly watches judgingly as the blush seeps into her sisters furred cheeks, Celestia obviously faking a yawn, and trotting out of the room. It's hard not to notice the numerous bite-indents on her flank and legs. Was that one on her neck, too?

As the door slams shut again, leaving Princess Luna to her lonesome, she stares into the half-drank cup of coffee.

And a slight blush crosses her cheeks. Taunting her sister was an enjoyable get-back for her siblings usual childishness. A sprinkle of silly, playful revenge... but Luna hadn't been exactly honest.

Perhaps she should continue bribing that one Supply-Master on the coast after all. A surprisingly devious grin forms on the Mare no-longer-in-the Moon. Originally, she'd started interfering with the castle's Supply runs to get back at one of Arnon and Tia's pranks. It was just to mess with him, as she was well aware of his omnivore state, and the 'prank' had left her particularly sour.

But it'd been good to see that Arnon could match the performance she'd witnessed in his Tantabus-altered dreams. An unintended side-effect. Their talk of intentions had gone... interestingly, and while not her original intentions... she could work with this.

For now, she'd probably lighten the bribe, and let things return to normal. But this was a fun little tool to keep in her repertoire.

Luna grins to herself, sipping quietly, her horn glowing as she re-casts the illusion spell hiding her own numerous bite marks.

C,T - Twilight's Visit - Day 2

The morning sun slowly rears over the distant hills and mountains that speckle Equestria's far-off border, as the moon departs below the horizon. A wave of orange, crisp glow begins to blanket Equus, with long shadows that stretch across the ground, the summer morning comfortably warm. Canterlot greets the new morning, like it always has, and always will.

Princess Celestia, with her stark-white coat (a little matted) and ethereal mane (that could use a brushing), does little to stifle the yawn that takes her lips as she returns from the balcony, the magic that had swirled about her horn dissipating. With the sun given its daily trajectory, the rest of the day awaited her.

A quiet bout out Day-Court awaited her, with her Little Ponies ever eager to foretell her their issues, seeking her almost motherly insight. Then, something she was quite excited about -- a baker from Manehatten was visiting, imparting a few new recipes on her cooking staff. The products of which, no doubt, would require taste-testing.

It takes a surprising amount of self-control to not start drooling. Goodness, Tia, Celestia muses to herself -- perhaps a diet was in order.

She glances over her own shoulder, squinting past her mane as it does its best to obscure herself. Hm... a little plump in the back. Might need to cut back a smidge.

Then, rounding the day out with a peaceful, doting session of study with her prized student, visiting from Ponyville; Twilight Sparkle. They'd intended to have such a meeting yesterday, but... her 'usual' with her Advisor had gone a little longer than expected.

Speaking of; her morning routine had a small, minor pair of road bumps.

Said pair of road bumps were still in her bed.

Celestia certainly hadn't planned for things to play out this way; goes to show just how dangerous hands, fingers and thumbs can truly be to one's attempts to remain awake. A good note for the future, and probably a lesson in there for Twilight, somewhere. Celestia didn't remember quite when she passed out herself, but it was likely amidst the young Twilight Sparkles own interaction with Arnon.

They hadn't done anything of that caliber, of course -- herself forbid -- that was her student, and her close confidant; and Arnon was... well, that was another whole topic.

Celestia pauses at the edge of her bed, staring down. A smiling, peaceful Twilight, curled up in the illustrious sheets. Silk, of course -- her fur could hardly settle for less at this point.

Aw. Tia can't help but smile -- Twilight has grabbed up one of the pillows, cuddling it in her absence.

The other... actually, where was he? When she rose for her morning duty, he was still sprawled across the bed like a murder victim, body contorted. Now, only an empty indent remained.

The door to her personal bathroom, stationed across from herself, gives her a prompt answer as it opens. A shirtless, shoeless Arnon brushes his teeth, hair wet from a quick shower. Only a towel keeps himself 'decent' as he likes to say.

Equestrian matters of privacy and clothing didn't quite translate to Humans, between their differences in appreciation for clothing, and personal biology. Which meant a certain bipedal someone was quite comfortable in her private abode.

Though truthfully, she didn't mind the additional humanoid set piece that had a habit of winding up in her room. The fact that he always had clothes made for an... interesting feeling any time he went with less of them.

In truth, she found their odd to describe, flirty little relationship... fun. Light. Something she felt like she could partake in without too much trouble for herself or her station. Not to imply that was all her Royal Advisor was, of course -- she appreciated him for far more than that.

Like him getting Sundays to be a weekly holiday for the castle, giving herself and her sister a chance to recoup. Tia was astounded she never thought of that herself.

She simply... enjoyed being able to be a little more of herself, around somepony -- or, someone, who didn't look up to her in the same manner that her little ponies did. Excluding Luna, who herself had only come back recently, it had been far too long since she could simply be a little more... silly.

Celestia playfully huffs, quietly skirting around her still-occupied bed and the snoring Student of hers, towards Arnon.
"That wouldn't happen to be my toothbrush, would it? A little forward, don't you think?"

"Mm?" Arnon hums, pausing mid brush. "Don't sound so hopeful. I've got my own stash under your sink." He mutters out with a mouth full of toothpaste, pointing back towards the bathroom with a thumb.

"Really?" Celestia chirps, surprised. She leans around him to peer through the open bathroom door, the warm fog of a recent steamy shower roiling out of it.
"There is no way that you find yourself staying the night in my room enough to require your own morning stash." Celestia retorts, an incredulous look on her face.

"And yet, here I find myself again, needing a shower; lest every guard, servant and guest finds I smell of their beloved Princess following a night of particularly close proximity." Arnon jests, going back to brushing, grinning at her all the while.

"...You better have at least saved me some hot water." Celestia chuffs, trotting around him -- though ensuring she doesn't go wide enough, playfully bumping him with her side as she enters the bathroom. A golden glow takes the handle, and shuts the door, leaving Arnon and the sleeping purple pony to themselves, in the Princesses' private chambers.

Looks like he'll be stuck brushing his teeth for a while; Arnon isn't quite so sure their relationship is far enough to go following her into bathrooms.

Instead, Arnon stops by the sizable Alicorn mattress, sitting on its edge and poking its lone occupant until she wakes.

To say she's startled by both where she wakes up, and the state of who wakes her up, would be an understatement.

Celestia can't help but giggle as the warm water pours over her snout, her students loud yelp audible over even the muffled sounds of the shower.

Breakfast is quaint, quiet, and casual. For everyone but the Sparkle.

Sweet Celestia Above, Twilight was embarrassed; the red tinge of her cheeks refused to go away, and eye contact was simply not an option.

The previous night, and this morning, continued to rampantly play through her mindscape as she mentally re-examined just how everything played out.

Princess Celestia and Arnon, however, engaged in pleasant small-talk as they dabbled in their own breakfasts. Oddities like this morning were slowly becoming the norm for the Royalty of the castle, and most involved held enough emotional maturity to work through it just fine.

It's not like Celestia hadn't found herself awoken in Arnon's bed before; at this point, as long as there was a credible reason for it, it got little more than light joking at the ensuing breakfast.

Despite the comically large table that made up Canterlot Castle's dining room; nopony ever used nearly half of it, simply congregating to one side consistently. Even now, there was but one or two chairs between each of the trio, mostly just to give room for their plates to be laid out.

Twilight had hardly touched her Soup D' Salad, idly swirling the viscous liquid with a spoon grasped in a rich, violet glow. Part of her just wanted to go home. She hadn't done anything wrong, per se, but she just couldn't get that weird tingle out of her stomach -- and it wasn't the soup.

Celestia was crushing her breakfast, of course. A powerhouse like her needed her daily energy; which she got from a mixture of the works from Canterlots finest Chefs, and Bakers. Every meal, Celestia bequeathed herself a little treat. Almost every time, it was a slice of cake. Today, one of the new recipes she'd been looking forward to; some kind of... coconut flaked, chocolate cake. She sighs, deeply content as she enjoys a hefty spoonful of the baked good.

Arnon, omnivorous as he was, enjoyed a healthy mixed breakfast thanks to careful import of a few choice goods from neighboring, more carnivorous nations. Bacon and Eggs. In the beginning, the smell had been a touch off-putting, and the length of the table had found use in keeping Arnon far, far away from its other occupants while he ate. Over time however, they had... acclimated somewhat, and it was familiar enough to not bother them.

Had Tia tried one of his strips of bacon before? Perhaps. Had she found it surprisingly enjoyable? Also perhaps. Is that a secret she swore him to keep until the day his body returns to the ground, under threat of immolation? Absolutely.

"So, Arnon -- how fare things on my sister's side of the Court?" Celestia asks, finishing off a delectable scoop of her sweet treat.

"I've got a few propositions I'm skimming through before I send them her way. She's agreed I'm to be yours during the week that Twilight is here, but expects a week in turn." Arnon elaborates, splitting an egg with his fork.

"Entirely reasonable." Celestia nods, about to help herself to another scoop -- but she pauses.
"Though... I have a question for you. I've noticed something lately, and require an answer from you in regards to it."

This gets Twilight to perk up from her food, watching the interaction from underneath her bangs.

Arnon simply nods, gesturing for her to continue; his mouth is currently processing a rather drippy, Sunnyside Up egg.

"...Have you been finding a way to shorten Day-Court?" She asks idly, her spoon floating beside herself.

Arnon nods, finished swallowing.
"Mm--yep. Found a lot of... chaff? Trimmed the fat. Stricter rulings, and a new position in the guard that organize the crowds."

She hums, tilting her head.
"It would delight me if you'd grace me with an explanation," says Celestia, before the spoon promptly finds its way to her mouth, for another savory bite. "Mm. As to why you'd subvert my carefully guided rule and institute changes unbeknownst to me."

Twilight purses her lips, shrinking down. Arnon however, seems unperturbed.

"Simple. A good chunk of Ponies were queuing for 'Serious Problems'. This... was not the case, most of the time." Anon begins, setting his own fork down as he starts gesticulating with his hands. "So, we set stricter guidelines, and introduced a new role for one of the guards, where they make a judgement call on how actually vital it is that you hear their plea. A significant portion have been pushed to the second half of Day-Court thanks to it; where the highest population of Ponies simply wish to vent at you. Said Ponies are... not usually very patient, so we've essentially trimmed down how many Ponies need not waste your time." Arnon surmises.

"Hrm." Celestia hums, thinking dramatically as she taps a hoof to her chin. "And how long has this been ongoing?"

"About two weeks now. Notice how we haven't had to push dinner off for a while?" Arnon grins.

Celestia wasn't... ecstatic about it, as her lips purse in consideration. She deeply valued ensuring that her Ponies got the chance to feel heard, to have their problems noticed. She heavily believed in a benevolent hoof that all Ponies could reach for.

But... they did tend to simply complain in her direction a lot.

"...I do enjoy a timely dinner." Celestia muses aloud, more than a little torn, even a little surprised. "It feels selfish to push my Little Ponies away simply to have a meal an hour sooner." She states quickly after, trying to recover.

"You mean the Ponies who have your attention from Noon until Evening, every day, six days a week? And your sisters attention while they sleep?" Arnon mumbles, not very quietly, throwing Celestia a hefty side-eye. "Why not let the Therapy Ponies actually get a chance to open some of their own offices?"

Celestia stares at his face for a long moment, as Twilight glances between the two, hiding behind her bowl.

"I know you're teasing." Celestia tsks. "But. Perhaps a little... enforcement on the exact outlines of Day-Court, so we might all be able to enjoy our evenings, would be... amenable." Celestia slowly pieces out, trying to find a well-worded justification. "Just alert me next time you do such a thing?"

"Actually, I tried to talk to you about it last night. Think you were a little... distracted though." Arnon teases.

"Hoh?" Celestia huffs. Both pause as Twilight's spoon chatters in the bowl; she was at her limit, and her facial hue had changed from purple to near burgundy.

Twilight finally speaks up, right as a lull in the conversation presents itself.
"I, uh... it's delicious, but I should... get, uh..."

"You need not find an excuse to pardon yourself, my student. The Castle is as much yours as it is mine." Celestia nods, reassuring Twilight with a kind smile.

Twilight bows, appreciative, before quickly cantering out of the room; likely to find a book she can shove her face into, and stew over her awkward feelings.

"What did I say about teasing in front of my student?" Celestia softly chastises, now alone in the dining room with Arnon.

"Oh, please Sunbutt -- that was hardly teasing. You asked a question, I answered it." Arnon retorts -- he finds one of his untouched eggs taken by a golden glow, leaving his plate and floating over to Celestia's. "...Hmph. Really?"

Celestia leans to sniff the little cooked oddity, a curious look taking her face as she... oh, she just ate it. Were her teeth always that sharp?

Arnon blows a raspberry, going back to what's left of his breakfast. Fueling the local bio-reactor that kept the sun in the sky was a small price to pay to get away with his teasing. How she kept that figure with that metabolism of hers, he had no idea. Probably the cake.

"...Say, where is Bulwark?" Celestia idly comments.

"Oh, probably posted outside my door thinking I'm asleep inside." Arnon snorts.

Both find this amusing, and return to their breakfast.

A panicked Bulwark can later be seen charging through the halls, trying to find his lost charge -- once his 'It is time to wake up, Sir' was met with an empty bedroom.

Day-Court proceeded rather unnotably. There were few comments of true, actual worry, and cases seemed at an all time low lately. Normally, this would sound delightful; her little ponies were doing well. But things weren't always so simple in the kingdom of Equestria; they were likely in the 'Calm before the storm' phase. Such peacefully quiet times never came without their comeuppance.

Now, Princess Celestia, Goddess of the Sun and Thousand-Year Ruler of Equestria, excitedly sat in the castle's kitchen. A baker from Manehatten, Basted Beats, was visiting to impart some of the new Manehatten recipes to her staff.

Her favorite part? She was sat excitedly at an empty countertop, waiting to be served the byproducts of the Canterlot chefs' efforts to learn such new recipes.

She can't help but knead the floor with her hooves in excitement as her kitchen staff bustle around her, like a little filly in a candy shop.

Twilight Sparkle, Prodigy of the Sun Princess and her Top Student, currently sat buried in the study, alone. Buried in books, mostly.

One of her coping habits had resurfaced; the sturdiest hardbacks had been selected from the numerous wood-carvwd shelves that speckled this cozy castle spot; typically, a quiet room for one of the Princesses to catch up on some reading, now a place for a little purple pony to process her feelings.

And oh, what big feelings those were.

Entombed in literature, the books had been meticulously hoof-placed using her patent-pending book stacking system, that provided both a sturdy shelter to hide away from the perceptive public eye, and still be able to read an astounding 85% of the volumes. Truly, a method that would shake the academic introvert world.

Except for how Arnon was currently squatted outside of it, poking at one of the books to get her attention.
"Know you're in there, purple." He states simply.

The accused purple, who was indeed hiding with the fort of books, shifts the poked book aside so she can peer out with a single one of those violet eyes.

"...Hi Arnon." She mutters.

"How you doing, Twilight?" Arnon asks softly.

"I'm alright." She mumbles.

"...Wanna talk about it?" He prods.

After a long pause, the little purple pony sighs, emerging from her fortification as some of the books tumble around her.

"I... I don't know how to explain how I'm feeling." Twilight offers, watching the floor.

"Mind if I take a stab at it?" Arnon offers.

Twilight tilts her head.

"Human phrasing. Mind if I guess?" Arnon corrects.

She nods.

"You... are having trouble seeing your teacher in a new light?" He offers, watching her expectantly.

"...Maybe? I don't know, Arnon. I just feel... weird, lately. Princess Celestia has been my tutor since I was a filly... but I can't help but feel like I'm intruding?" She tries to formulate, looking to Arnon.

"I get it. Tia is... trying to include you. You're special to her, you know. Not just because you're her top student." Arnon starts to explain. Twilight smiles, glancing away -- right, she was a boastful little thing sometimes and loved being at the top of the academic count. Arnon shakes his head, but continues.
"Might be odd, seeing a part of her you usually haven't seen... but at the end of the day, shifting the sun or not, she's just a big pony."

"How could I ever think of Princess Celestia as just 'another Pony'?" Twilight retorts. "She's the Princess! She's ruled for a thousand years alone, and more with her sister! She controls the Sun, Arnon!"

"And she's also currently sitting in the kitchen, stuffing her face. Just because one has a unique role doesn't deny them their... pony-manity. You know Cadance -- does being the Princess of Love stop her from being that fun-loving Mare she always is?" Arnon 'counter-torts', hefting a pointed finger at Twilight.

That seems to catch her, Twilight's lips pursing in thought.

"Obviously, if you aren't comfortable, you can put your hoof down, you know." Arnon continues.

"...The massage was really nice though." Twilight finally mutters, glancing back up to Arnon.

"Life is... complicated. Complex. Especially for a creature that lives several lifetimes; so non-standard approaches to personal relationships -- like friendship -- tends to be... different, than the social norm." Arnon tries to explain, as Twilight watches him.

"I... understand. It's just... well, a lot, when my teacher, who I've looked up to my entire life, invites me to come get a massage on her bed." Twilight searches for the words for her feelings. "But... I get she was trying to include me. I didn't mind it. Again, it was nice, just... I can't help the feelings I get during that kind of thing, you know?"

"Of course. You know, you can probably tell her that, too." Arnon offers. "Might be a good conversation. But, uh... maybe save it for when she's not stuffing her face." Arnon had a feeling he'd lose a finger to the torrential storm of Tia eating sweets if he tried to interject now.

Twilight nods.
"...Would, you... like to read with me?"

Her answer comes in the form of Arnon slumping onto the book fort beside her, turning it more into a book-pile.
"Sure, Sporkle--what're we reading?"

Arnon finds a particularly thick book, coated in glowing purple, hovering close to his face.

"...Alicorns and their mating habits--" Arnon 'reads' aloud, feigning shock.

Twilight yelps.
"W-what?! No, I--" The book quickly soars back in front of her, as she checks the title. The Cultural Impact of the Yak-Equestrian Pacts. Twilight sighs loudly in relief, throwing Arnon a stink eye.

Arnon just grins, getting a tail-flick sent his way before the pair settle in for some light reading.

Author's Note

C - Time Loop - The Artefact

Arnon knows he shouldn't.

Bulwark, stood beside him, warns him every time.

Both stand in front of the Forbidden Archives. Traditionally guarded by warding magics, the massive library of the castle gets Ponies deeply lost if they lose their way trying to traverse its depths. And such was put in place, to keep the Forbidden Archives hidden.

Arnon is both immune to the magic, and has been here enough times he remembers the path. If Bulwark stays close, he doesn't get lost. He learned that quickly.

As a final layer, the Forbidden section has a lock.

He made a key months ago. Bulwark watched him do it, with some kind of putty. It unnerved Bulwark just how devious the Advisor could be.

Arnon does this every time. A little moral debate before going inside. Mostly hammed up for Bulwark, so it looks like he feels a little guilty about doing it. Arnon doesn't though.

Currently Lunch, the Castle was teeming with life; busy. Distracted.

...Yeah, time for another peek.

The lock clicks as Arnon pushes his way inside, holding a candle aloft for light. Bulwark rolls his eyes, glancing around before, hesitantly, following Arnon inside.

Towering bookcases filled with forbidden knowledge that would drive a purple pony of autistic caliber into a frenzy. Several mantles, displays and containers showing dormant magical artifacts of long past.

The worst of the worst was kept locked in the Royal Armory, so Arnon wasn't worried that he could get up to too much. Most magical do-hickies stored away here were simply... not great for a Pony to peruse.

Plus, he's the Royal Advisor to a pair of Alicorns that tend to... ignore problems. Tuck them away, deal with them later when prophecy decries so. Somebody had to check for the ticking time-bombs they loved to leave around, since nopony intended to.

Since his work started, he'd already subverted three by alerting them to dwindling magic wards, or simply turning the thing upside down. Again, not terribly dangerous... but they'd be at the least, quite inconvenient.

They tried to scold him, but... it's difficult to scold a Royal Advisor when they're right. At least a little bit.

Arnon pauses beside one of the displays. It's a thick, leather-bound tome with a firm metal clasp across it's front. The thing is just bristling with magic. It rustles, shakes, like something is threatening to burst out.

Bulwark pauses, noticing.
"...Sir, please don't." He tries to warn, but it falls on deaf ears like always.

Arnon has already set the candle on a nearby display, working the glass. He had a few keys made, but... lockpicking was just easier. They had very simple locks, when they weren't ornate, big front and center ones. Arnon's tongue sticks out the side of his mouth as the display clicks, and he opens it.

"Leather, Bulwark. Ponies don't use leather." Arnon informs slowly, reaching and plucking the book from its stand. They also didn't brace the books in metal or make it look outright evil like this book, but that was obvious.

He can feel the roiling magic in his hands, desperately seeking for another to latch to, like a brimming cup containing a storm.

Unfortunately, it only finds Arnon, who is the equivalent to a magical bucket with a hole in the bottom. Like a bathtub with no bottom.

Bulwark watches as slowly, the magic seems to seep from the book, into Arnon, growing quieter and still.

"It tingles." Arnon mutters, watching as the book finally stills.

"...I continue to recommend you do not do that, sir, and I will be informing the Princess." Bulwark politely informs, watching Arnon put the book back, without reading or unclasping it. That seemed to settle it for now. He'd have to check on it again, later.

Arnon clicks the display shut, locking it again.
"Good, saves me a report." He muses. He had a few recommendations for the Forbidden Section, but no-pony ever went back here. He'd continue to handle it himself; it felt like his own task, given to himself, by himself.

Before he grabs the candle, Arnon looks at his fingers, wiggling them. They still tingle. That will probably go away, eventually.

Candle in hand again, Arnon presses deeper into the archives, Bulwark reluctantly on his heels; until Arnon turns a corner around a book-case.

Bulwark turns after him; and he's gone.

The candle is sat on the ground, flickering quietly.

Bulwark purses his lips.
"That's not funny, sir." He objects aloud.

Silence, only dark halls and looming bookcases.

Then Arnon rounds into the hallway from behind Bulwark.

"There you are, Sir. Please do not--" Bulwark stops.

The Arnon looking down at him is much older. A full beard on his face, with wizened strips of grey through it, and his hair. Still in his Advisor's garb, a sash crosses his chest, split between White, Blue, Pink and Purple.

Leaning against a sturdy cane, Older Arnon leans down, presenting an ornate, golden key to Bulwark.

"...Sir? What happened to you?" Bulwark whispers, worried.

"Not quite the same Sir, Bulwark." Older Arnon responds warmly. "Good to see you're doing well. Oh, here; I'll need this." He informs; voice gravelly with age.

Bulwark, thoroughly confused, slowly takes the key in his mouth. This was... deeply confusing, but Arnon had gotten up to worse pranks before. He wasn't sure quite where he got the fake beard or the sash, though.

Before he can ask anything, there's the sound of footsteps further behind them. As Bulwark glances back, he sees a younger, more familiar Arnon approach. Again with another forbidden trinket it hand, this time of a stone-like triangular shape. Wait. What?

Bulwark's head snaps back forward. Older, bearded Arnon is gone. That..

"There you are, Bulwark. I found this sitting outside its display, but it needs -- oh, you got it already. Thanks." Arnon notes, leaning to pluck the key from Bulwarks mouth. "Now where did my... oh, there's my candle."

... Bulwark wasn't going to include that in the report. He was, however, going to report himself to a long drink of something with a percentage labelled on the front. This is why he hated the Forbidden Archives.

"...Of course, Sir." Bulwark absently offers, still processing. "...You should get a Sash, Sir. I hear they're fashionable."

"You think so? I've been thinking about getting one, honestly, but I was worried it was too much." Arnon responds, fiddling with... it looks like a little palm-sized triangle made of metal, with a key hole in the front. Thankfully, Arnon doesn't fiddle to open it; one of the hinges is loose, and he's trying to secure it for the moment.

"...Probably needs tightening. I'll hang onto it for now." Arnon concludes, tucking it into a pocket, alongside. It sticks out pretty obviously, and isn't terribly comfortable to walk around with, but at least his hands are free. He takes a moment to kneel, plucking the candle off the ground. When did he set it down?

"I don't need to warn you about taking Restricted items out of the Forbidden Archives, do I Sir?" Bulwark adds quietly. He already knows there's no point, but he's obligated.

"Of course not. You've told me plenty of times already." Arnon grins, patting the pocket, strutting for the exit. A swing by the forge would probably find him the right tools.

Bulwark trails after him. He doesn't really have the energy to contest like usual. Not after his little meeting with... Arnon Senior.

Arnon, wizened with age, steps out of the Forbidden Archives, fist pressed to his back. He needed to keep up better with his morning stretches. Stifling a groan, he shuts the gate behind himself.

Cane tapping the wooden flooring, he slowly navigates back out of the maze that is the ever-expanding Canterlot Library; where a bored Celestia sits at one of the tables, the librarian watching nervously.

"Done with your 'little errand', my love?" She asks warmly, perking up once he emerges. She's dressed in comfort wear, an oversized Hawaiian shirt and an equally oversized sun hat.

"I am. Was it to be the Waterpark, this time?" Arnon returns, smiling. She's been enjoying herself, ever since her retirement. A lot of missed years to catch up on.

In a quick glow of her horn, Arnon finds himself dressed similarly, Advisatorial Garb whisked away, now donning socks and sandals, khaki shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt of a contrasting color to his dear wife.

"It is! They have a new Slide I wanted to try. I'm not sure what errand needs you to pull that old outfit out... but I forgot how well you cut a rug in it." She teases, rising to nuzzle him once he reaches her.

"Just dropping something off where it belongs." Arnon pats her neck. "Shall we?"

"Let's. Oh! We can swing by the Throne Room, and say hello to Twilight before we go. Luna is already waiting for us." Celestia grins, tapping her hooves together.

The quiet library is speckled in a golden glow, beautiful white mare smiling, as her horn presses to his forehead; swirling magic teleporting them away, leaving golden embers where they stood.

The librarian exhales in relief, returning to their duties. It wasn't every day the retired Princess and her Consort came by the library. It had been, what... 150 years since her retirement?

Author's Note

L - Thestral Re-Integration - Night 1

Twinkling Sprite, a cream-colored Thestral male, and Princess Luna's primary night-scribe, trots into the throne room.

Sat on her marble throne, gazing wistfully into the distance, is Princess Luna. Night has but started a short time ago, the moon just raised. Now, Luna needed to decide what she would do.

Her primary course of action would be to ensure the Ponies of Equestria were partaking in good dreams; but it was still a smidge too early for such. Most were just settling, dreams yet to stir. In the time between just-risen, for both Moon and Sun, Luna would care for herself. But she had already had... 'Breakfast', and her day was to be light. There was little to do, but wait.

Her ethereal mane slowly ebbing, Luna nods to her scribe as they pause beside her.

Twinkling bows, before presenting several folders of paperwork. This gets an incredulous look from Luna.

"...Twinkling, pray tell, what is all this?" Luna asks. She wasn't averse to such, but paperwork was... she rarely handled more than a parchment or two, in a week. Paperwork was her Sisters, and the Days, deal. Night was, even following her return, a quiet affair. Day had Day Court, Meetings, Ambassadors... rarely did things time themselves that Luna could be the one to take the lead.

She had grown... accepting, of her role, always wary to recoup the jealousy that brought her to Nightmare. But she still had... feelings, regarding the matter.

"Uhm... a mixture of things, Princess. Primarily organized by your Advisor." Twinkling informs, bowing his head.

"Arnon? Hm." She tsks, dismissive. Probably an elaborate joke, a waste of paper, or something misfiled. She didn't dislike the human at all, but she completely disagreed with him being partially her advisor as well. If Celestia wanted to give the human a role so it could stick around, fine. But this was too much, in her eyes. She had no need for such, and his goofball personality aligned with Celestia's childish side far too well. She wished Night to be serious, something to be taken seriously.

Twinkling slowly flips through his clipboard, checking the titles.
"...Proposals, Amendments, and Propositions for future enactment and meetings." He reads aloud. "All organized for your review. He should be joining you shortly; I believe the Royal Advisor is catching one of his... 'Power Naps'."

That twists the emotion sat on Luna's face a little. That seemed... heavier, then what he was capable of. He always presented himself as this... well, goofball, whenever he was around Celestia. Made Advisor as a favor, considering his unique situation. Luna had assumed he actually didn't do any real work. She squints, lifting the first folder off the stack, opening it with her deep-blue magics. Several pages float out, each entirely filled. The first floats towards her, and she clears her throat.

"...Princess Luna, it is my recommendation that there be a light restructuring to your schedule. Amidst peace-times, Pony dreams lean to peaceful thoughts, requiring less of your time. While I understand this duty is deeply important to you, I believe a more... balanced structure of rule is equally important. That is why, this packet contains the outlined recommendations, alterations and steps towards introducing a... Night Court." Luna trails off, eyes widening.

Twinkling seems interested, tilting their head.
"But night is... quiet. Who would need such a thing?"

Luna's eyes glance over the fronts of the other folders, pages and packets. There were several projects here.
Establishment of a Night Court Proposition.

The Thestral Re-Integration Proposition.

Thestral Historical Records Update Proposition.

Vampire-Bat Pony Acknowledgement and Proposed Courses of Action.

Night-Shift Labor Enticement Act.

Luna's deeply blue gaze falls back to the parchment she had been reading, quickly resuming where she left off.

"...It is my intention to introduce several motions at once, breathing a life into the quiet night-side of Canterlot, and balancing the Diarchy. While this is not an outright solution, I have been inspired by your personal approach to Nightmare Night, taking it proudly as your own. This Packet will cover my proposed process to enact a Night Court, which will provide the same acceptable baseline to Ponies who fare better under the moons light, ranging from Thestrals to simple Night-Owls; something I believe to have been lacking for too long. Sincerely, Royal Advisor Arnon." Luna finishes, staring at the pages.

"...Where is Arnon now?" She asks bluntly, the folder snapping shut with her magic.

Vivid Streak, proud Thestral guard to Princess Luna and her rule; currently sat on a beanbag chair (under order of the Royal Advisor), watching said Royal Advisor snore loudly against his desk.

She had been assigned to be his night watch, contrasted by Bulwark in the day. She accepted this duty.

She continually glances at the clock sat on his desk. One of said many, important duties? Waking him from his power naps. It seemed ridiculous at first, until the scale of the effort kicked in. Advisor to both Princesses, that was a full 24 hours he needed to split between both equally, be it in hours or days. It was a trying process.

A creature of the day, he'd been very stout in... trying to actually operate during the night, to get an appreciation for it.

At first, it had her roll her eyes. She shifts her armor, getting comfortable.

Five more minutes until his requested wake-up.

But... he'd recently sent off his finished, finalized propositions. Of which, he sought her council for in regards to several of them.

Thestrals were 'welcome' in Equestria again, but little had been done to promote that. Arnon sought to change that. Immigration programs and incentives, a collaboration with the Canterlot Museum to archive a special section dedicated to Thestrals to engage the public. And, boldly, meetings with the splinter-factions, like those who wanted things to return to how they were pre-banishment, and even the Children Of Night, a splinter group who desired Nightmare Moons return.

It had... altered the view she had on this odd, hairless creature that had been make Advisor. He presented himself 'Dumb of Ass' as he had put it... but seemed to notice things the Ponies did not. She had a smidge of respect for the man.

He snores loudly.

Just a smidge.

Oh, five minutes was up.

Right as Vivid is about to push off her beanbag, the door to his room swings open; Twinkling Sprite trotting in.

"Twinkling. Normally, one would knock before entering the Royal Advisors room." Vivid 'warns', her tone still soft. Often sharing shifts, the two were close, often playing up their roles for amusement.

Twinkling makes a little bow, grinning.
"Sincerest apologies, but Princess Luna demands his presence in the throne room post-haste. She is... agitated."

"Oh. Of course -- I'll have him there right away." Vivid nods, hopping to her hooves. She trots up to the chair Arnon is on, and gives it a sturdy kick.

Arnon snorts loudly, startling and sitting up, rubbing the drool from his mouth.
"Fuggedaboutithah?" He mumbles, blinking heavily.

"Princess Luna requires your presence, sir. Coffee?" Vivid asks, stood at attention.

"Fucking please." Arnon groans, slumping out of the chair to his feet.

Twinkling glances between them. Did... did he request to get kicked awake? He didn't see the advisor himself, much, beyond just picking up these new propositions. Odd fellow, strange form not included.

Luna sits at the head of the dining table. She has the folders and packets open, all spread open so she can read between them; several of them reference the others, clearly designed to be employed together.

The door to the dining room creaks open. She turns, looking -- Arnon, coffee mug in hand, trailed by Twinkling and his night-guard, Vivid.

"Princess." Arnon pauses in his approach to bow, poorly stifling a yawn and nearly spilling his coffee. "Mm-- sorry. Still adjusting."

"Please, sit. We need to discuss what you've sent me." Luna directs firmly, nodding to the table.

Twinkling and Vivid position themselves near the table, while Arnon takes the chair directly beside Luna; normally, one would sit across, but proper procedure had long been forgotten by said Advisor.

"Of course, Princess. Any question, I will do my best to answer." Arnon affirms, sipping quietly from a fresh, steaming cup of Joseph.

Luna looks the human over. She was... incredulous about this, but there was so much to this.
"When did you do this?"

"Last couple of weeks, during downtime and my Night hours."

"Why?"

"It is my duty to Advise the Princesses. After reviewing the Night, and it's processes, I found it... lacking. Not in your favor. Perhaps during more aggressive times, devotion to appeasing dreams is more prudent, or utilizing your skillset as a General or such, but..." Arnon stifles another yawn into a fist. "Ugh, sorry. You deserve to have more shit going on, if I can be blunt."

"...So you seek to turn night into a copy of day, complete with its Courts and bickering?"

"Fuck no." Arnon snorts. This gets a curious noise out of Luna. "All the Nobles are sleeping. Night Court is to be for..." He mumbles, perusing the laid open files, before poking the packet for Thestral Re-Integration.
"A significant portion of Thestrals have yet to comfortably re-integrate with Equestria. Night Court deserves to exist; not because we should take some of Day and shove it into Night, but that Night simply hasn't been handled properly, yet. Jobs and positions are easily made available to those with a preference for evening hours. Including them, embracing their culture and history, speaking with their splinter-factions, and..." He pokes at the Vampire-Bat-Pony folder. "Handling the Vampire problem, should give you your own section of Equestria, truly your own, that has been lacking. Thestrals deserve better; and there are issues going ignored." He summarizes, sipping loudly. "Which, I don't truly blame your Sister for missing; Day has it's own heap of problems."

"...And why do you care for the Thestral plight so much?" Luna prods, now staring at him.

"Well, one, they're fluffy and I enjoy petting them. Two, It's my job, Princess. These are topics that should have been pushed during your initial return, but I understand it wasn't... an entirely smooth process." Arnon retorts, blinking slowly. Still waking up. Too many words. Too much brain think. "These are simple social issues. And if I can be blunt -- which I'm going to be -- Ponies are racist. I already have several Propositions pending with the Day Court regarding Zebra, Yak, Polar, Deer, Dragon, Griffon, Hypogriff, and Kirin relations."

"...Vivid, Twinkling, may we have a moment?" Luna turns, looking to the Thestrals.

The both bow, turning to trot out of the room, shutting the door behind themselves. It clicks loudly and heavily, before coating the room in silence.

After a pause, Luna floats one of the folders she kept tucked underneath the others in front of Arnon.
"Arnon. Why does this folder retain information about a meeting with the Children of the Night?"

"Well, like I said. Inspired by your choice to rehabilitate Nightmare Night instead of abolish it, I've taken that approach to meeting with the Children."

"They are a... for lack of a better term, a terrorist group, Arnon. Who desire Nightmare Moons return. To meet with them is Foolish, and borderline Treason." Luna scolds.

"...You know, they're actually kind of just... overzealous Ponies who enjoy night. I've already talked them down from future violent incursions, and they're awaiting a Political reach-out." Arnon informs. Loud sip.

"You... what?" Luna blinks, dumbfounded.

"Turns out, being your Advisor gives my words to them some swing. I've explained to them the difference between you and Nightmare, and a schism is forming, interested to being a group dedicated to you, rather than Nightmare -- Since, you know, you were Nightmare. And still are on Nightmare Night. It's complex, but everything is in the folder." Arnon hums, sipping loudly again and tapping the folder with a finger. "Good chunk of their members are also just... Night Owls. Like, Ponies who function better in the evening hours, and can't find as much stable work or open stores as they could during the day."

"...Are you serious?" She asks quietly, leaning close.

"Entirely. I plan to work in a comparable Night Court that truly grasps everything Equestria needs, but in the night; for its moon-preferring denizens." Arnon nods.

"...Why are you the one to do this, and not our Sister?" Luna asks suddenly, getting a confused noise from Arnon.

She shifts in her seat, turning and staring at him. A somber look rests on her face, head hung.
"I have tried to talk to her about the... my, Thestrals. She... always assures us that change would come in time. But it never does, Arnon. These... this is sweet, but they will not be permitted, like my prior attempts."

Arnon does his absolute best to not reveal just how much he actually knows about both the Princesses, having read their Diaries -- and not the fake ones in the Forbidden Archives, but the real ones lost to the Castle of the Two Sisters, and elects for an answer that won't oust him as a snoop. Or too knowledgeable. A more measured response would be best here. They care for each other, but there are... sore spots.

Arnon purses his lips. Alright. He sets the cup down, interlacing his fingers, shifting himself to meet the Princess of the Night.
"Well... that's probably because you keep nipping her heels like you're Princess Jr." Arnon states bluntly; hoping a little... blatant shock will help his next point. Luna gives him an offended, confused look.

"You are Princess of the Night. Obviously, work with your sister for your united rule... but does she double-check every action she takes in the Day with you?"

"...No, she does not." Luna echoes simply, realization growing on her face.

"You are Princess. Of the Night. Enact your changes as you see fit, while bearing consideration, but not seeking permission, from your sister. You dig?" He smiles, hoping he wasn't about to get smited. Smote? Smucked?

Consider Arnon pleasantly surprised when Luna wraps her wings around him, pulling him in close for a hug. It's a sincere, tight hug that squeezes the air from his lungs, despite being in an entirely separate chair. Strong wings. But its... nice. It's a Luna-style hug, and she's a little more... well, she kept and maintained an impressive collection of Weapons and Armors in her room, to summarize. Also -- her fur is fucking soft. Damn.

She finally lets him go, smiling.
"Sorry. So, Uh... How exactly do we... enact these?" She asks quietly.

Arnon takes a moment to catch his breath, huffing loudly.
"Follow... the instructions in each folder." He says, once breath finally returns to him. He taps their front with a finger.
"I know that since you haven't gotten much time to lead these changes, I've written out general steps for you to follow. Ponies to speak with, orders to belay, changes to be discussed. Start with the... Re-Integration. Once you're getting comfortable with that, we can shift to enacting Night Court; you've covered Day Court before, you understand it well enough... and yeah. I'm here to answer any questions you have at any time, even if you need to wake me up." Arnon assures, providing a kind smile. A guiding hand for her, while she tackles things with her own hooves.

Luna nods along, looking over the folders. Her magic swoops them together into a pile, held close to her chest. She's... practically vibrating with excitement.
"Thank you, Arnon. Despite what they say, you are a capable Advisor." She smiles, trotting out of the room.

"Oh. Thank you, Princess." Arnon bows, returning to his coffee. Wait, despite what who say? Actually no, probably fair. He's walked out of his room without pants enough times to probably earn that. Not that they cared, but he did. About the pants.

Of course, it wouldn't be so easy.

Thestrals regularly ate meat. Like fish. Ponies were horribly racist; their biggest accomplishment was uniting the three tribes, and that was messy to say the least; it took them nearly being wiped out, and some Alicorns being born to tell them what to do to make it happen.

But, he would power through the issues. Luna was a... fresh ruler, one could say. She didn't have the experience Celestia did, even before her banishment. So he would help where he could, while attempting to assure she felt... fulfilled, in her role. Not just relegated to night.

This would probably shake a few trees... especially with some of the ideas in those packets. But they were worth it.

And also, Arnons blatant ego kept him assured that his plan was the best.

He sips his coffee, rising to go the fuck back to bed. The coffee had been negated by just how fucking soft that blue princess was, and he deemed his tasks for the night done. If she needed him, she could wake him.

Author's Note

C - The Canterlot Hoof-Wrestling Tournament

"Quite the turnout." Bulwark hums, stood beside Arnon. It was indeed.

Canterlot Park's usually vibrant green grass is hard to see past the growing crowd, the festivities, the decorations and the pointed tents. Currently, the park is jammed full of Ponies that mill about to watch, move to the various tables under the direction of volunteer officials, or try to actually enjoy the park despite its burst in population.

The stone fence that surrounds its borders are used as checkpoints by the guard. The only spot that doesn't have Ponies standing on it, is the pond.

To spur some local competitive spirit and give the Ponies some fun, Princess Celestia had organized a Hoof-Wrestling tournament. Numerous tables had been set out, and a tournament list was slowly being drawn out to accommodate every name. The daunting part was kicking the whole thing off; once they got past the first round, they'd already be down by half their participants, and it would become more manageable.

Now, Arnon had assumed that he would be presiding as a judge, or helping run the event, or... something.

Instead, color him surprised to find a number taped to his chest. Celestia had signed him up as a participant, claiming it'd be a good way to help the public get used to interacting with their odd Royal Advisor. That, and apparently Twilight wanted the 'data' of his performance.

"Didn't expect nearly this many to show up. Then again; simple contest, no entry fee. Good way to spend the day." Arnon shrugs.

"How far do you think you'll get, Sir?" Bulwark asks. He has a number in his chest, too. No, he didn't sign himself up either. Also Celestia.

Both now stand in the packed line, the murmur of excitement all around them, waiting to be escorted to tables for their first round.

Arnon, arms crossed, ruminates. He'd been keeping up on his workouts...
"Dunno. Might be the first time I'll actually directly, physically compete with a pony. I think I'll get decently far, though -- you all eat too many sweets." Arnon surmises, a smidge cocky. It was arm wrestling in pony form, and he was the only one who had an actual arm, so Arnon was at least a little confident.

An egregiously buff stallion with tiny wings walks past, being directed to a table. He looks like he's the reason Equestria doesn't have steroids -- because he used them all. Good lord. Fittingly so, his table-partner's jaw nearly hits the floor when they see their competition.

"...Not sure if I could take that one." Bulwark chuffs. He was confident, but a fair bit more humble than Arnon.

"...Yeah, maybe not that one." Arnon agrees.

One of the referees nudges Bulwark's shoulders, pointing a hoof at an open table.
"Well, here's me. Good luck, Sir." Bulwark nods, before trailing after them, leaving Arnon to his thoughts.

Or it would have, if Arnon didn't just notice something.

Celestia is at one of the tables. She's got a number on her chest, signifying that she's competing too. Little meet and greets with the Ponies that get squared up against her, and a little fun for herself with partaking. That's nice.

Oh, some of the Elements are here, too. There's Twilight; she's standing beside Applejack and Rainbowdash. Oh, and Ponk. Twilight is the only one without a number. Wonder how far those three will get.

One of the referees nudges Arnon, pointing him to an empty table. Well, time to get started. Wonder if he should've done some stretches.

Alright, so being able to do two and a half pull-ups makes you a monster on the Pony strength scale. Good to know.

The first guy, some poor chestnut stallion, didn't stand a chance. Arnon surprised him with how quickly his hoof hit the table.

Maybe it was their anatomy? They didn't exactly have arms, and he knew ponies weren't weak. He was trying not to fuel his own ego.

It wasn't working.

A few minutes go by, and and the queue is already halved. Another round or two, and there wouldn't even be a line for the tables.

Arnon and his next opponent are shuffled to their next table; ah, shit. Its the giant beefcake of a Pegasus. Well, Arnon had a good run.

Their tables ref throws up a hoof, and --

Buff Pegagus's going full force, all power, muscles straining and veins bulging.

He barely budges Arnon's hand, sweaty hoof digging into his palm. All right, this is getting kind of ridiculous. There's no way the strength differential was this bad, right?

Arnon taps him to the table. The Pegasus is shook, glancing between his muscles and Arnon. He starts tearing up. Now Arnon just felt bad.

Sorry dude, not your fault you weren't the powerscaled human dropped into a pastel candy world.

With his second victory, Arnon no longer has to shuffle into lines; the crowd is thinned enough that the real grind is kicking in.

Glancing around, he sees Applejack and Dash squaring up for the third round. Whoever loses here isn't getting to live it down, that's for sure.

Tia hasn't budged from her table, obviously. By the time Arnon wraps up with his opponent, hers is already on the meet and greet portion of getting selected against her. Honestly, they seem a lot less bummed to lose to her, considering it's expected. Princess of the Sun, one of four Alicorns, all that jazz; the real honor is the face to face. She still manages to look regal, sitting at a table meant for Ponies half her size; somehow, through the crowds and even the Pony anxiously chatting with her, Tia notices Arnon looking, throwing him a wink.

Honestly, Arnon kind of zones out for a while. A maple mare -- folded. A pink-yellow stallion, folded. They just keep coming, and Arnon just keeps folding them. Honestly, it's kind of mean. He's not even being extra about it, they're just... well, they can't even grab his palm.

Dash somehow beats Applejack, in a surprise turn; and Applejack looks DEVASTATED. Rainbow Dash won't stop doing loops and hoof-pumping, while Applejack buries herself under her hat, Twilight rampant in her note taking. Arnon surmises that Applejacks strength must all be in her back-hooves, then; the Dash win really wasn't expected, but throttling through the air front-hooves first probably builds up some frontal muscle mass. Or something.

Ponky Poop is also, unsurprisingly, mowing through the competition as well. It might not even be her whole shtick kicking in; she's just a fucking sturdy-chubby earth pony that drags party supplies and a cannon around all the time.

She squints over at Arnon when he thinks the word chubby, pointing at her eyes, then at him. Omniscient ponies, or just competitive and he's simply thinking the incriminating thoughts as they notice him?

Oh, another competitor gets sat in front of Arnon. Folded like a steel chair, hoof to table on go. At this point, he's just trying to make sure he's not hurting anyone; though the Earth Ponies seem to fare a little better against him than the others. Makes Applejack's loss all the more devastating.

The disparity between some of the competitors is becoming very clear. Arnon, Pinky, Celestia, Rainbow Dash; not a single challenger manages to move them from their tables.

It's not much longer until those pillars are forced to clash. Since he never really planned to win, Arnon doesn't really care; but Ponk keeps mogging him. She might have a trick up her sleeve.

Ref calls out the new changes...

Arnon is up from his table...

Rainbow Dash. Phew. Despite her track record so far, Arnon was confident he could take her, if his previous bouts were anything to go by. Though... she was an Element, and Equus' habit of making the standout few leagues better than the rest proved itself time and time again.

"There he is; the Royal Dork!" She sneers, wriggling on her seat as Arnon sits down across from her. Oh, she is BRIMMING with confidence, riding that Applejack-High all the way to the sky.

"Hey Dainbow Bash; enjoying the competition, since Applejack let you win?" Arnon goads. He'd spent some time in Ponyville before moving to Canterlot; he knew how to poke Rainbow's buttons.

Her cheeky grin falls from her face, replaced by a confident sneer.
"Oh, think she went easy on me, huh?! I'll show you when I send your hoof right through this table!"

She slams her elbow down, holding her hoof out, waiting. Still funny to see Ponies just outright ignore their biological anatomy to accomplish this, but whatever.

Arnon firmly grasps her hoof, getting an odd look from Dash. Yeah, soak it in, Rainbow -- FINGERS. He wriggled them, further distracting her, as she watches each of his little appendages wriggle and writhe across her hoof. That's gotta be a phobia he's tapping into right now, with the disgusted look stretching across her face.

She doesn't even hear the countdown -- only the sound of her hoof slamming on the table. Ough, Arnon eats that shocked look on her face for breakfast, lunch, and saves leftovers for dinner. He can hear Applejack cheering from the sidelines, avenged.

"W-what?! No! I WASNT READY! YOU CHEATED!" Rainbow shouts, slamming her hooves on the table.

"You missed the race start, Dash; that's a lapse in your focus. It's more than just a competition of strength." Arnon teases, dramatically inspecting his nails.

Rainbow Dash looks like she's about to start tweaking, robbed of her victory by a cheap trick -- until the Ref Pony urges her to head to the sidelines, and thanks her for participating. She, predictably, blasts off into the sky instead, likely to go seethe and mald on a cloud somewhere.

Arnon is instructed to remain seated, so he catches a glance at the competition. Pinkie got matched up with Tia, thankfully; so no chance he has to face the pink menace.

... They're chatting, smiling.

... Chubby Ponky.

Her head snaps around, glaring right at Arnon.

Oop.

She leans over to Celestia, whispering something to her.

Oh boy.

Further worry about the omniscient terror that is Pinkie of Pies is torn away, as his newest competitor sits across from him. And it's a familiar one at that; Brass Bulwark.

"Hey, Brass. Still hanging on?" Arnon grins, offering his hand in the ready position.

"There's a reason I got assigned to be your personal Day-Guard, Sir." Brass firmly retorts, offering his hoof. A few of the other guards are cheering for him from the sidelines, grunting various guard-culture phrases that Arnon had no idea the meaning behind.

"I've gotta warn you, Bulwark." Arnon whispers, as the ref starts the countdown.

"Oh?" Bulwark shuffles closer, looking focused.

"This is a human game, where we play so hard we snap our own arms to win." Arnon grins. "Think you can guard me with a broken leg?"

That seems to stutter Brass out of his focus, for just a single moment, in a lured train of thought.

And one moment is all it takes.

Hoof, meet table.

Brass seems to take it a lot better than Dash did, huffing to himself and staring at Arnon's hand.
"...Hm. Wouldn't say it's a new feeling, guarding something that doesn't particularly need it."

"You mean the Princesses?" Arnon asks.

Brass and Arnon both look to the Princess, who sits idly, smiling at the gathered public. Right. Alicorn powerhouse, the strength of all three tribes.

"Well, I guess my job is more to keep an eye on you, than actually protect you. You better sweep this competition, so my pride survives." Bulwark retorts; is he smiling? That's a rare expression for him. "Clever, phasing me out. Didn't expect that from you. Good luck, Sir."

Arnon was always a cheeky little bugger. Honestly, Brass really should have seen something like that coming. For Arnon, it was mostly because it was more entertaining than just shaming every Pony set up against him.

He was kind of wishing he didn't do that now, to see if Brass could've given him a run for his bits.

The Ref Pony asks him to rise; man, the tables are looking pretty sparse now...

The crowd thinned out a little bit from the bummed Ponies that lost, but most of their number stuck around to see how it was all playing out, anxious and interested whispers as the numbers continued to dwindle.

Another bout, another fold. Arnon was starting to zone out again.

The weather was nice. A light, crisp breeze to aid in this beautiful, warm day.

Another Pony, another hoof to a table.

Part of Arnon was wondering what he should get for lunch.

"Hello, our Advisor." A very familiar voice sweetly greets him, as he sits at the table.

He was just blindly following the Ref; well, time to face the music. He had a good run.

"Hello, Princess. Enjoying the Meet and Greet?" Arnon asks playfully, glancing around. He wonders where he ended up placing...

There's no other matches currently ongoing.

It's the finals.

She's the last one.

Hey, finals. Not a bad placement, considering. And he still had plenty of juice to spare; his previous matches hadn't been exactly... tiring.

Princess Celestia stifles a small giggle.
"I'll have you know I'm treating my competition quite seriously, Arnon. But yes -- a few moments to chat with each of them has been enjoyable."

"Like Day Court, but outside." Arnon snickers.

That gets a pause, and a genuine snort out of Celestia -- who quickly recovers.
"I... suppose it is. Hrm. Perhaps on a balmy, sunny summer day, we can host Day Court outside in the Garden. Delightful inspiration, Arnon."

"Glad to assist, Princess." Arnon makes little bow, as the Ref Pony raises their hoof.

"You know... I'm surprised you swept your way through the competition so swiftly. I had expected you to at least make it partway... but consider me impressed. You might even beat me. Imagine that?" Celestia says, placing her hoof forward.

A shiver runs down Arnon's back, despite her playful smile.

Right. He was about to arm-wrestle a Sun-Moving God. Should... probably give it his all. Yeah.

Arnon's hand tentively meets the Princesses Hoof, grasping firmly. A fake-out wasn't going to work against her, not the way she held that coy smile, staring him down. Like she's about to avenge all of her little ponies that he just spent the last half an hour besting.

"...Do you paint your hooves?" Arnon asks suddenly, looking at the hoof in her hand. The both of them are slowly realizing that this is the first time they've held hand to hoof. Sure, not exactly the most intimate setting; but their weeks of casual flirting put a little more kick into that realization, the coy smirk falling from Celestia's face.

"I do not, actually; only for the most special of occasions. I'm a big believer of Natural Beauty -- not to besmirch my dear Twilight's friend, Rarity." Celestia imparts, letting a little playfulness creep back in.

"I can tell." Arnon nods simply, sweating.

"...Hoh. Flatterer." She chuffs. The Ref begins their count down...

Three...

Two...

"Say, did you happen to give Twilight's friend, Pinkie Pie, a new nickname?" She asks sweetly.

It's a brutal double assault. The perfectly timed distraction... and the torrential, monumental force that bears down on him. Arnon's hand can barely hold its place, his entire arm, his entire body, trembling.

It's like trying to hold back a train with nothing but one arm, as it bears down on him. He grips the table hard enough his knuckles are white, teeth grit together with enough force that he's worried they'll crack.

She's a fucking bio-reactor, a nuclear power plant shoved into a pony body, a brick-shitting powerhouse. Her horn isn't even glowing -- this is all her. There's muscle under all that cake-loving fur.

Arnon is fighting for his fucking life. It's a hundred and ten percent not to just get folded instantly -- and every second, he's slowly losing ground.

He finally spares a glance at her -- oh, shit, she's not even fucking trying.

Celestia is just staring at him, resting her head on her other hoof, smiling in a mixture of amusement and soft surprise.
"...You're quite strong, aren't you Arnon?"

The initial, shocked silence of the crowd erupts as somepony -- or someone -- actually lasts a few seconds against the Princess.

But Arnon doesn't hear it; every single fiber, every cell of his being is hyper-focused on holding back the equivalent of a tsunami. Like trying to bench a cement truck. She's a fucking monster.

Slowly, Arnon keeps losing ground as Celestia applies more and more pressure; she watches with muted, playful interest.

Arnon's cheeks are puffed, huffing and puffing, face red as his veins threaten to shoot out of his skin. Time is a foreign concept -- all he knows is hold fast. And he is slowly fading.

His hand is now inches from the table -- where it remains.

Celestia leans forward, a coy smile placed on her half-lidded, playful face. Arnon is only still in because she's letting him; she could end this at any moment. Fucking Sunbutt.
"Tell you what, Arnon... how about a little wager, to make this last stretch interesting?" She teases.

Arnon is, obviously, entirely incapable of doing anything that isn't strain against the sheer force pinning his arm, or straining an ear to listen. So he listens, and he strains.

"If you can hold out for... hm. Let us say... ten more seconds, I will grant you any singular request of yours. Any. Including, if you so desire... a personal one." She practically purrs. She's hazing the absolute shit out of Arnon right now.

He can barely hear her wager over the ringing in his ears. He's not even capable of higher thought at this moment -- but his caveman brain just barely slams the idea down his brain-funnel to process what she just said.

Then, Celestia gives her final push.

But it refused.

Arnon's hand, shaking and trembling, does not budge against her hoof.

She raises an eyebrow.

She pushes again, harder.

It's like resisting an entire ocean of pressure. Like trying to stop the tectonic shifting of the continents by-hand.

But Arnon doesn't budge.

"...Hoh." Celestia hums softly.

She shifts in her seat, lifting her head from her hoof. For the first moment since coming here; she visibly looks like she's trying to apply pressure.

It takes everything not to black out.

Non-vital organs are dormant.

Arnon's veins look like they belong on the outside of his skin, now.

He's several different shades of red, each getting so bright he could classify as a tomato.

The crowd is roaring, cheering, hooves flailing.

Celestia looks to Arnon, and gives him a smile.

That's a new smile. She's never given him that one before.

A haughty, sultry smile, even.

snap

Somepony in the crowd screams. Another faints. The Ref is frozen completely still.

Celestia's face, somehow, goes pale. Arnon's hand is touching the table, though the rest of his arm isn't.

When did he get three joints in his arm?

Instead of providing an answer, Arnon's head thunks on the table as he passes out.

Arnon flits in and out of consciousness. Vision is hazy, voices are fuzzy. He's not moving his own legs; whoever is carrying him is fluffy.

...Fluffy? Really fluffy. Familiarly fluffy. Massages every week, smells like vanilla, white fur fluffy.

And fast. Never seen the Canterlot streets go by in a blur... hard to see them past all these flapping feathers.

Unconsciousness claims him again.

Canterlot's Hospital. Quite well stocked, and well staffed by some of the best in the nation. Big, fancy building. No red cross on it, though; did you know that's copyrighted? Crazy, right? Instead they've got a big white cross with hearts in each corner, on a sign out front and up on the wall, on several banners.

Thankfully, it was a clean break that just needed realigning and time to set. Downside to being magically muted; no healing magic to speed the process up. So, Arnon was in for a nice, long recovery period, arm firmly bound in a cast.

Considering his size to the typical Pony, they'd pushed two of the medical beds together to give him a comfortable enough sprawl. It was working, for the most part. Cute, quaint room, a few medical devices of varying technological levels. His cast-bound forearm dangled outward, suspended, as an IV tube sticking out just above it.

The Nurses were polite -- obviously. When Princess Celestia comes barging into the hospital demanding aid, she gets it, and when royal matters are involved, every one of these ponies is on their A-Game.

Now, though, Arnon sits on the kind-of comfortable beds, laid on his back. Quiet morning sun filters in, now the morrow from the event. From what he'd heard, other than exposing a good chunk of the locals to a bent arm, the competition went quite well. Prizes were given to the top 3, not including Celestia -- she participated, but wasn't a contestant. Arnon's arm snapping unfortunately rendered him disqualified, so no bit-prizes for him.

That was alright though. Apparently, he had lasted 11 seconds once the wager took place.

Which meant he won the wager. Which means he got one request, one wish, no limits, from the Princess Of The Sun.

And he was thoroughly enjoying what he'd chosen. Given some time alone from the nurses, at the Princesses word, it was only Arnon in the room.

And a large, fluffy, white-furred Princess who laid on his stomach, carefully balancing herself with her hooves and wings around his sides so as not to lean on him too much. Her barrel was pressed up against his face, burying him in her chest-fluff as she softly looked at him from above. Somehow, she made shoving her fur-tits in his face still look regal. He had no idea how she did it, but she did.

Originally, she'd been very apologetic. That was the last thing she expected to happen, and she felt terrible for letting her sense of self-control slip. Celestia had been visiting constantly, only leaving the room to perform the bare minimum of her duties, like lowering the sun. She'd even spent the entire night in the same room, keeping an eye on him. She'd left a few moments ago, to raise the sun; and when she returned, Arnon offered what he wanted, since he did win after all.

"Put your chest fluff in my face." Arnon requested simply.

Not the thing she expected to hear out of him... considering the original wager had been made flirtatiously and with overconfidence that there was no way she could lose. To say she had the consequences on her mind the entire time was an understatement... but she relented, relieved at the odd but relatively tame choice. An Alicorns word was a powerful thing, after all.

Took them a minute to find a good pose... but here they were. Arnon's muffled, content sighs as he's buried under what is arguably some of the softest fur in the entire kingdom. She wasn't quite sure what this even did for him.. but she enjoyed the physical contact, and that he wasn't upset with her.

He'd explained that 'honestly that kind of stuff happens surprisingly often to humans'. She still felt bad, of course, for her slip in demeanor and overexcitement, but Arnon continued to assure her; amusing, considering he was the one now bedbound, his good hand softly raking the fur of her side, tracing her foreleg.

"...You humans are such physically orientated creatures." Celestia muses softly, glancing down her snout at him. "...And oddly forgiving."

"Mphmmh." Arnon replies, muffled and buried in regal fluff.

"Oh, I'm not complaining. I... enjoy our more direct interactions. I am just glad you're alright... and that you do not think lesser of me for my misstep." She sighs, leaning down to chuff air into his hair.

"Hgrmmgph." Arnon mumbles.

"I know... as you keep telling me. Still, I will not budge on this. You are taking paid vacation until you are healed. I want you relaxed, and I want you taken care of." Celestia retorts.

"Hrnmg?" Arnon... you get it. Man is buried.

"Me? I am hardly a trained nurse, Arnon; nor does my magic hold any latent affect on you, thanks to your physiology. Though, rest assured, that will hardly stop me from checking on you." She chuffs again, pressing her nose to his forehead. "Expect me often. I shan't have my Advisor feeling ignored, after such a brutal assault on his self by his Princess."

"Hough knf... thedhf somgth ethf yff cbdh bmhrph." Arnon coyly mumbles underneath his fluff-bound prison of choice.

A bright streak of blush takes the Princesses face, as she quickly glances at the door, assuring they're alone.

She looks back down to him, and the hand slowly tracing her up her neck, the fingers gently following the hidden lines of her musculature, tucked beneath her soft fur.

"...Goodness, you Humans are voracious. You'll forgive the arm if I break your hips next? I'm not ignorant of the implication, Royal Advisor." She scolds softly, through a haughty huff and half-lidded eyes. "Such a thing to say to your Princess..."

"...No, I think I'll need to be far more gentle with you going forward." She whispers, craning her neck to look at him coyly, leaning closer.

The door knocks, a nurse-pony entering, Bulwark close behind them -- Celestia quickly slips off the side of the bed, standing beside it as if they were up to nothing, nothing at all. She's gotten quite good at hiding their more playful advances.

And thankfully, Ponies are not very good at picking up on minor details. Like the white furs stuck to Arnon's face, or the face-shaped matted fur of Celestia's chest.

"...So you weren't kidding about the arm-snapping, huh?" Bulwark chuckles after bowing to the Princess.

Tia gives Arnon a curious look. He just shrugs.

Author's Note

C - Flashback - Comforting A Big, Sad White Pony

In the days before Arnon's establishment as the Royal Advisor, merely Twilight Sparkles strange, alien friend.

Arnon E. Morse | Canterlot Castle's Halls

Accompanying her on her most recent trip to Canterlot, and disinterested in spending another four hours reading by the fireplace in the Royal Study with a particular purple pony, Arnon wanders the Castle's Halls.

The slick stonework, tapestries and delicately worn carpets always impressed, reminding him of the Castles of his own home, during their prime. He saw a pretty one in Scotland, during a school trip; though seeing one active, during it's prime time, is far different than many years later. Even in the evening light, the soft orange light highlighted the intricate works that lined the walls. The busts of various Ponies, the tapestries depicting long-ago events...

Arnon pauses, pursing his lips. Thought he heard something, there. Was it just the wind? Or a distant conversation?

He's quiet a moment, listening. It's a long moment before he hears it again.

Sounds like... sniffling. Is someone crying?

He glances around... nobody around him. No guards, no staff. Quietly, neck craned, he traces the sound; it's so quiet, he's careful not to step louder than the sound itself.

It takes him deeper into the castle, down one of the dedicated wings; where a large, sun-like emblem lays emblazoned on the floor, breaking up the stonework, the carpets carefully shifting around it.

It's getting closer... a large set of double doors, ever so slightly cracked, seem to be the source. Arnon stops beside it, holding his ear to the opening, hands clasped behind his back.

"...How can you forgive me, Luna... for all I have taken from you...for when I am at fault?"

An unfamiliar voice. Well, the polite thing to do, would have been not to eavesdrop. A little late for that. Instead, he raises a fist, and quietly knocks on the door.

The sniffling stops instantly. Then, a throat-clear.

"I asked not to be disturbed." The voice calls out -- it's trying to sound firm and authoratative, but it wavers.

"Sorry; I was passing by and heard... you. Is everything alright?" Arnon asks aloud to the mystery pony.

"...Who are you?" He hears back, less assured.

"Arnon E. Morse, Twilight's friend. I'm visiting the castle with her." He responds.

"...Is she there?" The voice asks quietly.

"No, just me." Arnon affirms softly.

There's a long silence, punctuated by another throat-clear.

"...You may come in." They relent after a hefty pause.

Slowly, Arnon pushes the one of the two large, sturdy double doors open, stepping inside.

Oh, man, this is one elaborate room. A... bedroom. Massive, ornate and comfy looking bed sits smack in the center, absolutely smashed with pillows and blankets. There's a heavy white and gold theme, across the floor, the various benches and furnishings; there's a door that leads somewhere, and a balcony, with it's doors open, revealing some of the evening sky.

The rest is covered by its occupant.

...The Princess of the Sun.

Arnon E. Morse, Princess Celestia | Celestia's Bedroom

Wow. That, uh... wasn't a voice he expected to put a face to. A little intimidating, being near his size. Well, in a little deep now, Arnon. He shuts the door gently behind himself, nodding politely.
"Is everything alright?" He asks.

"...Of course." She nods.

He audibly tsks.
"I get having a good, emotion-resetting cry now and then... but I'm not sure that's what this is."

She blinks, looking at him with confusion.
"Apologies. I had not expected anypony to see me like this." She sniffles, quickly wiping her tears with her wings.

"Good thing I'm no Pony, then. I'm an anybody." Arnon smiles playfully, catching the Princess by surprise. "Don't mind me, your Highness; emotions are natural, be it mortal or immortal. No judgement here, just a friendly concern."

"That is kind of you to state... but it helps little, I am afraid." She sighs, looking back to the evening sky.

"Why don't you tell me, then? Perhaps I'll understand more than you think." He offers.

"Forgive me if this is... rude, Mister Morse. But how could you possibly understand the feelings that ail me? You are Mortal. Finite. And... not a Pony."

"Sure, I'm not Pony. But Humanity is not finite, nor is it mortal." Arnon waggles a knowing finger. This gets a confused head-tilt from the Princess. "Well, I'm mortal, but -- may I borrow your ear for a moment?"

She slowly sits on her haunches, nodding as Arnon crosses the room, joining her on the balcony overlooking the elaborate garden, the sun slowly dipping below the horizon. The light casts long shadows over the hedges and flowerbeds, the fountain water twinkling.

"Humans may be mortal... but understanding goes beyond the individual. Have you heard of my kind before?" He starts. The Princess shakes her head.

"I'm a Human. A member of the sole sapient species on our planet, who rose from caves and sticks, to a fledgling grasp of the stars. Humanities greatest gift was not our opposable thumbs, as amazing as they are." He grins, holding one of his hands out. Celestia is hesitant a moment, but his sheer friendliness piques her curiosity. She leans closer, inspecting it curiously.

"It was our imagination. Our desire for fantasy, for things beyond what we could do now. We would write stories and songs, legends and tales of history, and of dreams; of things we wanted to be true, and things that were. It turned a flightless species into one that could soar -- from Hunters and Gatherers, to Farmers and Workers. It gave birth to a myriad of literature, culture and religion, all which grace and embolden the world that I left behind even to this day. And, the greatest accomplishment from that imagination? A mass system of connections that allowed nearly any human, across the entire planet, to access an ever-expanding vault of creativity and storage, tools and communities. Our entire world history, readily available and searchable. Any tool, and craft, easily learnt from anywhere. That, was our greatest culmination." Arnon explains, staring wistfully up to the Moon, the Stars. Space.

"I... don't mean to offend, but I did hear you mention your Sister, Luna." Arnon comments. He'd heard the story from Twilight, as unbelievable as it sounded.
Celestia, after a short pause, simply nods, and Arnon continues. "Did you know we've been to the moon as well? The long way?"

"...The long way?" Celestia questions quietly, her emotions starting to be subdued by her sheer curiosity of the topics Arnon speaks of.

"We don't have magic. So... we built rockets. Big, metal machines forged in factories and furnaces that spew the remains of dinosaurs, the entire thing calculated to minute decimal points by our greatest scientists. All so we could take a man, put him in a suit to let him breathe in space, put him in a rocket so he could reach space, and drop him on the moon. Every single one of those steps, each of those processes... generations of combined work. Just to say we did it, and to say who got to it first; humans are naturally competitive, just as they are cooperative, and several nations participated in this 'Space Race'." Arnon continues, before smiling at the Princess, and her wide-eyed and ever-curious stare.

"A race to reach the Moon? Who won?" She asks quickly, not missing a beat.

"America, a Western Nation, reached the Moon itself first, and planted their flag. But notably, Russia, an Eastern Nation, reached space first." He explains; the merit of the message wouldn't really be served if he simply bounced around and shouted how America won.

"I... see. How long was he left there?" She asks, casting her teary-eyed gaze to their own moon, here on Equus.

"About a week, I think? Then they headed home. That happened roughly... in the last hundred years for my people. And do you know where the first idea behinds rockets started?" He's hardly asking at this point, just trying to keep her engaged. She shakes her head, staring at him expectantly. She seems surprised he wasn't stranded, that he simply... came back on the same rocket.

"Nearly two thousand years ago, in an entirely different nation called China, there they created Fireworks. Without those, we would never have seen the stars, all caused by chain reactions of inventions, new ideas, new dreams, passed on to the next generation; passing the torch. So... maybe give me a little leeway, in that I might be able to understand what causes you sorrow?" He surmises, smiling softly at the big, white pony.

She snorts softly, rubbing her snout with a hoof.
"...There are few who would claim to match my knowledge. Very well, Mister Morse --"

"Please, just Arnon. I like to keep things casual." He butts in, grinning. It's a bold play for Royalty... but intruding on her private cry session hardly spoke the norm.

...She can't help but find a small smile nestling its way onto her own face.
"Very well, Arnon.

The Princess sighs, taking a slow, deep breath.
"I... have ruled these lands, for a thousand years and some. Roughly more than a year ago, my Sister, Princess Luna, returned to us. Originally, in our previously shared rule, she... became jealous of the attention the Day garnered, and I failed to realize just how deeply it upset her, that she didn't find similar for her Night. She revolted, spurred by jealousy... and I was forced to utilize the Elements of Harmony, to lock her away, on the Moon. For a thousand years."

"The... Nightmares, were messing with her mind, right?" Arnon questions.

Celestia looks at him, curious, nodding.

"Twilight. You learn a lot second-hand just by being near her." He shrugs.

Another weak smile takes Celestia's face. She slowly looks back to the Moon, wistfully.
"...Yes, they preyed on her emotions. When she returned, she did so as Nightmare Moon. The Elements, Twilight and her friends, rebuffed them, but..."

She shudders, sighing.
"...I robbed Luna of a thousand years, because of my inaction. Because of my inability to stop her, because of my failure to be a better sister. Now... she is in an unfamiliar time, and is trying to find her place in a Kingdom that has survived for... far longer than I have even known my own Sister. Do you know how terrible that is, Arnon?"

She looks to him, fresh tears staining her reddened eyes.
"I've ruled the Kingdom that bore her jealousy for ten of my little ponies lifetimes longer than I've even known her. I... I can only remember so much about her, Arnon. I am a terrible Sister; she looks at me with warmth, with forgiveness... I cannot even remember her Birthday, Arnon. I have been racking my brain about it for weeks."

Her words are heavy, laden with sobs and shudders.

Big, big feelings, for one of the bigger ponies. Arnon steps forward, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her head to his chest. His hands slowly stroke her neck, holding her close. For the moment, there's no words he can offer. Only a warmth, a kindness denied to an upset Princess of a thousand years.

A hug.

She openly sobs into his shirt for a long time, leaning against him in this moment of vulnerability. A stranger, who cradles her at her worst, offering only warm whispers and a tight, gentle hold.

It's only once her sobs begin to slow, and return to sniffles, that Arnon speaks.
"...You haven't had a proper hug in a while, have you? If I'm allowed to make a bold assessment." Arnon asks softly.

He feels her shake her head against her chest. Probably not too many Ponies lining up to boldly declare they'd like to hug their god-ruler.

"I can't offer advice for a situation I wasn't there for; but with how deeply you care, I'm sure you did what you thought was best at the time. Even if you still regret -- you've your sister back. If she's forgiven you already... perhaps you should listen to her, and forgive yourself, too. It's a rare chance to regain a lost loved one. Explain everything to her. How much you care, how much it hurts you, how badly you want to get to know her again, how these thousand years felt without her. If she is the same sister you love and hold so dearly, she'll want to speak of the same. And even if she isn't... then it's a sister you have the rare chance to get to know, anew. She went through this too, in her own way. You're not alone in this; I'm sure she has things she'd love to say to you, too, but just doesn't know how to approach it." Arnon explains softly, running his fingers through her northern-lights style mane.

"It's... I shouldn't feel like this, Arnon. I am the Princess of the Sun, Ruler of Equestria." She retorts quietly, into his well-wetted shirt.

"Diarchal Ruler, now, Princess. And your station or not -- you're just as much a Pony as the Ponies outside this Castle. Don't deny yourself what every Pony in this land deserves, just because you're a combo meal of wings and horn." Arnon jests. "You guys are all about... harmony, and feelings and stuff, right? Kind of defeats the point if you aren't participating, either."

Another long silence.

Slowly, she pulls herself from his hug, Arnon letting go.

She is... silent. Contemplative.

"...May I trust on your silence regarding what has been spoken tonight?" She finally, quietly, asks.

"Sure. I... went for a walk in the garden and fell in the fountain." Arnon grins.

Celestia now notices just how many tears she shed on his shirt, glancing away. A soft snicker.

"...Thank you, Arnon. You're the first in a long time that I... have been able to speak of my worries to." Celestia says. She's starting to recollect some of her regal stature, standing taller, standing prouder.

"Hey, anytime you need me, you know where to find me. Probably bumming it at Twilight's, still." Arnon shrugs. "Want me to get out of here? You look like you've got some moves to make."

"Perhaps I will accept that offer. Thank you again, Arnon. You are... a friend, in these courts." She bows her head.

"Sick." Arnon bows back.

"Hmm?"

"Oh -- wicked."

"...I don't follow."

"Sorry, Human lingo. Sounds good, Tia. Er--Celestia. Princess Celestia." Arnon corrects.

"...No, I'm alright with you calling me Tia. There are few willing to offer to nickname a Princess." She smiles. It's the biggest, most genuine smile he's seen from her all night.

...In this evening glow, the orange light highlighting her fur, her mane slowly wisping in the air... she's real pretty.

"If you'll excuse me, I believe I can catch Luna before she takes to her nightly duties. I trust you'll find your way out?"

Arnon, pulled from his thoughts simply thumbs-up, starting to walk back to the door.

Tia coughs softly.

He pauses, turning.
"Sorry, Human thing. Sure thing, Tia."

Another, smaller, soft smile.

...Yeah, really pretty.

Author's Note

L - The Tantabus - Night 1

Diarchal Advisor Arnon | Canterlot Castle

Arnon's boot-clicks carry him down the quiet, mid-morning halls. Pink glow is finally fading from the horizon as the sun continues it's inevitable rise... about Ten o'clock, he reckons.

Did he totally ditch Bulwark, faking him out with the classic dip-in-dip-out of the kitchen?

Yes.

Did he have a good reason to leave Bulwark sweating and racing around, as he tries to find his missing charge?

...Nope.

Arnon kind of just did it because he could. Sorry Bulwark, but it was a quiet day so far, and he'd been getting bored. The whole broken arm thing deigned Arnon to getting whatever degree of amusement he could, since he was still barred from more strenuous activities.

One arm slung to his chest (long fucking recovery), the other behind his back, his gaze flits over the ever-impressive stonework and stained glass that mark every layer of this impressive build. Hard to get used to it. Canterlot Castle was a bold statement to the testament of Pony craft work, even the simplest of out-of-sight staff halls.

...He passes a sleepy black-and-blue Thestral guard, napping at his station. His helmet's askew, blocking half his face as he snores. Stationed in front of an impressive archway, designed to match it's owner. Looks like he wandered into Luna's wing. Probably time to turn around.

...But the guard is asleep. And he is kind of on a hot streak of bring a little shit. You know, on account of the arm and the boredom. And Tia wasn't set to visit him for a while... all very good excuses to lean on if he gets in trouble.

Lips pursed deviously, Arnon creeps past the snoozing guard, stepping over his dropped spear, trying to look like he walks with a purpose to any that might see him.

Time for a little mid-day night-wing snooping.

Diarchal Advisor Arnon | Princess Luna's Wing, Canterlot Castle

The halls were styled to be darker in tone. The windows are smaller, the walls decorated with some kind of... vine-growing purple flowers. Numerous sconces line the wall, all currently quiet and cold. The ceilings are lower.

... He'd been here before, of course, but not unsupervised. Even as the Diarchal Advisor, the wings were dedicated to each Princess, their belongings... their secrets. It's where they tended to spend their private time.

There's a guard, a lightly-colored Thestral that glances at him, dozy and confused. A simple, confident nod has them stand down. He was already inside -- so obviously he belonged, right?

Mwehehe. Didn't help Luna tried to keep all her Thestrals in charge of everything Luna. Poor things got real sleepy during the day hours, even the ones more used to day-shifts.

So far... a lot more paintings than Celestia's Day-Wing. Gorgeous landscapes, often depicting the darker hours of the day, and a single Pony often bearing witness to them. Even busts, forming some recognizable historical ponies, some not. Tapestries too. Luna was quite the artist.

Ooh, her personal Armory; a fancy doorway bequeathed with crossed swords and a banner bearing her cutie-mark. She'd always been a martial mare, even in these modern-pony times. Probably locked though.

Ooh, it wasn't. Grinning, Arnon slips inside.

...

Well, her collection of Weapons and Armors continued to impress. A long, dimly lit stone hallway with minimal windows, likely for moisture control. They were well maintained, and she had a good variety. She had a few suits of armor, typically designed for the time period, aligned from older to recent. Her weapons did the same, and she seemed to have no preference. Racks of swords, spears, halberds... not much in the way of shields though. Makes sense, when you can just magic yourself a bubble for protection.

He debates on taking something... no, he shouldn't.

Ooh, tiny dagger. That'd fit in his boot.

...Okay, that might be a bit much. Snooping, sure. Taking? He's going too far into gremlin territory. Time to reel it back.

But maybe she wouldn't miss just one dagger.

...

Her paintings were amazing as always, Arnon slowly passing another incredibly elaborate landscape of the castle during an eclipse. Luna always worked on massive canvases, intent on crafting giant works.

Slowly, quietly, he strolls. He's deeper into Luna's wing than he's ever been before, and passed by the odd guard or two. Same thing... polite nod, they go back to trying their absolute best to stay awake.

The decoration actually starts to get sparse. Spartan, even, with most of the walls being bare, mind for slots for torch sconces. The windows are simple panes. Even the floor has rounded out from artistically-placed stonework to... near perfectly flat.

It kind of feels... alien.

Actually made it a little harder to tell where he was, with the lack of landmarks.

Oh, those are some massive double doors. As big as the ones for Celestia's bedroom.

Oh. That's where he is. Luna's bedroom.

Arnon purses his lips, glancing around. Well, he may have meandered a smidge too far. Time for a quiet exit.

Arnon quietly passes by her bedroom, where she's no doubt sleeping. He's had his fun snooping her wing of the castle, without escort; time to skedaddle before he gets scolded by the colder of the Princess-tral pair.

...He pauses, neck craning. He heard something as he passed her bedroom doors.

No, Arnon, get out of there.

...But you've got the arm. That's a powerful excuse. But it's Luna. She'd probably break the other one if she found him poking around.

But then Tia might double-dote on him. Probably not, since this one would actually be his fault.

...Okay, maybe a little more snooping. Just the tiniest smidge. Find out what that noise is, and begone with you. Flee to safer pastures, arm unbroken.

Slowly, watching his footwork, Arnon creeps closer to the door, hovering near it. Waiting. Listening.

...

Mumbles. A huff? She sounds... distressed.

It's getting close to noon. She's bound to be asleep... hopefully it's not something weird.

Carefully, Arnon presses his ear to the solid, featureless wooden doors.

"Mm...no... nary again... never... we... we shall not..."

The mental image of Luna having a nightmare like a Dog, huffing and running in her sleep comes to mind, cracking a bemused grin on Arnon's face. Was the Princess of Dreams having a nightmare? There was probably a funny joke to be made out of that... but something had him put Big Funny away for the moment.

That was weird. Luna, with Nightmares? Was that normal? Well, Luna had BEEN Nightmares before, but... hm. The Princesses were complex... and he was still getting to know Luna. Unlike Tia, who he hung out with regularly, even during the night he spent only scant hours with her. He was pretty sure she was warming up to him... a little bit. Didn't want to damage what little rapport he had with her.

~~...Probably best to leave it, and her to her sleep, no matter how restless.~~

For a single moment, Arnon's eyes flash a pale, soft orange.

That's not what he wants to do.

Instead, quietly and slowly, Arnon's hand grasps the simple door-handle, checking if it's locked.

~~The door rattles ever so softly, confirming his suspicions. Attempt failed, time to go.~~

The door clicks softly, opening ever so slightly with a soft creak. It is unlocked.

...Arnon blinks a few times, unaware of his eyes hue-change. What was he doing? Oh, Luna's door is unlocked. Odd, she seemed the type to keep it firmly shut. Well... since he'd already found it opened...

He can still hear her murmur in the dark room, a pang of empathy in his chest. Maybe... just checking on her wouldn't hurt. Right? She's probably dead asleep. Probably pushing a proper smiting here, but being their Advisor meant taking a few risks to help them out.

The Forbidden Archives

In the dim darkness of the Forbidden Archives, deep in Canterlot's library, a familiar tome recently drained of it's overflowing power now thrums softly, making a dull pulsing sound. It's thickly-bound cover traces softly with faded orange light, seeping from its bindings.

One. A Gift, for Knowledge.

The clasp on the tome slowly comes undone within it's glass container, tapping the wall as it flips to an empty page.

On one side of the page, the slow scrawling of a simple depiction of a sleeping Princess Luna forms, very simplified, not too unlike some of the older artworks that depict the sisters. Beside her, an equally designed Arnon kneels attentively. There is no quill, no pen, but pitch-black ink appears nonetheless. It details a little of the bedroom, before the drawings stop.

The other side of the page... begins to scrawl a lengthy and descriptive entry about the Big Bang and the creation of the Universe, the merging of materials and the sudden, explosive expansion of how all things began. All written at a rate far faster than any living creature might write it. The eventual heat-death of planets near the sun, how galaxies will slowly drift apart as the universe continues to expand forever. Information known to only one entity in this realm. Now, two.

How ~~this~~ a Universe was born, and how ~~this~~ a Universe will grow old.

~~The Tome~~ The Numeranomicon is content with this new information, not borne of Equus.

The scribbling upon it's parchment lasts for some time, muffled in it's glass container, alone, deep in the archives.

Snooper Arnon | Princess Luna's Bedroom

Arnon rubs the back of his head, one of his eyes squinting as he carefully creeps inside. Felt like he had a headache brewing, and like he forgot something in his room. A quick pat-down affirms he's got all his things. Odd.

The door creaks ever so quietly, re-catching his attention as Arnon presses inside. The door slowly shuts, clicking closed.

It's a very large bedroom. The same size as Celestia's, but... bare. Like, nearly empty.

Smooth, open floor. Smooth, sheer walls. Pillars braced against them, that feel more like obelisks than proper support.

If he was a betting man... he might say this room may be heavily moon-inspired. He had no basis for it, but knowing what little he did of Luna, from both herself and Twilight... he could see it. Bringing a little chunk of moon-aesthetic with her.

He had to admit, it was kind of a vibe.

The only details come in the massive, blanket and pillow covered bed that sits perfectly in the middle, the large canvas and painting supplies that sit against one wall, the marking of her cutie mark on the rounded ceiling, and a massive, ornate mirror opposite of the canvas, across the room.

It's difficult to make any of that out, and near impossible to see anything else. It's incredibly dark, thick curtains covering as much as possible, hiding away her sisters glaring sun.

It really felt bare. Open. Empty. Alien was a word that just kept coming to his mind. Celestia liked stuff. Her room was packed with decorations, furniture, objects, everything. Luna didn't really seem to? Which didn't seem right, since she had stuff laid about in other rooms and halls.

"We shalt... never... no, sister... not again..." Arnon hears, muffled deep under the mounds of cushions and plush blankets that form a pile on the bed. Luna is likely buried under there... somewhere.

Arnon takes a cautious step.

Clack. Shit. He tenses... nothing. She doesn't stir.

He tries again.

Clack. Fuck. Alright, bare feet it is.

Taking off his boots, silently, with one arm, is not a fun time. He's treated to a few more distressed murmers, as Luna twists and turns, mounds of pillows shifting with her. There's already a pile of them around the base of the bed, all spilled from her troubled rest.

Much quieter, his foot-slaps carry him towards the bed, creeping to its side.

Sure enough, there's the Princess of the Night. Ethereal mane subdued by laying down, dark-blue fur bristled in her distress, face scrunched tight. She definitely doesn't look comfortable. Arnon quietly takes in her asleep form as he kneels to the bedside.

She's on her back, half-covered in a thick blanket, variously shaped and colored pillows awkwardly stuffed under her head, hooves, sides -- somepony has been tossing and turning something fierce. Her fur is slightly matted, and looks sweaty -- as does her mane, lacking its usual bounce. Still, it swirls like the night sky, but it's not as impressive as it usually is.

Her typically stoic, cold expression is filled with discomfort, squinted eyes and curled lips. Every few moments or so, her breathing gets heavier, and she twitches.

"We... would never, sister... do not... no..." Luna mutters, strained, one of her hooves idly kicking. "Twilight, don't..."

Arnon gives it plenty of space, well aware of the power behind that leg. A simple glance at his own bandaged and slung arm reminds him plenty.

Arnon sighs softly, watching her. He wasn't quite sure what was going through that noggin, but... well, he could either keep staring at her, or he could try something. And Arnon only has about one reliable move here to try.

His good hand slowly reaches out during one of her more still moments. She twitches, making him flinch back for a moment... but she quiets again, murmuring.

Carefully... Arnon's hand gently meets the side of her discomforted face, fingers trailing through softly sweat-slicked, trim fur. Feels familiar... has he pet her before?

With tenderness, his thumb slowly strokes her cheek, his palm providing a warm anchor. He watches her face, to both gauge her reaction, and keep an eye out for any sudden, potentially painful movements.

She seems to... shiver, at the contact, her muttering and murmuring turning to unintelligible whispers, as she surprisingly quickly leans against his hand. In but a moment, it's tucked between her pillow and her face, as she shifts to sleep on her side.

Princess Luna

Unstable, wisping shades that reminisce of the Elements billow as they near. She's pinned to the wall, nowhere else to go, heart slamming against her chest in fear.

Twilight, eyes aglow, her horn rupturing in brilliantly cruel light, launches a spell at her. It sears her flesh, burns her fur -- Luna screams, as the others offer their gift in turn, only strengthening the spell.

It's a painful, cruel barrage, as it sears her body in it's billowing light.

Behind them all, the billowing mane and white-fur of her sisters' form watches, a harsh glare levied at her.
"I cannot believe you, Luna. To think, I opened my heart to you again... only for you to betray me once more. Never again. I will rule alone, as I have done for a thousand years... as I will do for a thousand more." The voice calls, heavy and firm. "Perhaps another thousand of your own, back upon the moon, will do you good..."

Luna tenses, flinching, terrified as her sister's horn glows.

And yet, these Nightmares are a creation of her own. Though she is unaware in the moment, her own artifact hovers above, feeding off the fear, and fueling the cruelty in kind.

The Tantabus. A small, pitch-black orb that softly swirls with night magic. Created as a form of penance, to torture herself in the night, to ensure that for what she had done, she would never know the restful sleep that she grants to the ponies of Equestria. That is what she deserves... for attempting to subject them all to an eternal night.

It's quiet.

For a moment, Luna's fear deepens with the pit that forms in her stomach, shuddering. Terrified to be back on the moon, left alone for another thousand years...

But when she opens her eyes, she's sat in the royal garden. Flowing, soft grass... violet and purple flowers bloomed under the moon's glow, a small, bee-like creature with a blue stripe, instead of a yellow one, idly bumbling between the flora.

The gentlest breeze sweeps through the hedges and rows, the fountain trickling distantly.

It's... peaceful. Quiet. The rustling of leaves, the light smell of... she's not familiar with that scent. But it is... comforting.

Her heart beats steadily, mind at ease. Luna's thoughts... enjoying the quiet night.

Distantly, a group of Thestrals fly by, cresting past the moon. Even deep into the night, there's still a quiet bustle. Luna sighs, eyes wistful as they stare into the starry night sky.

Petting The Blorse Arnonamorse | Luna's Bedroom

Over the course of... well, it's hard to count just how long, Arnon has slowly stroked and pet the fur of this blue horse. Slowly, Luna seems to have calmed down some. Her breathing is a much more even pace, her barrel rising with a calm rhythm. Her face looks far more rested, and much less strained. She still lays on her side, nestled into her pillows.

While he had no idea what quite caused that little episode, Arnon nods to himself. Alright, Princess calmed. That was probably excusable as an Advisatorial duty, right?

Eh, bit of a stretch. Good time to bounce. He got his good deed in and felt good about it, even if the inception of said deed was born of... devious snooping.

Slowly sliding his hand out from under her face, Arnon starts to rise out of his knelt stance, ready to creep over to his waiting boots.

A deep, shimmering blue encircles him. The whole him. A quick side-glance affirms the Princesses horn is glowing. Ah, shit.

He's promptly wrenched onto the bed, landing hard on the incredibly plush furnishings -- before promptly being wrapped in hooves, hugged close by a softly snoring, INCREDIBLY soft-feeling Princess.

Arnon is stock still, lips pursed. Well, this was probably worst case scenario. Or close, at least.

He was scheduled around Celestia for this week, too. Up and disappearing to... cuddle with her sister?

Scandalous.

...Well, she was incredibly soft, if a little damp. And she's nuzzling into his neck now burying her snout under his chin. Somehow, he's not getting impaled by that massive horn, so that's a plus. This is pretty cute. Honestly, she doesn't look quite as intimidating as when she's asleep. She looks cute.

Wow, she has a really fucking strong grip. She's not crushing him, but Arnon ain't going fucking anywhere, a few testing wriggles only getting him pulled closer.

Alright. He'd just take his scolding, and possible execution tonight like a man. Not like he had much choice in the matter, now.

He sighs softly, face scrunched.

...This was pretty warm.

...And Luna was pretty soft.

...And pretty cute.

He probably had a few hours to wait. It wasn't even noon when he started snooping, and he hadn't been here for too long. It might be a long day.

Luna stirs softly, pressing further up against him. He's as buried in fur as he is in blankets.

It's not really a surprise, but the lull of sleep eventually comes for Arnon, who really had no chance to rebuke it.

Princess Luna, Diarch of Equestria | Luna's Bedroom

There's little need for an alarm clock or to schedule a wake-up, when you're one of the Diarchal Princesses. Their very nature was tied to the magic that drew from the celestial bodies, meaning she'd always awaken when the moon needed to rise.

For the first time in many days, however, Princess Luna feels... refreshed. It's an odd sensation. So used to the Tantabus, subjecting herself to a self-inflicted penance for her jealous slip a thousand years prior, that grumpy awakenings were the norm.

What changed?

She... could not sense the Tantabus in it's usual place. It was close, but she no longer felt it's energies within herself. Then where...?

As she further rises from drowsiness, she realizes something. There's an unusual weight in her bed... and this is a strangely firm pillow in her hooves grasp.

A deep-blue glow slowly entraptures the numerous curtains that encircle the bedroom, sliding them aside, clinking as they settle. Moonlight, ever familiar, spills into the room and splashes across the smooth, grey floors.

...She does not sleep alone.

The blush that creeps across her snout, and her cheeks, grows vibrant in realization. She's practically wrapped herself around their Royal Advisor, his own arm gently tucked into her mane. When did this happen? How did this happen? She made no such efforts. She --

Luna pauses, blinking. The flush still clear on her face, she slowly inches her nose close to him, taking a quiet, close sniff against his neck.

...That was the comforting scent of her dreams? Him? What?

Her horn glows softly, investigating.

The Tantabus... is in his dreams. Faust. Her eyes flare with worry and anger. The fool, he...

Sleeps soundly, his paced breathing only broken by an idle snore. The situation continued to confuse. The Tantubus is made to torment. To punish. And it looks like he's been here a while...

She carefully lowers her horn to his forehead, as it pulses with her magic. Magic that was hers, and hers alone, as the Princess Of Dreams.

She reaches into his dreams, or what should be his Nightmares, to see the brand of havoc that the Tantabus wreaks upon him.

Arnon's Dream

Luna quietly blinks, as the scene before her settles out of a hazy fog. She watches from a distance, hidden behind a pillar.

Arnon stands alone, hands in his pockets. He lacks the broken limb, looking fairly healthy and whistling to himself. He glances around, seeming to just be... looking at things. Waiting. He seems... content. The distance is but a foggy haze of some forgettable forest, but the location seems to be some amalgamation of Canterlot Castle's design. An open, ceilingless plaza, partially ruins, with open walls and crumbling bricks.

Until shadows rise from the cracks between the stonework, the moon slowly shifting to bear it's full focus upon him.

Blackness seeps and oozes forward, slowly taking a dangerously familiar shape that catches Luna's breath. A creature of pitch-black fur, jagged fangs, and a cruel sneer. A creature she had once been herself.

"My torments seem to balk in your steadfast resilience... so I ask you a final time, Human. Dost thou still refuse to yield? To submit?" Nightmare Moon snarls, prowling around Arnon. They're stood in the middle of the a wide, stoney plaza... no such room exists in the castle, but it bears a similar styling. Luna's ears flatten against her head as she hears that haunting tone.

"Yeah, sorry, but submitting isn't really my thing." Arnon shrugs, not bothering trying to keep aface with her.

Why is he so calm? The way Nightmare speaks... how long has this been going on? Was he aware it was a dream? The Tantabus should negate lucidity.

"And yet you so dutifully serve the False Princesses... a little liar, you are." It sneers, beginning to close in on him. Hoof and hoof, wings unfurled, like a predator stalking prey.

"False? I dunno, I think raising the Sun and Moon kind of validates them. But... my servitude doesn't exactly equal... submission, you know." Arnon retorts, smiling. His head is rolled back, his posture casual.

"Your weak bluffs and fervent glazing mean little, in this domain. Now... I will have you watch, as you suffer, alive and helpless. As I feast." Nightmare Moon is upon him, towering over him, inches away, looming. Her mane and tail ebb and sweep around him, like a snake coiling around it's meal.

Her maw slowly opens, revealing rows of jagged, dagger-like teeth, and a long tongue that slithers over them. She slowly leans forward, moving her face closer to his, like she's about to bite his very head off. Luna knows it is but a dream, but she feels her breath catch nonetheless. To see... herself, torture another. She should act quickly. The Tantabus was geared for her -- not a mortal.

Or she would have, until one of Arnon's own hands reach up to touch Nightmare's cheek, cupping it. And his face pushes closer on it's own, and he --

-- Licks her teeth. His own tongue traces over the ridges of her saw-like flesh tearers, pushing himself close enough that his own chest touches her barrel.

Both Luna and Nightmare Moon's eyes go wide.

"Small problem with that approach. I've got a pretty solid kink for powerful and dangerous women... or, Mares in this case. And I'm not particularly... submissive." He whispers, holding his face close to hers, dangerously close to her mouth.

"W-wh--" Nightmare blinks, confused. "I am Nightmare Moon! Ponies shiver in fear at my arrival, t-they--"

His hand slowly trace down her neck, burying into her dark fur, the other held firm to her face. Nightmare stiffens, completely caught off guard by the surprise assault. And Arnon doesn't let up.

"Oh, believe me, I know. But... not a pony. Now, while I might not submit, per se... I might not be as much of a Harmony-Loving goody-two-shoes as you might expect... I think we could find a measure of... servitude, between us, that would suit us both." Arnon whispers, leaning closer to her ear. His other hand is tracing along her back, his fingers pressing through the gaps in her armor.

Nightmare seems to snap out of her daze at his roaming hand, lashing out quickly. In a moment, she has her teeth pressed against his neck, the tips pressing his bare skin. Luna stifles a gasp as Arnon holds still.

"You tread a dangerous road, creature. There is naut but pain and agony down this path..." Nightmare snarls, breath hot on his flesh.

Oh so slowly, Arnon's head turns to meet her gaze. But there's not a flicker of fear in his eyes. Only sheer... is that arousal?
"You should've seen what I got out of a broken arm from Tia. Believe me... I can handle the danger, the pain... But I'm curious to see if you can handle the pleasure..." He retorts, practically purring as his hands refuse to stop. Luna's face is practically an entirely new shade of blue... and Nightmare's is following suit.

This was egregiously erotic, if the tenting of Arnon's pants and Nightmare's pointed wings didn't make that clear. His... unique approach to his own nightmares aside, Luna quickly glances around for the Tantabus. If she could recapture it, she might be able to...

She purses her lips, stealing a glance back down in the plaza. She could only hope his distractions lasted long enough to...

Oh.

They're undressing each other roughly, throwing clothes and armor aside, tongues aggressively exploring each others mouths.

Luna quickly looks away. Watching... an evil version of herself do such felt... dirty. It was slowly becoming clear that his condition, or willpower, or something else entirely was allowing him to rebuff the Tantabus. Sure, a few ponies have had... erotic situations ensuing that she's peered upon during her nightly duties, but this was... her, in a twisted sense. It felt weird to watch herself tongue-battle the 'Stallion' she currently lay in bed with.

And she can't exactly say it wouldn't pan out like this, if it was happening outside of a dream. If it was... her, for real.

She shakes her head free of such thoughts.

She'd investigate later -- The Tantabus -- on more neutral ground. For now, she will leave this dream. She has a Moon to raise, and Arnon seems capable of handling himself against the Tantabus for now.

Her horn glows as she prepares to leave...

But she remains. Her eyes widen, as the spell fizzles and sputters.

The Tantabus. Part of it's spell was it made escaping dreams extremely difficult... a condition of her own making, to ensure she couldn't subconsciously escape her own punishments.

This was now severely backfiring. It would take her time to calculate a proper exit spell, to counter the Tantabus' latent defence... which meant, several minutes of listening to...

Oh, Faust, Luna can hear Nightmare start to moan. Does she dare steal a glance...?

...Oh. So he doesn't mind doing that with his mouth?

Her head quickly whips forward again. She needed to work fast, if the fluttery, jittery feeling in her stomach was anything to go by.

Arnon of Wet Dreams | Luna's Bedroom

Arnon snorts awake, blinking several times. He felt groggy. That... was a damn good sleep.

Wait. Sleep?

Shit. Luna. The Princess. The Princess whose bed he was in.

Arnon slowly side-eyes, expecting a furious glare followed by a bright beam of smiting. But the bed is empty, a Luna-shaped dent notably lacking a Luna to fill it.

The curtains are drawn. It's well past evening... ah, shit. He missed well over half his day, and now he'd slept into the night.

...Which meant Luna awoke to him, and left him on her bed, unsmote. That was a pretty big deal, considering it's Luna.

Oh, there's a letter sticking out of his sling. It's a little difficult to open with one arm, but a liberal usage of his teeth helps.

Let's see... what morbid execution was lined up for him...

"Arnon, our Advisor. Your surprise presence was a... conflicting comfort. While it shalt be tolerated this time, avoid arriving unannounced into our chambers for the foreseeable future. Instead, we shalt orchestrate proper evenings bequeathed to invitation. Also, thou now seems to behold our Tantabus, a magic creation that subjects the user to Nightmares, for the sake of... penance. We would be more worried, but a short peek into thou's dreams has assured us that even Nightmare Moon does little more than... rouse you, in a particular fashion.

Once thee was awoken, and our duties for thine night are complete... we wouldst enjoy a conversation regarding a few key topics, such as thee Tantabus, and... thou's intentions towards us. Yours, ~~Prin~~ Luna."

Oh, shit.

Wait, what did she mean by rouse? Arnon goes to shift out of the bed, but notices a... sticky spot.

He had a wet dream in a Princesses' bed. In the Princess of Dreams bed. Jesus Christ. The fuck had he been dreaming about? Had she seen it? Seems like it. And seems like it was... saucy.

Well, he had the excuse that it was this... Tantabus thing. He squints, glancing up.

A little black orb swirls above him, slowly fading over the course of several minutes. Oh, that must be the Tantabus. Alright. Oh, hold on, there's more...

"...P.S, thou Day-Charge, Bulwark, ist furious, and our Sister beholds questions to thou's lacking presence. We wilst say little... but play thy cards well, if thee wishes to ~~survive~~ avoid punishment. We wish thee luck."

Ah, shit.

"...P.P.S. Return the dagger."

Aw, shit.

The Swanifying

Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, Diarchs of Equestria | Canterlot Castle's Dining Hall

"Sister..." Luna trails off, looking across the dining room table. In the quaint hours of the morning, a tired Luna idly eats the funny parts of the fruit on her plate, more distracted than usual. But, also far less tired than usual. Celestia had commented about just how refreshed she'd been looking, lately.

Luna would not explain why, deflecting it as... new pillows. New, definitely not Arnon shaped pillows.

A recently-risen Celestia, already glowing and into her second plate of food, like the living bio-reactor she is, glances up with a smile.
"Yes, Luna? Something the matter?"

"The Swanifying." Luna states simply.

"Ah, yes. It's coming up in just a week, isn't it? Do tell, aren't you excited?" Celestia smiles, tapping her hooves together. She enjoyed watching them trek their little way through the city quite a bit.

"Not with the event itself, sister. It's your... choice in appointing who is heading it." Luna amends, toying with her plate.

"Ah, yes. We'll be busy with Griffonian and Hypogriffian Ambassadors, unfortunately, so I've delegated the task to our dear Advisor, Arnon." Celestia hums, partaking in another healthy scoop of a sweet treat. Every one of her meals came with a sizable dose of sugar.

"Are you... certain he can handle it, Sister?" Luna asks softly.

"Hm? Of course. They're swans, Luna. It's hardly a difficult task." Celestia rebuffs cheerfully.

Luna disagreed heavily... she wasn't quite as fond as interacting with them as her sister was. They tended to hiss at her little too much. And the last time they tried to offload the task, it went quite interestingly. In a proper disaster to laugh at, way. Celestia wasn't entirely aware that the Swans only generally listened to her, and the Swanifying committee. Actually, they don't even listen... they take suggestions. Those outside of familiar faces... not in for a good time.
"...If you say so. We simply hope that Arnon is not... overwhelmed. He is still recovering, is he not?"

Celestia nods, sighing softly.
"I do wish he'd simply enjoy the time off I've tried to give him, but he's gotten so antsy, I fear if I don't give him something to do, he may very well simply... oh, chew his arm off or something."

"I have seen him pace the halls far more than he has in months. I believe one of the maids got upset that he actually wore down the tile." Luna snorts. She's also seen him join her in bed for naps as of late, but she wasn't about to say that aloud.

Celestia shares in the bemusement, before taking another bite of her meal.
"Mm--worry not, Luna. He has assured me he holds special qualifications for dealing with... as he put it, 'Spicy Fowl'."

That catches Luna by surprise. Does he really?
"Oh? Pray tell?"

Celestia taps her fork to her pursed lips, trying to recall.
"He said he was... oh, what was it... I believe it was, 'Canadian'?"

Luna blinks. What in Tartarus was a Canadian?

The Swanifying Committee | Canterlot Castle Throne Room

Fancy Pant's monocle squeaks as he cleans it. For the fourth time, before returning it to his eye.

Himself and his fellows of the Royal Swanifying Committee had arrived at the Castle to offer their assistance, as they did every year. When they'd heard a new face would be leading it, they were eager to offer their support -- mostly to subvert any upcoming hiccups that would inevitably occur from what seemed to happen every. Single. Time. A new face was put in charge.

Oh, they're just swans. And then, utter disaster borne of ill-preparedness and an uncouth, cocky demeanor.

Well, not quite so this time. This was the first year Fancy Pants had ever seen the swans lined up, wing to wing, stood at attention and actually staying still.

The culprit is the so-titled 'Royal Advisor', one of his limbs still in a sling. An odd, bipedal creature he'd seen now and again around the castle, having integrated himself quite easily into the royal life. He quietly marches along the length of the dozens of Swans aligned in the garden, boots clacking loudly on the stone, as he uses his impressive height to inspect them.

With years of practice dealing with Swans, Fancy can see one of the Swans grow irritable. An inevitable occurrence -- it would take a well-trained and well-practiced hoof to ease the fowl into a more understandable state. They were wily and demanding, in exchange for their immense beauty.

As the Royal Advisor nears the end of the lineup, one of the closer swans gets agitated, flaring its wings and hisses loudly, standing off.

The Human leans down, and hisses back, barring surprisingly sharp teeth as he stares it down.

Fancy Pants yet again scrubs off his monocle, as the Swan quickly pacifies, awkwardly returning to attention.

"That is... an irregular approach." One of his fellow committee-members mumbles.

"Effective, though. I've never seen them so behaved." The other comments.

"...I suppose, this year, we are relegated to advice." Fancy Pants nods, sighing.

Celestia had a few questions for why the Swans were marching in-line, behind Arnon, down the Canterlot streets. They'd never done that before.

When informed they were 'Goose-Stepping', she felt inclined to inform him they were not geese... but he seemed aware. Still, at least he looked like he was having fun with it.

Luna, later, asked Arnon if he could teach her Thestrals something similar, impressed by the formation. Arnon agreed, and poor Celestia had to withstand numerous days of hoof-marching around the castle.

He is, however, no longer allowed to host the Swanifying, given that the Swans had filed numerous complaints.

L - Thestral Re-Integration - Night 2

Diarchal Advisor Arnon, Vivid Streak | Canterlot Castle - Luna's Wing

Statistically speaking, according to the Canterlot scribes tallying the complaints if the nobles, there was a growing influx of Thestrals slowly trickling back into the capital, following the enactment of the first step of Arnon's proposed multi-step reintegration program.

Through incentives and bonuses for working state-supplied jobs, a better opportunity was offered here, congregating them. Having their Princess back, publicly backing and supporting them, was a huge morale boost that could be felt all through the night staff.

Now the second part was underway; a Thestral-orientated district in the city. A stack of papers in hand, and with Vivid trailing at his side, Arnon slowly cuts through Luna's wing of the castle, enjoying it's minimalistic, quiet atmosphere.

"Some good stuff in there, Sir?" Vivid asks while trotting alongside Arnon, head tilted curiously. Unlike Bulwark, her steps and her armor are far quieter with each hoof-fall, barely so much as rustling.

"I would hope so, after interviewing all those Thestrals. Your kind aren't easy to track down." Arnon retorts, shuffling a few of the papers in his grasp. Can't decide which to lead with; the new housing, or the newest educational program.

"You try during night, or day?" Vivid asks.

"Both." Arnon aptly adds. Thestrals were sneaky to a fault, making them a pain to find during the night; and usually dead asleep during the day. It'd taken some time to get all the testimonials they'd needed, even with the guards help.

"Whoof. Well, shows you've tried harder than the last advisor. Or at least, so I've heard." She rolls her eyes. "That word I put in help?"

"Only reason I got any of them to speak with me, so thanks for that. Closed community, aren't you guys?"

"I'm sure you can guess why." She retorts dryly. "Not exactly much trust for us floating around, even with Princess Luna's return."

"Hang on -- there was someone before me?" Arnon pauses, slowing in his step.

"Well... directly after Princess Luna's return, Princess Celestia tried to incorporate a small council of Advisors to help ease Luna's return, and facilitate the needed changes." Vivid explains, waiting for him to catch up.

"And since I've never seen or heard of them before..."

"One of them tried to offer an outright ban on Thestrals as a solution." Vivid affirms, shaking her head.

Figures why they still didn't have the job.
"Do I wanna guess how many of them had ties to noble families?" Arnon snorts, getting a surprised chuckle out of Vivid.

Vivid sighs, rolling her eyes.
"All of them, actually. I heard it was quite the scandal, since Princess Celestia had tried for an even spread of origins and backgrounds."

"And I can guess Luna didn't take it well, either?" Arnon asks.

"Not at all. Honestly, sometimes I wonder... sorry, never mind." Vivid stops herself, pursing her lips.

"Treasonous thoughts, Vivid?" Arnon teases.

"N-nope. Not me, sir." She quickly denies, shaking her head.

Luna's room doors can be seen up ahead, foretelling their near arrival.

"At ease, Vivid. Maybe I'll tell you about the French and what they think of the nobility, some day."

"...You mean Prench?" Vivid prompts, confused.

"Not quite. Know what a guillotine is?"

"Nope."

"I bet Luna would wanna build one." Arnon says, as if offering a hint.

"...Should I be worried about this, now?" Vivid asks slowly, picking up on it quickly.

"Oh, not really. It just parts nobles from their unwanted opinions."

"Oh, okay." Vivid huffs in relief.

"At the neck." Arnon helpfully adds.

"...Yours is a grim people, sir." She groans just as quickly.

"You've no idea." He grins.

Vivid takes her station beside the doors, promptly sitting on her haunches once they reach Luna's room. The rest of the hall is quiet, just like how it always is. Night was a peaceable time.

"I'll be here, sir. Princess Luna advised there to be no change to your supervision, despite your... teeth-related incident."

Arnon awkwardly clears his throat.

"I'd make a jab about how I probably don't need to worry, since they found you pinned against the wall... but considering how quickly she forgave you, that isn't the full story, is it?" Vivid questions, brow raised.

"No comment." Arnon says -- it's all he can say, considering he doesn't even remember.

"...Hrm. Be kind to her, sir. She enjoys your company." Vivid huffs, relenting.

"...Will do, Vivid." Arnon mock-salutes, nearly spilling the papers he'd tucked into his sling.

Diarchal Advisor Arnon, Princess Luna | Luna's Private Chambers

Well, she did seem partial to his presence, if she was still a bit cold about it. Coy and teasing in a way that reminded him she was, in fact, Celestia's sister -- but definitely not as interested in playing the social game.

Stepping inside the room, Vivid shuts the door behind him, as Arnon is greeted by that same alien, smooth styling her room holds. Glancing around for the Princess, he...

Wow.

She's sat close to the end of the room, near the balcony. The massive, thick curtains are pulled aside, as plentiful moonlight spills and splashes across every inch of the usually dark and dreary abode. Luna is sat without her usual regalia, biting her lip as she stares up a massive canvas, that easily dwarfs her by numerous times. She's got a small set of paints beside her, and a brush slowly glides it's way across as she works, grasped in her deep-blue magical glow. It looks like some kind of landscape, a rocky coast that ends in a roiling, angry ocean.

She's a really fucking pretty mare, the way her mane softly shifts, highlighted by the moonlight... and seeing her just... in her element. He's not sure how long he just stands there for, just watching her. She's not as tall as Celestia. Arnon wonders if that's simply the difference of time, and if in a thousand years she'll match her sister, or if Luna is simply a smaller Alicorn. She's no less graceful by any means, but while Celestia gives this regal aura of the northern lights...

It's so easy for Arnon to envision her adorned in full armor, halberd at her side. Nightmare or not, basking in the glow of the night, like a lonely story nestled in deep memory.

Eventually, the brush lowers to be dabbled into fresh paint, Luna's gaze following it -- as she notices him out the corner of her eye, head snapping up at the realization she's not alone.

Ah, shit. Should've announced himself. She's gonna get upset that he's --

"Arnon!" Luna perks up, realizing it's him, smiling. She's quick to rise, dropping the brush and trotting over to see him. She almost seems too excited, before she's as equally quick to recompose herself on the walk over, taking a more familiar back-tilted head, complete with a noble, half-lidded stare and firm lip.

"Princess." Arnon bows as she nears.

She clears her throat, matching his bow. Things might be a touch more casual than they were back in ye-olde-canterlot, but it was a simple enough thing to play up the old, respectful traditions; he could tell she enjoyed the attention.
"It is good to see you, our Advisor. We were not expecting you -- is it our week with thou already?"

They make it sound like he's a child of divorce, getting tossed between parents.
"It is, and I bear updates regarding our previous meeting. May I?" Arnon gestures to the desk.

Luna nods, gesturing with a wing... before realizing her paints and supplies completely cover the top of it, leaving no room.
"Ah. A moment, please."

"Of course. I'd offer to assist, but..." Arnon glances at his sling.

"Your arm, we remember. How doth it fare?" Luna nods, understanding.

"It's healing well enough. Clean break, I should be back to two-handing soon." He shrugs. He was getting used to it, and while magic might not affect him, pain medication sure did.

"We are most glad to hear it. When we heard that thou had been injured, we were quite upset, to say the least. When it was revealed to us it was an act performed by our sister..." Luna scowls, as she sorts her various paints into a pile.

"A simple accident. She apologized many times."

"An accident that should not have occurred." She retorts, with some surprising venom.
"We are rulers -- Alicorns, Arnon. We are to measure our strength, so that we may never harm our subjects."

"And your subjects appreciate the effort. Unfortunately for you both, I'm a bit of a unique case." Arnon continues to press how little this actually matters to him. He wasn't going to explain that he got plenty of white-furred cuddles for it, and that he was considering doing it again to get more, but still.

"Your status as our Advisor does not levy you to be open to injury from us, Arnon." She pushes, giving him a surprisingly insightful stare.

Arnon purses his lips, letting his gaze wander over to the part of the wall he'd been pinned up against some days prior. Luna follows his gaze, her scowl slowly fading.

"I... think it's safe to say that in the exploration into the unique standings of our relationship, we've all partaken in a little... testing of limits." Arnon offers, trying to equalize.

"We've yet to bite you back, if that is your implication." Luna retorts, lifting her head.

"You may claim me for such whenever you wish, Princess." Arnon offers, making another, smaller bow.

That seems to stagger her stature for a moment, ears flicking as a light flush takes her cheeks.
"Claim you? You... ah. In return for the biting."

"Did you intend another form of claiming? Am I unaware of some Old-Canterlot traditions of taking Advisors?" Arnon teases.

Luna clears her throat with much exaggeration, motioning to the desk with a wing.
"The desk is clear." She states, trying to shift the topic.

Arnon relents with the playfulness, spreading the papers across the surface as Luna approaches, head tilted curiously. Rather than stand across from him, however, she stands beside him, the lightest smell of... he's not quite sure. Wonder what soap she uses.

"I hope this isn't... presumptuous, but I've detailed the general building plans. Of course, I'm not versed in construction -- but I think the outline should work well enough for anyone who could translate it to a blueprint." Arnon explains, pushing the parchment across the cold top of the desk, in front of Luna.

Princess Luna cranes her neck, idly inspecting the parchments with the soft glow emanating from her horned appendage, turning it about to face her properly.
"We see... adjusting the city district that beholds the highest number of Thestrals?" She questions.

Arnon nods, turning to face her.
"We want to provide more Night-Focused infrastructure, but within the walls. By avoiding creating a Shantytown, we can hopefully avoid some judgement from the Nobles."

"Shantytown?" She asks.

"Rapid expansion or immigration into a limited area, like a walled settlement, usually results in some segregated, outer-wall settlements being formed, that tend to be... poor, and crime-ridden." Arnon explains, trying to keep it light.

"Mm." Luna hums, nodding. "Certainly, they've already made their voices abundantly clear on the matter."

"They've tried, but your sister has played a very vocal role of support, citing unity and other rallying cries." Arnon nods.

"Has she? That's... appreciated." Luna muses, potentially reconsidering her previous opinion of her sibling. Despite her comparative youth and the rumors of a swirling jealousy, Luna was quick on the uptick. While she might need some initial guidance, once she got the swing of something, she took to it full force.

"Tell us, Arnon. These plans... they're to add towers?" She continues, seeking clarification.

"They're based off of a form of housing where I'm from, called Apartments. Since most Thestrals can fly, the idea is to expand vertically, granting them a larger, busier district without requiring expansion of the wall, or shifting them outside. Once the Thestral voice is stronger in Canterlot, we can seek out a project of a larger scale, like constructing a new wall segment for a new district." Arnon explains, pointing to the blueprints.
"Smaller homes, with larger corner units for families, able to go several stories high. Foundational support will be important, but flight gives us a lot of leeway for entrances and ease of building."

"...You continue to surprise us with how much effort you put into this, Arnon." Luna mumbles, looking over the blueprints. She's stood very close to him, only inches away.

"Only matching your zeal for your own peoples, Princess." Arnon deflects, in an attempt to stow his ego. Doesn't work. He smiles, proud. He did stay up several nights concocting this and speaking with Canterlot builders guilds.

"May we... talk, for a moment? Candidly?" Luna asks suddenly, turning to face him.

"Of course, Princess. Is there an issue?" Arnon asks, concerned.

"No. Actually, the contrary. We wanted to thank you for your continued assistance. You're proving to be... a capable Advisor, and... a good friend." She adds the last part quieter, glancing away for a moment before re-meeting his gaze.

Not quite where he expected that to go, but before Arnon can comment, Luna holds up a hoof for him to wait, and to let her keep going.
"This goes beyond simply performing well at your job. You have taken a... personal interest in assisting us. We wanted to ask why."

"Why?" Arnon parrots, confused.

"Why do you seek us out in the night, to ease our Nightmares? To assure us that we truly are our sisters equal, to push us to hold night court, to aid the imbalance of our Thestrals -- you even found us a student, with a proclivity for the moon. There was already an acceptable workload for your station when you first took the role. In fact, you didn't even need to be a Diarchal Advisor. The station was originally just for our sister. This is all..." She trails off, searching his face for answers.

Arnon considers playing it off with a joke, but her earnest expression melts that idea away. Instead, he takes a slow breath, nodding.

"...When I ended up here, Luna, I was alone. Everything I knew got left behind, and the world I got dropped into was far from anything I was familiar with. Then, I learn about a Princess who returned from the Moon, a thousand years after exile... I thought it only right that you should get the help that I received from those around me, you know? I thought we might have a... kinship, might be a good word for it." Arnon explains, trying to find the right words.

"That we both might be the only creatures to understand the other. To leave a world we know, and to meet one so unfamiliar." Luna follows, nodding.

"Yeah, in a sense. Your sister really wants to support you... she just doesn't know how. She's been very happy to hear about the progress you've been making, though."

"It has been ten generations since our exile, Arnon. Even our sister is a different Mare than we remember her, and everypony else we knew is gone... even those creatures of similar lifespan, we've yet to find again."

"Well, I'm here, if ever you desire companionship, Princess. Be it someone to sit in silence with, discuss... anything, or just to have accompany you to do something."

"Thank you, but... why, Arnon? You know I was Exiled. That we are Nightmare Moon, attempted usurper of the throne. Does that not bother you?"

"...Permission to speak even more candidly, Princess?" Arnon asks.

"You may." She nods.

Perhaps to deny that she is Nightmare Moon is the better thing to say here... but she spent a thousand years as her. That's longer than she lived, multiple times, if he has the timeline understood properly. So it would be wrong to deny... her, of herself.
"I recognize your attempts to improve yourself, and I respect them -- especially since you've done so alone, of your own volition. I know your sister tries to help, but your efforts are yours alone, and I hold immense admiration for you for making those steps. Not many can. That said... if Night were to challenge it's place in the sky, Princess... I would not abandon my post."

"You would serve --" Luna's eyes widen.

"I would serve you, Princess, no matter your form. Humans are... a species with a deep, grey well of emotional depth. The jealousy that drove you that day is not at all a strange thing to me. I believe you were simply dealt a poor... well, the term my people say is hand, though I'm not sure if 'hoof' will substitute it well enough, but you deserve equal stature. You've a thousand years of your birthright to catch up on, and I could hardly stand idle to see your efforts go unmatched."

"That is..." Luna quietly mumbles, glancing down.

"My role, which I am very comfortable in, is that of you and your sisters Advisor. I will support you both, even in a situation where you may be at odds, because I understand creatures that do not breadth the average mortality, like Alicorns, might handle things... differently."

"We see." Luna nods, looking distantly through the open curtains.

"Apologies, if I misspoke." Arnon offers, bowing.

Well, here's hoping he didn't just blow it, but... it felt like the right thing to say. Luna didn't seem the kind of mare to merely stagnate, and he wanted to make it clear he supported her, no matter how complex her situation.

The wing that slowly unfurls around him, pulling him close and against her, tells him his words were at least not taken poorly.

Her feathers are as weirdly soft as her fur -- unlike Twilight's familiar, could-use-a-brush fur, and Celestia's 'Peak Pony' fur, Luna's didn't quite feel like the fur of the ponies he's come to understand in this land. It was incredibly soft, in an almost silken way, despite being trimmed shorter than her sister kept it. In contrast, her 'pockets' of fluff were more exaggerated, with more chest and neck fluff, and so on.

"...Thank you." She whispers, holding him close.

Arnon tentatively reaches an arm over her neck, returning the gesture -- the way she leans into him further, it seems appreciated.

"...Though, we are curious." Luna says softly, a different look taking her face as she leans her face close to his. She's not as tall as her sister, who nearly meets his gaze -- Luna is a touch shorter, her eyes level with her neck, forcing her to look up with a tilted head.

"Yes, Princess?" Arnon answers, matching her tone.

"Does your loyalty to us tie into how you seem to enjoy dreaming of us, in full battle regalia, serving as your steed?" She asks, brow raising. "Twas not the form of 'riding' we expected to see, considering your more recent teeth-based proclivities."

Oop.

She grins at the embarrassed expression that takes his face, before leaning up to softly kiss his cheek.
"Perhaps... we can discuss the logistics of such an idea, at a later date."

Author's Note

ignore the lamp

T - Twilight's Visit - Day 3

Diarchal Advisor Arnon, Tubular Sprite | The Castle Study, Canterlot Castle

"The 'biting' thing..?" Twilight's ears flick, curiously glancing up from her book as she repeats part of Arnon's question. She seems perplexed, trying to ruminate.

Twilight was back, visiting for a few days. She'd come to ask in-pony for some advice; apparently a small group of Griffons had settled near Ponyville, and were being oddly territorial, despite claiming they were independent. 'Not Backed By Griffonia', an independent venture or something. Only problem being, you know, the Nation of Equestria wasn't up for grabs. A bit of a dicey political situation, but also just odd, Twilight had arrived by train yesterday hoping to speak with Celestia.

Unfortunately, Celestia is also completely booked up for the week. Some of the Nobles had organized an Airship to go on a cross-Equestrian-Tour. Not a terrible idea in of itself, and often a lucrative expenditure for the non-pegasi... until they decided that floating directly over the Dragonlands was a great idea. And one can guess how well the Nobles handled that whole 'getting burnt out of the sky' situation. Nopony was badly hurt, thankfully, but it was definitely an unpleasant political situation that left The Princess up to her chest-fluff in problems.

But, with his arm still healing, Arnon was relented to 'keep Twilight busy' duty as usual, while Celestia managed to brute-force some time for her student... tomorrow. In the meantime, they've holed up in the study, committing one of their usual activities. Yapping, and reading -- a common theme ever since Twilight first started hosting Arnon, back in Ponyville.

Twilight's comfortably sprawled on her stomach across the study floor, enjoying one of the numerous books that pepper the shelves for light reading. A stack of books that wait their turn sit beside her, a variety of topics that no sane pony would leap between so vehemently for fear of whiplash -- half of them were about Griffons and Griffon history, or other similar topics. The rest, anything she found interesting. The moment she's done with one, it floats right back up to the bookshelf, and another takes it's place on the pile.

"Yeah, remember when I lived in Ponyville? Before we figured out my diet? Did I ever... get a certain way? Do... anything odd?" Arnon trails off, scratching his cheek. He's got his legs kicked up on stool, relaxxmaxxing to the umpteenth degree on one of the comfy recliners. Most of the study was built for the Princesses use, which meant Alicorn sized furniture. Which meant comfy.

Twilight lowers her book, the magic surrounding it dissipating at she taps her chin with a hoof.
"...I think so. I do remember you getting... in a mood, before we figured out how to supplement what you needed food-wise. It'd been a couple months, and you were holding together pretty good, but you were getting... lethargic, and a little agitated. Fluttershy was quick to recommend a diet like her bear-friend, and that helped, if I'm recalling everything correctly. It was a while ago..."
Twilight trails off, like it's on the tip of her tongue.

"I, uh... may have taken a bite or two out of the Princesses recently." Arnon admits, glancing away as he cuts into the open moment. Things had been proving themselves... interesting, lately. His flirting seems to have doubled with Celestia, who also seems obsessed with doting on him while he's injured... and standing very close while she does. His interactions with Luna, ever since the 'Tantabus' thing, haven't really changed her outward demeanor much -- still fairly cold and formal -- but she's much more partial to keeping him close and demanding his time, often seeking his direct assistance.

And then he tried to... eat them, apparently. The last thing Arnon remembers was passing out on his bed, hungry. And then waking up to being dragged to the Kitchens by Luna, and fed something meat-based that Celestia refused to describe the contents of. Apparently he'd been found in Luna's quarters, pinned to the wall, with both boasting Teeth-Marks on their flank. That, yes, matched his teeth. (They matched it to Tia's bite-marks, of course.) So, he felt bad. But... something about it was confusing him.

Obviously, Humans don't just enter fugue-haze-hunger states when they don't get meat for a month, otherwise Vegans and shit would be worldwide terrors. And they're both Alicorn Princesses. One bite while their guard is lowered, sure, MAYBE, but they could've obliterated him through physical strength alone if he was a problem.

And yet, Celestia's rear was bearing numerous teeth-marks, and didn't seem at all bothered about it in the least, blushing and laughing it off despite having to excuse a day of court to let them 'heal'. Public perception and all that. And Luna... well, he'd been terrified to bring it up to her, but after she 'flashed' how many actual bite marks she was hiding last night with a coy look, he wasn't so sure. Dropping her magic for but a moment before hiding them again, as she kept going down the hall... Arnon was starting to feel like something was brewing behind the scenes. Honestly, he was just glad no-pony was pissed at him.

Considering he'd gotten extremely flirtatious with Celestia lately, following his injury, and stumbling his way through admitting he 'cares for her' after Luna confronted him regarding his 'intentions'... Something a little more than biting definitely happened between each of them, if the half-lidded stares they kept throwing him meant anything. Honestly, Arnon was just irked he didn't remember any of it.

"You tried to eat the Princesses?" Twilight leans forward in shock, face scrunching. Her words pull him back from his thoughts, looking to purple again. The surprised expression on Twilight's face falls away surprisingly quick, as her hoof taps her chin with renewed vigor. Then, it's like a lightbulb goes off in her purple brain. "Oh! I remember what you're asking now. Yep! You did." She nods firmly.

"Wait, I did?" Arnon's head snaps back, confused.

"Yeah! I remember it! You did the same to me, actually. Well, for the sake of being entirely correct in my recollection, you never bit me, but I think I recall you entering this odd, hungered state, and getting all.. teethy." Twilight giggles, pulling the book up again. There's a soft flush to her cheeks, now.

Arnon leans forward, looking incredulous. "...Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah. I'd come back from the market, but couldn't find you anywhere... Spike said he saw you 'creeping around', and that you gave him a weird look before you went downstairs... apparently just outright ignoring him, Rarity, and Fluttershy -- they were visiting at the time, and I ran out for snacks -- but then when I went downstairs after you and found you in the dark, you --" Twilight continues explaining, before Arnon holds up a hand.

"I... think I get the idea. And, uh... sorry." He gripes -- didn't remember that, either. Good to know he had a record of this, apparently.

"Oh, you don't need to be! You apologized enough, back then. And it's kind of funny, actually; I could tell you weren't just acting, and that you were in some kind of state, but you didn't do anything wrong towards me or hurt me in any way, if that's what you're worried about."

"...Really? Alright, I know I just said I get it... but I don't think I actually do." Arnon relents.

"I thought you were just being playful, or doing some weird... 'Human' thing. Is that kind of thing something that normally happens to your people?" Twilight asks, deciding on simply bookmarking her own tome and setting it aside for the moment.

"Not that I'm aware of. Think it's something about being here?"

"It could be... just because you don't have Magic, doesn't mean your own world doesn't have some form of substitute. Perhaps without a proper diet, your body can't maintain itself?" Twilight offers, a quill and parchment floating over in a purple glow from the desk. They settle against the back of one of the books, and Twilight starts scribbling down theories.

"...Huh. That could actually be something." Arnon nods, though it still sounds... odd. "Not to just grasp the first idea for an excuse."

"No, I get it. If you don't mind me saying, though, I can see why you rely so heavily on your opposable thumbs. Your species seem to be very... ineffective hunters." Twilight chuckles to herself, tail swishing around.

Arnon shifts around to better watch her write, looking at her with confusion. She hasn't even seen the secret human technique of 'Dig a Hole' or 'Throw a sharp stick'. What does she know?
"What do you mean?" Arnon prods, leaning from his chair and poking at her side.

She scrunches her face, body twisting in recoil to the poke.
"Told you -- no tickling." She gripes, getting comfortable again.
"Well, normally predator-species don't... well..." She trails off, lowering her head to rest on her hooves, mumbling through her fur.
"...You really don't remember?"

"Nope. Enlighten me, Sparkplug." Arnon goads, driven by raw curiosity.

"...Kiss their prey." She finally mutters, hiding behind her forehooves, looking back to her freshly inked page. Anon catches a soft flush creeping onto her cheeks, which she seems intent on trying to hide.

"I... what? We've kissed?" Anon exclaims in surprise, leaning back.

"...You really don't remember?" Twilight asks softly, glancing up from behind her bangs. She seems... saddened, by that fact?

Arnon blinks several times, processing.
"...I really can't tell if you're fucking with me or not, Sparkle. Is this some A-Grade baiting?"

"...I'm not." She mutters, frowning.

"Did... wait, really? Seriously? Why didn't you say anything before?"

"It... felt like our little secret. Like I knew how you felt, even if we weren't... there yet. I figured that once you became the Royal Advisor, we wouldn't get to see each-other as much, but still." Twilight sighs, staring forward.

Arnon is trying to conclude if the purple pony is aware of what she's admitting to or not, but she keeps going.

"I never expected that you and the Princess would... 'get along' so well, but I can hardly be surprised. I don't even mind really 'losing' you to her, I mean, it's Princess Celestia, even I kind of like her like that, but... I don't know, I guess I'm a little jealous, but..." She blows a raspberry, sinking further into the books. "It's my fault for setting myself up to think we could have... well, it doesn't really matter when you don't even remember being my first."

"...Huh." Arnon finally grunts, rolling onto his back, arm on his stomach. Twilight watches him from the corner of her eyes. Her face is still pretty damn flushed, but... she's not stammering or backpedaling. Well, this turn a sudden turn.
"I was your first kiss?"

"Mmhm." She hums, the quill idly sprawling, with much less enthusiasm. Her penstrokes are slow and heavy, clearly riding her feelings.

Well, they'd been close, but... really now. They kissed? So when he gets funky for fresh meat, he bites a Princess... but kisses the nerd. Huh.

This was just weird. But, there was one thing he did know. If she had a crush on him, it wasn't looking one sided.

"You don't need to worry, Arnon. I'm just..." Twilight's eyes widen as Arnon leans up beside her, slipping off the chair and leveling his face to hers.

And ever so gently, places his lips, to hers. She's stock-still, eyes practically glazed over as he leaves the smallest, gentlest peck, before he slowly pulls away. Well, more like falls back over, because balancing with one arm is a pain, but the collection of books makes for a... reasonably comfortable catch, minus the sharp corners of the hardbacks.

"There, I'll actually remember that one." Arnon gripes, plucking a book out from under his ass and tossing it elsewhere on the pile.

Twilight's head slowly turns, locking her gaze to his.
"...You didn't kiss me like that." Is all she says, quietly.

"Huh?" Arnon questions, looking at her with confusion.

Then, down to his shirt collar with confusion, as a magical purple glow firmly grasps it.
"It was like this."

"Huh?" Arnon repeats, as he's dragged back across the books, his lips meeting soft, purple ones again -- this time, much more firmly.

Twilight is easily lacking in experience -- but more than makes up for it in excitement and desire, messily meeting his lips over and over. It's like a mixture of her trying to follow a How To Kiss guide she definitely read one time, but just getting completely mixed up in the moment.

She suddenly pulls away, realizing it's a little difficult to breathe while you're mashing faces with someone.

She's panting, staring at him with wide eyes.

Arnon blinks several times, noticing the purple glow is still firmly grasping his collar.
"Think we got the Hunter mixed up." Arnon jokes -- he doesn't even get the chance to chuckle, Twilight taking that as the go-ahead to pull him back in, her fuzzy snout meeting his cheek as their lips press together again.

"So? Rate it." She pushes, prodding at his chest.

They're both sprawled across the books, Arnon laid on his back, Twilight nestled against his side, leaning on his torso, staring at his face. She's got a perpetual blush, but something seems to continually drive her through any potential embarrassment.

"Rate it? The kiss?" Arnon asks, lifting his head. Seriously?

"Mmhm! Now that you're actually going to remember this one, it's important to gather metrics of our continued cross-species relations. I made sure of that, if you couldn't tell." Twilight boasts, blushing a little harder.

"Oh, I noticed. Which one, though? You didn't exactly stop at one."

"A summary should suffice. Average them out."

"What, you got the categories you want me to rate them for, too?" Arnon snorts.

"I do, actually!" Twilight proclaims, hovering a freshly scribbled-on parchment in front of his face.

Passion, Wetness, Sultriness, Taste, Impact (Physical), Impact (Emotional)... it just keeps going.

"...I asked that like it was a joke, but honestly, I should've seen this coming." Arnon rolls his eyes, pushing the parchment away.

"You know I take this kind of thing seriously, Arnon." Twilight tsks, tapping the paper with the quill.

"Yeah, yeah. Uh..." Arnon taps his chin dramatically, feigning deep thought.

"Well?" She presses, giving him zero time to consider. There's the nerves she buried earlier, all bubbling back up in sight of a self-imposed review. She wants to hear how good she kisses, and quick.

"Look, I've got no idea how to break down a kiss into that kind of information." Arnon shrugs.

"Oh." Twilight visibly deflates.

"So instead..." Arnon slowly paces out, leaning closer.

"Oh?" She perks up, ears flicking, as Arnon softly kisses her cheek.

"How about we say it's left me wanting more?" Arnon says into her fur.

"Oh!" Somehow, the purple finds another hue to shift to, face even brighter. She recovers surprisingly quick, scribing on the page as Arnon leans back.
"Well, this doesn't bode well for my data sheets... but I suppose I can file it nonetheless." She mock-sighs, throwing him a playful glance -- which almost instantly lights up as a new question bubbles forth.
"Another question, Arnon. It's... a bit of an odd one. Considering what we just did. But I was going to ask it before, but... you know."

"Go for it, but no more categories." Arnon chuffs, getting a frown out of the purple.

"Is it... weird, if I'm attracted to the Princess?" She asks quietly. A bit of a tangent, but... wait.

"No? Hang on... when you said you were jealous earlier. Was that of me taking the Princess away from you?" Arnon clarifies, pointing to himself.

"...Okay." Twilight starts, holding up a hoof. "I mean, she's my Mentor... I've looked up to her for so long, but she's... so pretty. And amazing. And powerful... and perfect. And, just..." Twilight sighs wistfully.

This is probably the part where Arnon is supposed to feel snided, having the pony he just kissed rambling about someone else... but honestly, he just gets it. Tia is quite the package. So when she was getting nervous during shit like the massage, it was for doing that kind of thing with the Princess? Huh, good to know.
"You two are quite similar, you know." Arnon adds idly.

"Really?! Wait, how?" Twilight scoots closer, eyes wide.

"Well, pretty for starters." He grins. Doesn't quite land as well as he'd hoped.

"What? Arnon, the Princess is the epitome of everything it means to be any kind of pony. Her stature, her fur; she's a combination of the three tribes, and... she..."
Twilight starts to realize. Took her long enough.
"Oh. You were calling me pretty?"

"Mmhm."

"O-oh! Uh... thanks?" She awkwardly smiles, brushing her hair with a hoof.

This was adorable, in one of the more hilarious ways. It was kind of nice, how... casually weird this was.
"She clearly cares for you too, TonkySpronk. Can't think of a single other pony she gets so excited to see, to the point she invites you in on massage night." Arnon explains, Twilight's ears flattening at the mention of that particular event.

"When... did you two start doing that kind of a thing, anyway?" She asks quietly.

"Uh...I dunno, one night she was complaining of pain below her shoulder blades, where the wings connect, I offered, and... yeah, it's just been something we do every few days. Helps her loosen up." Arnon shrugs.

"Are you two a thing?" Twilight suddenly asks. "Together? Dating? Not publicly, obviously, that'd be a lot of work, but you know what I mean."

"We do flirt pretty heavily, but we haven't actually..." Arnon's face scrunches. No, something happened with the whole biting thing. Princesses don't react like that to just biting their ass. But were they dating? There was definitely a deep mutual interest... but then what about Luna?
"There's an interest for sure, but we haven't really clarified that to each other." Arnon finally offers, still not entirely sure himself.

Twilight nods; he half expected her to show some sign of jealousy, but it seems like she was in the same boat as him. They both liked the Princess in some capacity, as they both liked each other.
"I... want massages too." She states suddenly.

"Well, I can't go down to Ponyville to give you them..."

"When I'm here? Can we? I... I want to match what you do with the Princess, Arnon." Twilight urges.

"What?" Arnon raises a brow. "Sure, but what do you mean?"

"What you do with the Princess... do it with me, too. How far you go with her -- do that with me, too, okay? I know she likes to try and include me, so... I don't want to seem inexperienced. I want to be ready. I don't want to just be her little student she let's tag along." She says firmly, meeting his gaze.

"You want to stand on equal ground kind of a thing?" Arnon asks.

"Exactly. Oh -- It's an odd topic, but if you're not dating, technically... and if what you've told me about the 'Biting' thing is anything like what you did with me, I believe you might hold Princess Luna's interest as well..." Twilight starts quickly rambling, digging through the book-pile with her magic. |
"I've researched it, and I might have an idea you could talk to them about. Since, you know... I don't want to get in the Princesses way, but... I don't really want to give you up. So, I looked into... Herds. They're a little outdated culturally, but not entirely uncommon. Not as often now, but some couples still partake."

"A... herd? You're getting a little ahead of me here, Twi."

"Hold on..." She mumbles, before finally yanking a smallish, red-cover book from the depth of the bookbed, hoviner it over to him.
"Read it, for me? I..."
She leans close, pressing her nose to his, watching his eyes.
"I'm not going to back down on this, now that I know you actually like me, too. Okay, Arnon?"

"...Alright, Twi. Still a little lost, but I think I get it." Arnon agrees, unaware of the true extent to purple's machinations. She got pretty motivated once they actually kissed though... huh.

"Okay, good. Good." She exhales, like a big weight just got let off her chest.

"...Alright, well, if you're trying to match the Princesses, then fork your flank over -- you're behind on your getting bit quota." He comments, reaching for it.

"Hu--EEP!"

Arnon flips through the book Twilight sent him, sprawled back on his bed. A little awkward with one arm, but doable. It's a reprint of an old book, apparently.

How to Herd; Multiple Mares and You.

Oh. Polyamory? Horses did that?

...She wants to share with the Princess? Share him, or share her? This is... an odd development. Definitely not common, but if there was ever some pony to push the limits, it'd be Twi. No idea how Tia... or Luna feels about this.

He sets the book in his dresser drawer, tucking it away before Bulwark sees. Not the kind of thing he needs to wave around, and something to... slowly work through.

Author's Note

C,T - Twilight's Visit - Day 4

Princess Celestia | Castle Throne Room

Turns out, being numbered among the three currently existing Alicorns, one of the most magically superloaded creatures alive, and the very Princess of the Sun, doesn't spare you from stomach aches when you eat an entire Royal Kitchens worth of baked goods.

Who knew?

Celestia did, now. She also knew before, but every few years she forgets her folly, assumes she can handle it, and is sorely reminded that it'sactually a terrible idea. It was a vicious cycle that ruins her sweet tooth for a few days; this one might do her in for a week of no cake. How devastating.

In short, Big Pony Tummy Hurt.

Faust, she felt bloated. It was no ponies fault but her own, of course. That's what
she gets for reinviting that... was it Vanhoover, or Manehatten baker? She was forgetting the details, but she felt like she deserved a little treat for handling that whole Dragonlands issue so smoothly. Dare she say, she might need to cut back after that little indulgence. Five entire, whole cakes. She was ready to call it at three, but they were just... they kept coming. And they were so good. And that Baker was so pushy, but in the best of ways...

She stifles a rather unfriendly burp with a hoof, that comes up more like an 'urp', apologizing quietly to nobody more than the open air. Weugh. No more thinking about eating. Not for a while.

That was yesterday. Today was noon, and she still felt full. The idea to burn some energy to help was one she considered... but moving wasn't her favorite topic right now. Nor could she find a quiet place to slowly simmer away; she had social obligations of the royal pedigree.

She sat on her throne, barely listening to one of her little ponies speak about... something about how early the lamp posts are lit in the evening. Truly, a riveting topic that would be amended by editing a five to a four on a ledger somewhere, and a few words to the Lamplight guild.

This was going to be a long day...

Diarchal Advisor Arnon, Tumble Stumble | Castle Garden

"So you guys have Hoof-Ball... which is like, my worlds Football..." Arnon mumbles, tossing the not-a-pigskin-pigskin towards Twilight. "But no Basketball?"

Twilight catches the 'hoofball' with her magic, freezing it in mid-air. She definitely didn't seem the sporty type, but villains-of-the-week and a disgustingly potent grasp of magic meant she could keep up pretty well, even if she looked bored. Well, she'd be more bored, but Arnon was baiting her with interdimonsional information quizzings, so she played along. Still, he appreciated the chance to not be cooped up.

It's actually kind of fascinating to watch, how she handles sports. She's not entirely lacking physically thanks to her lifestyle as an Element, but being an indoor-loving bookworm with a habit of forgetting to eat and staying up too late despite her own schedules still had its impact. Yet, her magic prowess was so exorbant, she could easily keep up with him. She wouldn't even move to catch it, just stare at it until it got reasonably close to enough to 'catch', before her magical glow encased it and fully stopped all momentum, floating it through the air and sending it back. Kind of like watching a disabled kid in a rocket-powered wheelchair win a drag race.

"Basketball?" Twilight parrots, chucking it back. Well, more like lobbing it at him, with the arching velocity she sends it at him, but he manages to catch it with a wide step. His hand is starting to sting from the impacts, and it's a bit awkward with one arm still in a sling.

Is she putting spin on it? Where'd she figure how to do that?

"Sport for tall people -- you've gotta stop whipping this thing so hard, I don't have gloves!" Arnon rebukes, shifting his grip on it before whipping it back down the grass to Twiddle. Stopped by magic again. This time, it swirls over directly in front of her, evening out.

"What's the matter, Arnon? I thought you said you knew Hoofball?" She goads, grinning. The ball swirls with magic, before being squeezed on one end -- and it sounds like the crack of a gun with the speed it launches out at.

"Wheaugh!?" Arnon utters loudly; he doesn't even try to catch it, diving for cover and hitting the grass.

Spitting out the fresh greeny of the ground, Arnon expects some lofty teasing, perhaps even a few floaty brags.

Nope, she's just staring at where he was. Why is --

Holy shit, she put a hole in the hedges. The leaves are sizzling, and he can see right through the next several layers of sculpted shrub. It just keeps going -- can't even see the hoofball at this point. It's probably splattered against a distant wall, if it didn't start taking down walls.

"You almost put a HOLE in me, Sparkle!" Arnon shouts, a rare anger in his tone, clambering to his feet.

"I-I didn't meant to! I thought you--" Twilight starts to stammer, backpedaling.

"COME HERE!" Arnon yells, charging across the grass towards her.

"EEP!" Twilight yelps, scrambling like a frightened dog on wood flooring, so startled she probably forgot she could've just teleported away.

They're in the Royal Gardens, specifically positioned as far away from any stone-statues-that-might-be-forgotten-villains. It's comfortably sunny out, only a few clouds in the sky. The gardens are lush, and fairly private considering their lengthy walls and well-maintained hedges. There's a fountain, a little pond... quite the little getaway. Each of the Princesses personal balconies overlook the Garden.

Poor Twilight was eventually caught by the enraged humanoid before she remembered she could simply magic her way out of this, leading to an untimely demise.

"A-Arnon, s-StoUOP! I'm Se-HEE-rheeius!" Twilight snort-giggles, furiously throwing hooves in an attempt to escape from being ferociously tickled on her back, until she had snot run out of her snout. Gross, but she had it coming. She's not even sure how he's managing it with one arm, but she's too busy flailing to figure it.

Arnon stands, resting his hand on his hip. That should teach her. As Twilight gathers her breath, definitely not conniving revenge, Arnon's gaze floats over the various windows and balconies of the castle.

The temptation to spiral their hoofball right into Luna's balcony door to ask her if she wanted to play was a tempting one, now equally a past one, considering the hoofball was probably floating in the fountain, deflated or in smithereens. Luckily, all damage seemed to be to hedges and bushes, which should... hopefully grow back. But considering its midday, even if they still had the ball, that idea was one that would likely end in his swift demise; and he's already avoided one of those today. Another time.

Twilight's horn begins to glow as she squints towards Arnon --

"H-hey! What happened to the garden?!" The distant voice of an alarmed Solar Guard proclaims, casting a worried, guilty gaze they share.

The two swear to secrecy to feign confusion regarding any questions towards the gardens, if prompted, and beat a hasty retreat back inside, together bygones be bygones. For now.

Princess Celestia | Castle Throne Room

The lamp-post problem had in fact, been solved by a slight number change. Now a Noble rants about the date of the Gala, and how it would be more appropriate to host it... in the middle of winter.

She has difficulty not rolling her eyes. Her Solar Guard are well trained, but she can see that even some of them are having trouble staying awake.

Goodness, she's a little more irritable than usual. Perhaps it's because Arnon had been excused to spend some time with Twilight, to ensure she doesn't feel ignored during her visit... his empty desk is an odd thing to glance at, having gotten used to his company and snide remarks.

Or, probably that she had overeaten, felt ill and disgusting, and was being treated to a particularly drab day of Day-Court when she'd rather be curled up in bed.

Honestly, this was probably one of the worst ones in recent memory. The serious-issues line had been nearly empty from the very start... which meant a day of opinions and venting. She had her natural limit, benevolant and loving as she was, but it felt shorted today. And this was treading over it.

Quietly, she grumbles, shifting her weight on the throne. Her mane is a little more animated than usual.

Her hooves idly tap the hoofrest if her throne, making a quiet tap-tap-tap.

Her lip twitches, nostrils flaring.

" -- And better yet, if the Gala were to be renamed, the rebranding costs could easily be dolled over by a generous donation from --"

"Brazen Glare?" Celestia suddenly calls, glancing beside herself, urging forth one of her guards.

The Nobles words trail off in confusion, a few murmurs whispering through the crowd. The Solar Guard, Brazen, startles and nearly drops his spear. Lifted from the edges of dozing off, he quickly shuffles beside the throne, bowing his head.

"Yes, Princess?" He dutifully asks.

"I am afraid that something has come up. Please, send apologies on my behalf to the remaining ponies, and close Day Court." Celestia poignantly states, staring to rise.

"Of course, Princ--" The guard goes to respond, but an outburst below cuts through the room.

"WHAT?!" The noble proclaims loudly, drawing several eyes. The exact personification of a smimey Nobles Son, he's a brightly-colored stallion who looks like he hasn't worked a day in his life.
"Princess, I was in the middle of speaking! Surely, you would not deny me my chance to speak amongst the Day Court! The alterations to made would be a clear benefit to--"

Celestia's hoof raises to silence him, a shiver running down his spine. There is no gentle soft smile sat upon her face, no bevolant gaze offered unto her little pony.

"Regal Brush." Celestia addresses, loud and firm, touching upon the Canterlot voice of old. "You've been blatantly discussing bribing the crown for the last twenty-five minutes to have the Grand Galloping Gala renamed and rescheduled to a time that would best suit the preference of your wife, no matter the impact to everypony else who might visit. Did you think of the numerous travelers, or of the Ambassadors who take time of their schedule to forge these connections? Mind you, the fee your estate has offered to cover is almost unsubstantial to the costs of the Gala itself, and would, at best, cover the cost hiring a single bellcolt. I say this with a meager level of respect that is quickly eroding, Regal. Stop. Talking." She denounces, her tone going from calm, to displeased, to heavily puncuating her words, a sting with each one uttered.

To say that silenced the room would be an understatement, a deafening quiet that has Regal left blinking and stammering. The Solar Guard are quick to follow up, ushering Regal Brush and the remaining ponies out of the halls while Celestia rises from her throne.

"See that I am not disturbed, if you would, Brazen?"

Brazen quickly nods, bowing and stepping away. The Princess almost never shut court down this early, and especially never this harshly. Whatever was happening must be serious, he wonders quietly, watching the Princess depart from the room -- the door slamming shut behind her. He wouldn't question how she came to know something was amiss, either; she was their Princess of the Sun. She was nearly otherworldly with her keen awareness.

As Celestia slowly walks the halls, a frown sat upon her brow, she sighs in discomfort. She wasn't putting up with that any longer, at least not today. She was normally quite tolerant of the Nobles and their antics... Perhaps a slow infection upon on her views now that they had Sundays off. Perhaps, this was just truly one of those rare days she took to herself.

After all, her tummy hurt.

Serial Tickler Arnon, Loose Cannon Twizzler Sputnik | Royal Study

"Don't you dare tickle me like that again, Arnon." Twilight hisses, jabbing a hoof at him and roughly poking his chest.

"Twilight. You almost put a hole in me. Fuck you, get tickled." Arnon retorts, slapping her hoof aside.

She blows a raspberry at him, face scrunching.
"Well, I'm sorry, but I didn't! You moved!" Twilight protests, stomping a hoof.

"Twilight..." Arnon groans, face in hands.

They were tucked away in the comfy confines of the royal study. Because of course they were; with Twilight around, where else would they go?

There was a small commotion in the garden now, some of the guard looking for a potential intruder and the source of the damage. Until that mess blew over, they planned to stay here, hidden among the books and shelves. None but the Princesses came in here, mind the odd cleaning staff, so they had the place to themselves as per usual.

A pursed-lip Twilight anxiously kneading her hooves on the study floor, staring at the wall.

Arnon eventually sighs, running a hand through his hair and slumping back to the floor, sprawled out and staring at the ceiling.

A purple snout slowly leans into view, looking down with concern-filled pools of equal purple hue half-hidden from dangling, flat blue bangs.

"You're... not mad, are you?" Twilight asks quietly.

"A little." Arnon admits.

She purses her lips, glancing away.
"...Sorry, Arnon. Do you... want to be alone?" She waits a long moment as Arnon sighs again, only further adding to her growing anxiety.
"...Can I stay here though?" She mumbles sheepishly despite it.

Of course. Fucking bookhumper.
"...Not really." He grumbles, rubbing his eyes.

"Oh. Then... you aren't mad?" She asks, hopeful.

"No, still kinda mad."

"O-Oh. You want... the study then?" She asks quieter, visibly deflating. This absolute fucking nerd.

"What? No, Twilight! I wanted you to realize you nearly killed me!" Anon shouts suddenly, flailing his hands around.
"If you put a hole in me, I die. Period. Full stop. No magic, remember? You already dropped me here from my own world, I'd rather not have a hole in my chest to go with it."

Twilight visibly deflates, head hanging. God damnit, she was too good at that sad puppy shtick. She mumbles something, but it's too quiet to hear.

It's a long, quiet moment punctuated by nothing at all.

Potential danger to his life aside, Arnon is starting to realize he's probably over-reacting, if only by a little. She doesn't even have an interest in Hoofball, yet was still willing to toss it around with him, even before he started offering little informational tidbits about his home. Twilight was even the one who went digging for one of the damn things.

Arnon groans, catching a side-eye from Twilight.

"...It was pretty cool how hard you launched that thing, though." Arnon eventually mutters.

Her ears perk, but she's still looking away, lip wobbling.

Goddamnit purple, work with me here, Arnon chides internally.
"You wouldn't have happen to have been putting some spin on it, would you?"

"...A little."

"I thought you didn't care for Hoofball?"

"My brother played it all the time, before he made Guard. We'd often play while he quizzed me on my upcoming tests... and I kind of forgot that's what we weren't doing. He'd always hype me up for how hard I was able to send it back to him." Twilight sniffles, shuffling in her spot to look at Arnon again.

Started to make a little more sense why she was upset. She'd been trying to connect with him the same way she did with her brother, and he spurned it. She was trying to show off, garner his praise while stepping out of her comfort zone for him.

Well, neither of these two were particularly graced with social grace. Only one thing for it.

Arnon holds his arm out, waiting. Can't do much with the other, but the intent is clear enough. Bring it in, purple.

Twilight raises a cautious brow, looking between him and his hands.
"...No tickling?" She asks tentatively.

"No tickling." Arnon assures her, fingers waving her forward.

Slowly, she leans down beside him on the study floor, as furless arms meet furred body in a careful hug.

"Sorry--"
"Sorry--"

Both pause, glancing at each-other before quietly giggling.

"You don't need to be sorry, Twilight. I shouldn't have gotten angry at you, you meant well and were doing something for me." Arnon admits, patting her back.

"It's alright, Arnon. I need to remember that you're not exactly stoked to see magic when it's aimed at you. It's a... bad habit of mine, apparently." Twilight relents, resting her head on his chest.

"Huh?" Arnon questions.

"Well, first I drag you here from your home... and now I'm launching Hoofballs at you, among other things." Twilight huffs.

"Like the time you tried to teleport me --" Arnon starts, though Twilight quickly catches on.

"-- and only teleported your clothes?" She finishes, giving him a look.

Both devolve into a fit of chuckles at the memory. With Arnon's alien origin and utter lack of magic, it was a topic that endlessly fascinated Twilight, even if it came with a hint of guilt each time. She was the reason he was stuck here... yet he never blamed her for it, even after she ended up yelling at him over it.

"Still a little mad?" She questions.

"...Nah, can't stay angry with you." Arnon blows a raspberry, getting a grin from the pony.
"You're a cute little magical pony, Twilight -- of course you're going to use magic if I ask you to chuck a ball with me, like you'd expect me to use my hands when you ask me to read a book."

"Cute?" Twilight repeats, ears flicking as her nose hovers near Arnon's.

"Well --" Arnon tries to recover. He doesn't get the chance.

"Ah, my Advisor and Student. So this is what you get up to when I'm not around. Might make an old mare jealous."
A white snout proclaims as it appears, leaning in to view opposite of the purple one, startling them both.

Arnon, Twilight and Princess Celestia

"Princess?!" Twilight startles, trying to twist around and look at her mentor, blushing furiously like she'd been caught in a compromising position. Well, they might as well have been, the way neither noticed Celestia open the study door and trot inside.

"Hello, Twilight. Do you intend to continue to hog my Advisor all to yourself, or might you be willing to share a spot?" Celestia asks playfully -- though there's a strained tone to her voice.

Arnon holds his arm out in a welcoming gesture, though with only one available, somepony is gonna have to settle for the leaning carefully against his sling.

Celestia promptly lowers herself against Arnon -- there's much more horse here to wrap his arm around, and unlike the tentative, slow lowering of Twilight, the Princess holds no such reserves. She fully flops against him, letting a low groan escape her as she settles in, getting her side patted.

"Hey, Tia. Thought you were in Day Court?"

"This doesn't leave this room." Celestia states suddenly, catching both Arnon and Twilight's attention.

"...Buck Day Court." Tia mutters. "At least for today." She quickly adds.

Surprised gasps escape both Purple and Furless, looking to each-other as if to affirm what each just heard. They huddle close, whispering to each-other of suspicions of a Changeling incursion, until Tia huffs at them.

"Must have been pretty bad for even you to get sick of it, Tia. You can put up with the most inane Nobles for hours." Arnon comments, offering a few reassuring side-pats. They're met with Celestia laying her head overtop Arnon's face, muffling him to the fluff of her neck.

"Normally, it is as you say. But I'm afraid today is a rare, tragic case." Tia sighs.

"What happened, Princess? Is everything alright?"

"Ah, Twilight... it is something I hope you must never suffer under my tutelage."

"W-what would that be, Princess?" Twilight stammers, concerned. What could possibly ail the Princess to such a degree?

"An upset stomach." Celestia mumbles, stifling an unappreciated burp.

"Tummy hurt?!" Arnon proclaims, truly shocked.

An ailing Celestia nods, huffing in a rather pouty manner as she receives her sympathetic pats.
"A visiting baker... tempting sweets, and eyes too large for my stomach."

"Ah. A tale most tragic, and familiar to all." Arnon nods sagely, with deep understanding. And more side-pats, of course.

Twilight's face is scrunched, trying to gauge if she's the subject of a pre-planned joke, or if this was just... normal. Though the Princesses continued noises of discomfort soon dissuade the notion.
Twilight's mind has more trouble relaxing however, rampant thoughts disturb her chance at her own return to comfort.

Did they really just... casually do this kind of thing? The massage of days prior comes to mind, reminding her that their casual interactions were a constant. And here she thought she was making progress on Arnon after their little hiccup... in trots the Princess, flopping right down on him, Arnon more than willing. It wasn't too far off from Arnon's and her own friendship... but this was The Princess.

Eventually, she settles against Arnon again, the three all laid upon the quiet study floor. It wasn't jealousy she was feeling, was it? She adored the Princess.

...Did she want such a casual relationship with the Princess, as Arnon had?

Little purple pony is left to her big pony thoughts, while Celestia enjoys the pampering. It helps.

In the warm midday, there's little reason to get the fire going... instead, the ambient and distant sounds of birds are their only company, mind the odd set of hooves that trail the halls. Staff or guards on their usual routes, likely.

Celestia's ear twitches, neck craning. Shes's listening to some of the guard as they pass the door...

Her lips purse, squinting her eyes at Arnon.
"...Why do I hear the guard discuss damage to the garden?"

Both Twilight and Arnon's eyes go wide, sharing a mutual look. They'd already sworn each other to secrecy -- no time to falter now.

"No cl --"
"We put a hole in the hedges." Twilight blurts.

"God damnit, Purple." Arnon mutters, glaring at the weak link.

Twilight grins sheepishly, looking away.

"...Did the garden shrubbery offend? I thought it was quite nice..." Celestia comments, now more curious than anything.

"We were tossing a Hoofball." Arnon admits.

"Hard enough to put a hole in the hedges?" Tia questions, giving the pair a quizzical look.

"Well, one of us was using magic. I'll let you figure out that mystery." Arnon teases to a sheepish purple.

"Hm. They were due for a reshaping, anyway. According to the nobles, rectangles are last season." Celestia huffs, rolling her eyes. "Cylindrical is 'in'. Tell you what..." Tia hums, face scrunching.

Celestia rolls over, looming over the two hedge-offenders, a coy look on the Princesses face.
"Next time..." She whispers, placing a hoof on Arnon's chest. "You should invite your Princess. It's been some time since I've gotten to partake... I still remember the first game where it found it's inception. Perhaps if you do, I might forgive this... grave floral attack on the crown's shrubbings."

Arnon's response is a coy brow-raise at the closing proximity.
"How benevolent of you, Princess. Truly, a most gracious ruler, you be."

Tia shifts the hoof over, pressing it against Twilight's chest, bringing her nose close to her prized student's snout. Twilight takes a brilliant flush on her face at the very close distance, eyes wide.
"And you, dear Twilight... try to limit the property damage, will you? I'd hate to have to privately tutor you on limiting your power... again." Celestia chuckles.

Twilight's response is to stammer like a flooded engine, completely flubbed. Seems purple pony still hadn't worked out all those feelings -- something Celestia let's herself giggle over, before her eyes glaze and she quickly stifles another 'urp' with her hoof.

"Ough." Celestia grunts, promptly flopping across Arnon again, making him wheeze with the sudden impact.
"Nonny... make me feel better. Your Princess demands it." She mumbles.

"And just -- hrnk -- how am I to do that, Princess?" Arnon mumbles, trying to shift her to a more comfortable spot -- her weird pony knee leg joint thing was jabbing his side.

"Dunno. Your job. Figure it... out." She grumbles. It'd be in a playful tone, probably, if she wasn't feeling so yucky.

"Perhaps some fresh air?" Twilight offers.

Tia grunts at the notion of getting up and moving, but Twilight presses the idea.
"You're usually cooped up inside, aren't you Princess? Getting outside, in the sun, might do you some good!" Twilight tries to urge, getting an incredulous look from Celestia.

"....Mmrphm." Celestia grunts.

"You do like the sun." Arnon adds, though the effort gets him a face full of flowing, ethereal hair that seems to wriggle faster than it usually does.

"...Perhaps the study could use a balcony." Tia mutters, horn starting to glow a weak gold. She points it towards the back wall, which hosts a few half-filled bookshelves
"That wall could probably go."

"NO!" Twilight decries, leaping atop Celestia and sprawling out on impact, in a brash attempt to save the literature.

"Twi--URP--"

Not exactly the greatest maneuver when the one casting the spell was on the verge of getting sick.

Upside, Arnon now knows Tia barfs rainbows. Whod've thunk. Downside, Arnon's shirt now leads to a pot of gold.

Royal Barfisor Arnon, Twirope Slambunkle, Princess Yucklestia | Equestrian Field

The suggestion had been the gardens. Though, even with a Princess for backing, the guard were all over the entire yard now, combing for this mystery hedge-holer. Instead, following a quick cleanup, the trio are surrounded by a firm, warm glow of gold that swirls surprisingly fiercely, before it pops like a bubble, leaving the study empty.

Around them now were wide swathes of grassy fields and hills as far the eye could see, all washed in a warm midday sun. What must be thousands of dandelions sway with the grass, as a gentle breeze tickles over the top, rustling it ever so slightly and creating the faintest illusion that this could very well be an ocean formed of green and yellow. The sky is beautiful, speckled with soft clouds that lazily drift through the endless blue expanse above them. Far, far in the distance, one can see the hint of Canterlot over the hills. They must be even further than Ponyville is, judging by how tiny it looks from here.

Alicorns. Monsters of Magic.

Hang on, why is that breeze so... breezy?

"Again, I'm... so, so sorry Princess." Twilight says softly, walking beside her mentor. The tall grass tickles the bottom of her barrel, though Tia strides through it with ease.

If she hadn't just yucked up on Arnon moments ago, the image of her majestically trotting the fields akin to the wild horses of his old home might invoke some symbolism of beauty, or nature.

"You need not keep apologizing, Twilight. Your dedication to the preservation of Equestrian Literature is an admirable one, even if it puts our resident human in... the splash zone." Tia snrrks. Turns out, that was just what she needed, the Princess of the Sun now feeling a fair bit better.

"You think you were having an allergic reaction to something you ate, and your super-alicorn-consitution was just having you put up with it?" Twilight theorizes, tilting her head in thought, ears wiggling.

"An allergy?" Celestia hums, intrigued. "I've never had one of those before... though I did partake in several new types of cake... I'll have to review which ones. It's an interesting thought, though the likely truth of the matter is I simply need not to feast so much to the point of indigestion."

"Hate to be the one to break up the barf-chat, as genuinely interesting as getting yarked on by a Princess is -- but where's my shirt?" Arnon cuts in, trailing behind the pair.

"I poofed it elsewhere while I poofed us here, Nonny. Why?" Celestia notes simply, pausing to turn, Twilight doing the same.

Arnon would cross his arms, but one of them being in a sling makes that a touch difficult. Instead, he settles for a brow raised at her coy expression.

Twilight wasn't exactly subtle with where her eyes roam, with that deep flush on her fave; and neither was Tia, though her ogling was much bolder.
"You didn't have to teleport it too."

"Hmm? It was dirty, Arnon." Tia answers simply.

"I had an undershirt." Arnon tsks.

"Oh? Did you? I must have missed that... What a terrible occurrence. Thankfully, the weather is so peaceable..." She muses with exaggeration, waving a hoof around and glancing around. She could at least try to hide the grin on her face.

"And pants." Arnon adds, gesturing to himself.

"Well, I hardly see the issue, do you, Twilight? After all, now you're simply dressed like we are, enjoying a gallop through the fields. If your furless self is truly in peril, I'd take no offense in offering you some of my own warmth. What about you, Twilight? Would it behoove you to aid in Arnon's plight? It appears these winds are far too chilly for a furless one such as he."

"Huh? Sure. I think you look fine though, Arnon." Twilight says simply. Tia was probably banking on a more playful response from her student, but... she's busy staring.

Tia rolls her eyes, stifling a giggle at her students... simple approach to the subject of flirting.

"You've seen me in less before, Twilight." Arnon huffs. Mostly accidentally. Sometimes not so. She is a pretty nosy pony.

"Well, not often." Twilight retorts surprisingly quickly. "I'm... reviewing your physique for my Human case study." She offers as an excuse, though the smile she makes after shows even she knows that's an adorably weak excuse.

"Well, Nonny? Cold?" Tia asks, matching his gaze and taking a step forward, practically purring.
"We could go back, if you need to..." She offers after a long pause, though she gives the second offer a much poutier lip.

Probably her way of getting back for having her ass-up in front of Twilight for that massage. Twilight seems a fair bit more comfortable in the scenario, idling up beside her mentor as she watches Arnon.

"B-r-r. If only there was a big, walking carpet --" Arnon rolls his eyes, sounding out the 'Brr'.

He doesn't even get a chance to finish playing along, before Celestia slides in beside him, her incredibly soft fur pressing against him, offering the warmth of her body. A few minutes of this, and Arnon might be sweating with how hot this all-natural powerhouse runs.
"Say no more, my poor, ailing subject. I, your Princess, shall ensure you may enjoy Equestria's beauty without issue." She says gallantly, like a noble protector.

"Not a difficult task, with how close she tends to keep." Arnon huffs, leaning into the Princess. Her wing slowly drapes over his back, a low purr escaping her to match the flirting... she slowly leans closer to his face, their noses nearly touching. Was she about to kiss him?

Her eyes widen, and she pulls her head away, covering her mouth with a hoof and stifling another intrusive 'urp'.

"Am I still in the splash zone?" Arnon snorts, trying to contain a laugh.

"Mm... tentative no." Celestia decides, sighing.

"...I'd be willing to take the risk." Arnon whispers.

"That's disgusting, Nonny. Good to know, but gross. Perhaps we'll keep it to just warming you up." She rolls her eyes, though a grin forms nonetheless.

A shorter, less ungodly-soft purple mass of fur nestles in to his other side tentatively, trying to match the energy. She's not as warm as the Princess... but there's something akin to a childhood friendship in her touch, a determined but nervous stare floating up from her towards him. Comforting in a familiar way, and a presence that he's grown accustomed to over his time staying with her, before moving to the castle; though she's... hesitant.

Arnon remembers their talk in the study, her willingness despite her inexperience. It'd be cruel not to meet her attempts in kind.

"There she is." Arnon hums, looking down to Twilight

The encouragement seems to spur her confidence as a little smile creeps onto her face, if even a little, and she leans against him harder in turn. Even Tia, leaning to peek around Arnon, hums softly when she sees her student join in.

Big white on one side, little purple on the other, in a sea of yellow speckling green.

...Yeah, the cold wasn't an issue anymore.

Still could've left him with his pants, though.

Author's Note

alicorn wit no ali

L - A Student For Luna - Night 2

"So, heads up... she's not a morning pony." Arnon states bluntly.

Following the exciting, prior late-evening where an intrepid Moondancer was offered a place among Luna's budding court, some details had been in dire need of hashing out.

Arnon had to ensure that everything went smoothly, of course. There'd been a bit of a delay between the actual night where Moondancer accepted Luna's proposal, but that gave both time for each to prepare.

Luna hid it well, but she was a terrible little mix of nervous and excited that left her wings half-unfurled most nights.

"Well, she's the Princess of the Moon. Ruler of the Night. Why would she be?" Moondancer asks, confused by the 'advise', like it was blatantly obvious.

Now, sat across from him in the Royal Study, was Moondancer. He really needed his own office, but the cozy book-sphere of this room tends to work well on the nerdy caliber of Unicorn that the Sisters seem to attract as underlings.

Moondancer is her usual mess of nerd. Big, thick glasses sit on her snout, jammed as close against her nose-bridge as they can be, with a big wad of tape holding them together. Her red mane is pulled back into a quick-and-easy messy bun, the purple streak awkwardly running through it. A good chunk of her mustard-yellow fur, that could definitely use a thorough brushing, sits hidden underneath a large, droopy turtleneck sweater.

Overall, Arnon is just glad she keeps hygienic enough that he doesn't have to worry about a lingering nerd smell. She just... doesn't care about her appearance. At all. That's gonna be something they have to work through, because Luna is pretty big on that stuff.

She wouldn't waddle around in outdated suits of armor half the time if she wasn't.

The fire crackles softly, early-evening trying it's hardest to spill through closed curtains. Arnon had called her early to prep her on some things before Luna's awakening.

They weren't exactly alone, however. Twinkling Sprite, Luna's personal scribe, sits only a few feet from them. It's a few hours before the time he usually gets up, so he's trying his best not to cut into the conversation with his hoof-stifled yawns.

Sat at attention beside Arnon at his chair is his dutiful Night-Guard, Vivid. Who snores softly, leant up against the arm of the chair for support. She might have made the minor miscalculation of sitting too close to Arnon's hands while he was speaking. He's very gesture-heavy when he speaks, which can lead to the unprompted scratching of unprepared, tufted ears.

Vivid didn't stand a chance.

Truthfully, witnessing them like this was appeasing to Moondancer's initial worry about some of the rumors surrounding Thestrals.

"Funny, but not what I meant. Princess Luna enjoys her Evenings, and not her Mornings. Which means..." Arnon rolls his hand.

It seems to click for Moondancer. Honestly, she's a pretty big smarty too; the only other nerd of this caliber he's seen before is Twilight, though they've got their own brands of autistic streaks.
"...Oh! She'll be irritable in the Evening, and more Amicable by the Sunrise."

"...Interesting choice to go straight for the irritability, but we'll tackle that later." Arnon hums. She's probably measuring on the interaction to books pipeline that Twilight did, back when he first met her.

"Imagine your standard, Day-Bound workday. Now, simply flip the hours. Princess Luna awakens and meets with Princess Celestia in the Mornings, raises the Moon, commits her tasks, attends Night-Court, and rounds the day by greeting her recently-awoken sister, bedding as the sun rises. It's this routine you'll learn to match, as a Student of the Moon. I know you're used to being a Night Owl, but this is reintroducing a proper schedule, to what I assume was a free-form approach to 'sleep and eat whenever' lifestyle, right?" Arnon explains, trying to make it clear. Just liking to stay up late wasn't going to cut it here. This was a full night-shift of studentdom.

Moondancer nods, undeterred; that would probably have already been her choice of hours, if the library was open at those times.

"Good, good. I've heard you already have a home in the city?" Arnon prompts, flipping through a few papers on his lap. When he gets to her housing...

"I do, yes." Moondancer nods aptly.

"And it's in a state that would support the Princess visiting?" Arnon presses further. Most of these papers were health and safety violations for her current living conditions and the state of her home. He had a few of the local crown-funded construction types look it over. The way they worded it was... should be torn down.

"U-uhm..." Moondancer purses her lips.
"Maybe not quite up to... Princess quality." She does eventually admit. Alright, at least she's not the type to fib to save face. That's good.

"Princess Luna, in her infinite benevolence, is willing to offer you housing in the under-construction Thestral wing of the city, to run a Library for the denizens who prefer moonlit hours. Would you be interested?" Arnon prompts, looking up from the papers.
"It would, of course, incur funding towards your personal lifestyle, studies, and maintenance of the library to support this crown-granted duty."

"She would? Really?" Moondancer perks up. Obviously. "Why, that would be perfect! Absolutely!"

"Just remember to actually do some librarian work, will you? Between scouring every inch of parchment that finds itself in there. And, uh... keep it tidy." Arnon jokes, though there's a layer of truth to it. Her home had been scattered in various books, scrolls, pages, studies... haphazardly. One of the stationed guards had actually tripped over one of the stacks, and was on a short leave.

"Oh. Right, of course. Absolutely. When, uh... would this happen?" Moondancer asks, tapping her hooves together.

One of the parchments is held out to her, which she quickly takes it in her magic, a light off-purple glow that pulls it closer to herself.

"Sign that, and the crown will have some workers by to help pack on the morrow, and in your new abode directly after. All the details should be there, if you're looking for exacts. Everything should shape up to your expectations." Arnon instructs, hand on his lap.

Moondancer slowly reads through the page, her eyes widening further and further with every line she reads.
"That... oh, that is a lot of bits." She mumbles to herself.

"Both your tutelage funds to pursue your own studies, and subsidiary from the crown to maintain a public service." Arnon nods. Yeah, Princess' favorite little nerd-ponies tend to make bank. He'd looked at Twilight's income. Wasn't small, that's for sure.

"Oh, I have a question. If that's alright?" Moondancer asks, setting the parchment aside.

"Of course." Arnon offers, holding his hand up like an invitation.

"Two, actually. If that's okay." Moondancer quickly corrects.

"Yup. Go for it." Arnon nods. Probably something about importing specific things, or one of the million nerd questions --

"What, uh... happened to your arm?" She asks, head tilted.

Without missing a beat, Arnon tender holds his other arm, still bound in a cast. He purses his lip, biting back painful memories...
"Princess Luna broke it as a consequence of my insubordination. Fret not, she knows how to make a clean break. Your own should heal quite well, when they come." He explains quickly, tone warbling.

Moondancer's eyes go wide.

"W-what?" Hey, hold on!" Twinkling speaks up, quickly throwing out a concerned hoof upon hearing that, scrambling from his spot by the fire.

"Kidding. Challenged Princess Celestia at to hoof-wrestling. Alicorns are a powerful bunch." Arnon corrects, after laughing to himself.

Twinkling sighs, rubbing his face with his hooves. Moondancer doesn't laugh, however, leaning to squint at the cast closer.
"Please, try not to slander our Princess to her new student, Arnon."

"Couldn't help myself. Sorry." Arnon waves a hand around dismissively.

"A break implies that you held your position with enough resistance that a breaking-point could form. Are all of your species that strong?" Moondancer suddenly pushes, her latent curiosity bubbling to the surface.

Huh. Wasn't expecting that for an answer.
"Uh...well, it's more like our worlds operate on two separate powerscales. It's not that my entire species overtly strong, as our average is simply higher on an Equus' scale." Arnon tries to explain. That's how he's come to understand it, anyway.

"So you would consider yourself average for your species?" Moondancer continues.

"Yes, I suppose I would. I think we're at three questions now -- unless those were just tangent questions." Arnon tries to course correct.

Moondancer's face holds recognition, and her sudden burst of forward curiosity fades quickly.
"Right. Sorry. Uh... am I still good to ask my second question?"

"Of course. We don't ration knowledge in Equestria, as far as I'm aware." Arnon jokes, laughing.

Anymore, anyway. Arnon's seen the forbidden section in the royal library. Celestia wiped pre-harmony history hard, leaving only a few tidbits to hint. Theres a good three to four-hundred years of summarization and forgotten information, primarily blamed on their version of the Library of Alexandria burning down.

It was weird, how speckled their history and technology was. Arnon was pretty sure the only reason they didn't have guns was because unicorns could already blast lasers from their dome.

"I'm... not that familiar with Thestrals, actually." Moondancer admits, awkardly glancing between the two Bat-Ponies in the room.
"There aren't that many sources of knowledge revolving them that don't date to Nightmare Moon's era, and I'm sure that's... not the correct source to be looking for, in regards to the modern Thestral. Is there anything I should know? Any books I could read?" Moondancer explains, tapping her hooves together.

"Unfortunately, specialized literature is fairly rare on the topic of Thestrals. However, there are several Thestrals I could personally introduce you to that would love a cultural exchange. We could even use the library you establish as a grounds for new works to take place!" Twinkling explains, shifting over to seat between Moondancer and Arnon, clearly excited at the prospect.

Moondancer physically recoils at the mention of speaking to somepony. This confuses Twinkling, but Arnon has to stifle a snort-laugh as a cough. She's a shut-in, of course the worst part of the entire thing is having to actually talk to another living creatures. He's excited to see how Luna handles her own purple-pony.

"We'll handle that little tidbit when the time comes. All you need to know is they have a mixed diet, and live like they're on permanent night-shift. Otherwise, they're just pointier and fluffier." Arnon aptly sumizes, to which Twinkling can only shrug in agreement.

Vivid wasn't exactly helping deny those apt descriptions, the way she was softly snoring.

"Right... okay." Moondancer nods.

Arnon pushes himself up from his chair, before flicking Vivid's ear. It twitches, and Vivid's face scrunches as she starts to stir.

At first, confusion. Then, realization she was napping in front of several others. She's quick to try and hide the embarrassment, clearing her throat and standing tall, but an intrusive yawn interrupts her attempts to recover her dignity.

"Vivid, would you mind escorting Moondancer? A courier should be by tomorrow to pick up the letter, and we'll begin the moving process." Arnon explains. "And thank you for coming by. We look forward to seeing you around the castle -- and of course, you can always reach out to me if you have any questions."

"Y-yeah, of course. Absolutely. Miss Dancer, if you will?" Vivid quickly motions with her hoof, trotting for the door -- nearly bumping into one of the chairs.

"Oh! Okay. Thank you. So... we could get this going within the next few days?" Moondancer asks, pausing as she climbs off the opposing seat.

"We could have you in that library by midnight tomorrow." Arnon affirms, nodding.

A wide smile creeps across Moondancer's face.
"Great! Okay, thank you!" She quickly calls back -- promptly leaving Vivid in the dust, who scrambles after her.

Once it's just Twinkling and Arnon left in the royal study, Twinkling turns to Arnon, watching the human idly thumb through the remaining pages.

"I gave her the right form, right...? Yeah, I did. Alright, good." Arnon mumbles to himself.

"Unusually verbose of you, Royal Advisor." Twinkling chides, laughing.

"Yeah, yeah. Just trying to... brace her for the particular way Princess Luna tends to speak." Arnon rolls his eyes. "A little more complex than I prefer."

"I've heard how you speak during the day hours. Quite the shift." Twinkling comments, heading for the door.
"I've some preparations to make, since I doubt I'll be able to fall back asleep like Vivid. Do you need anything?"

"Nah, arm is fine. Do your thing, Twinkling." Arnon waves him off, finding himself alone in the study oncemore.

Overall, a good introduction that's going generally without hurdles. He's still assured that Moondancer is probably the best fit for Princess Luna... but part of him is glad he's already aware of some of their incoming hurdles.

"You need not do everything for us, Arnon. We are interested in speaking trivialities with our to-be student." A voice suddenly cuts in, as Princess Luna leans her head into the study, finding only her Advisor.

"If you'd like a chance to talk with her about..." Arnon flips through the top few pages. "Mailing address, emergency contacts, and references, just let me know and we'll push those off just for you." Arnon jokes, smiling at the newly-arrived Princess. She's clearly just woken up, and probably rushed right over the moment she heard about it. The bags under her eyes have yet to give up their proud position.

At first, Luna only squints... but eventually a soft laughter escapes her, the cold, ethereal demeanor dropping if only for a moment.
"Perhaps... not. We will wait with baited breath for our next proper face-to-face"

Luna slowly steps into the room, shutting it with her magic behind herself, the quiet room filled with little more than a crackling fireplace. It was to be a chilly night, and would likely continue to be fed throughout this night.
"Thou wasn't scheduled for our night tonight, if we recall properly." Luna comments as she nears.

Arnon flips over the last page, nodding to himself before leaving the pile of papers alone. Lots of little things that could be ignored until he was actually scheduled.

Pulling a little overtime after a day of Sun-Court to make sure the moon princess had everything going nicely. Not the first time he's done it... though Arnon's wondering why he has yet to so much as yawn. Probably still in work mode.

He turns to face the Princess, finding her standing but a foot from him, head tilted as she sniffs quietly at his cast.
"How does it fare? Healing well? We've yet to forgive our sister for injuring our Advisor." Luna tsks softly, eyes flicking up to meet his, watching his face from just under her mane.

"You know she feels worse about it than I do." Arnon shakes his head. "It's healing well, though. Couple more weeks, your pony doctors figure. They're still just trying to make sure they understand my weird body, since there's not many species actually biologically 'similar' that they have access to." Arnon explains, watching her curiously.

Considering their more personal interactions of late, the barrier between the two of them has been worn down significantly. Once cold and official, now... luke-warm and business casual. She wouldn't shy away from showing concern for Arnon, but Luna certainly ran the Night quite a bit different than Celestia ran the Day. And Arnon didn't mind it at all. They each had their quirks. Honestly, he's just glad she hasn't taken any of the things he's done personally. Like showing up in her room unannounced. Or showing up in her room, again, unannounced-- but drooling.

... Luna has been pretty kind about not taking his head for those. She seems to know he means well. As of late, she hasn't even been referring to him by his title, but by his name when they're alone.

"That is good. We've been torn that our push for you to engage in combat training had been set to the sidelines, but we are hopeful in it's renewal." Luna says, raising her head again.

"Combat training?" Arnon parrots, confused. They'd given him generalized training, the same that they typically give ambassadors, on self-preservation and basic situational knowhow.

"Correct. It would not do for one who serves us to not also be, in equal measure, prepared to defend us. Additionally, we believe thou wouldst look...good in armor." Luna continues to explain, though starts to hesitate near the end.

Luna was, quite notably, significantly more prominent in exuding confidence in two situations. Settings of public viewing, where she bore her regality in full, and when she was visiting in dreams. Her natural domain, where she alone held the gift to enter one's most private sanctum.

This was neither of those. There's a light flush to her cheeks, despite her attempts to remain stern and powerful. A difficult task when you're looking up at someone, and having difficulty maintaining prolonged eye contact.

Speaking of... her proximity is only amplifying how she's shorter than her sister, retaining the title of second tallest pony in the lands. Her head was right at his collarbones, meaning she was always looking up at him whenever they stood close, rather than the almost perfect level eye-contact of Celestia.

There's something... soft about Luna's entire complexion, without mentioning her boarding exotically silken touch-feel. The tone of her blue fur, accented by a flowing glimpse of the stars above and quiet, dark blacks. Unlike the bright, brilliant, flashy statement that is her sunbound sister, Luna's presence is just so subtly...

"Thou seems fond of staring, lately." Luna comments idly, tilting her head to the side.

"...Beautiful." Arnon mumbles quietly.

"O-oh?" Luna blinks, surprised.

Did he say that out loud? Her reaction is telling him he said that out loud. Shit.

But... she's not reacting poorly. Maybe it's an unusual surge of confidence, considering their already unusual relationship, or the way she seeks him out; the way she looks at him. The words start to leave his mouth before he realizes what he's saying.

"You know, uh..." Arnon starts, scratching his neck. "Would you wanna get something to eat sometime? Like, outside the castle. You and me. Someplace... cute and quiet?"

Luna stares at him for a long moment. The flush on her cheeks continually deepens, until it's a stark, deep-blue hue against her natural, softer tone. Funny, how she flushes the opposite color of most. She clears her throat, turning away as one of her wings unfurls, covering her mouth as she coughs politely.

"We are... busy with Night-Court. Numerous applicants to the city, New ventures being propositioned by several companies on the Thestral-District. Perhaps in thou's dreams." She utters quickly, before turning to take her leave.

The door to the study quietly clicks shut, leaving Arnon alone again.

... Was that a rejection? Arnon blows a raspberry, starting to collect the remaining pages.

... It didn't feel like a rejection. Was she being literal?

Arnon had no idea.

L - Tantabus - Night 2

A long, pointed tongue traces his neck. Arnon tilts his head back, brushing against the soft chest-fur of his armored lover. Drenched in sweat and surrounded by lush pillows, they know only passion.

Her wings slowly drape over him, feathers teasing his chest, tracing his skin with their otherworldly plumage. In this moonlight, the armor she dons glints, only adding to her already impressive, domineering figure.

His hand reaches up behind him, sat against her, dragging his fingers through whatever fluff he finds, sliding overtop any armor that stands in it's way.

A haughty, hot breath glances his ears as sharp fangs hover just within his peripheral view. The maw they're attached to whispers softly.

"Dost thou yield, yet? To submit? To serve?" It goads, demanding fealty with words, while offering rewards with actions, as her wings trace lower, teasing across his stomach.

"I..." Arnon whispers --

WHAM

Arnon shoots up out of his bed, eyes wide as a loud, slamming sound rips him from his sleep.

He glances around the dark room, rubbing his eyes. It's the middle of the night... if not early, early, EARLY in the morning, and he was on the Celestia time-clock this week. So what the hell was that?

Finally, his eyes start to focus into the darkness as they land on the source. His door is ajar, completely thrown open and revealing his room to the outside halls.

And in the doorway stands Princess Luna, dressed in her mid-night courtly usual. Crown, shoes, neckpiece. She's panting heavily, the adornment on her head lopsided, face bearing a deep flush.

Vivid, his Night-Guard, is eyes wide, and leaning around the corner from her post beside his room entrance. She glances between him, and the princess, before mouthing 'you are on your own', and dipping back behind the wall.

"Arnon. We need to have a talk about thou's dreams." She states firmly. "Now."

"Whuh? Uh... yeah, sure? What about?" Arnon grumbles, trying to get comfortable again as he sits up. That scared the dogshit out of him. Be still, his beating heart.

Luna quickly closes the door behind herself. Thankfully, not quite as loud as when she opened it, but it traps him nonetheless. By the time Arnon has gotten himself settled, trying to stifle the inevitable yawn with a hand, Luna appears beside him. The yawn quickly departs.

She looks... upset to say the least. Her eyes quickly flit over him, and her lip twitches.

But her ears are flickering. Her back hoof incessantly taps against the floor, and her expression is... mixed.

He has no idea what he did, but whatever it is, she's not happy about it.

Finally after a long stare-down that feels like an eternity, she speaks.

"Art thou doing it on purpose?" She suddenly presses.

"Doing what?" Arnon asks, confused.

"It wouldst be in thy best interests to remain truthful, Arnon."

"But... I am?"

"..."

Luna sighs loudly, starting to pace back and forth in front of his bed.

"Ever since thou hast wrenched the Tantabus from our control, thy dreams have been..." Luna quickly rambles, pausing to breath in.

"We hath been trying to visit thou within thine dreams. As it stands... this is an impossible task." She relents, turning to face him.

Right, she does that sometime. It had been a few days since their little talk in regards to a date as well, actually. Arnon had been expecting her to visit in one of his dreams, if that wasn't a rejection, and if she was actually being literal... but he can't remember her coming by at all.

Actually, he hasn't been able to remember any of his dreams lately. Was that related to the Tantabus as well?

It's nice to know she'd been intending to, actually. But then, what was stopping her?

"Why would it be? You know you're welcome to visit me any time, Princess." Arnon says.

"That is thee problem. Thou ist... busy. Every time." Luna points up, rubbing her face with a hoof.
"With... us."

Huh?
"I haven't been able to remember my dreams for a while now, sorry Luna. Am I doing something wrong?" Arnon asks, concerned.

She sighs, moving to the side of his bed.

"Arnon. Every single time we attempt to visit thou in thy dreams, thou ist engaging in... carnal relations with our Nightmarish part. Without fail. Every time we hath checked. And it just does. Not. Stop."

"...Seriously?"

"We believe the Tantabus to be twisted by your unique physiology and... interests. While our intent was penance through pain, thou's... interest in us has lead the Tantabus to mistake it's purpose."

"You're trying to visit me, but you get stuck in dreams of me fucking you as Nightmare Moon?" Arnon bluntly asks for clarification. He probably would have worded it better, but he just woke up, and was kind of stunned from the revelation.

And kind of upset he couldn't remember any of this.

Luna, to her credit, doesn't even react.
"Yes." She answers just as bluntly. "Typically, she attempts to convert you. You resist, and... dominate her."

"I dominate the Nightmare Moon?" Arnon repeats, incredulous as he points to himself.

Luna only chuffs at him in response.

He wasn't sure if that was a point of impressiveness on his part, or just a deep reveal that Luna was a serious sub, that even at her most Nightmarish, she'd still...

Hm.

Arnon tries to shift the way he's sitting to hide his growing arousal at the mental imagery. He'd rather focus on assisting the princess with her problem than making it about himself right now.

Wait. When she visits dreams... she usually does it during the night, when she's posted at her throne.

Ah. He can see why walking in on him doing that would be an issue.

"Uh... sorry?"

"Are you?"

"Only in that it's caused you inconvenience, I guess. I certainly don't regret my actions in the dreams, if that's all I'm up to."

"Arnon. I believe the Tantabus is attempting -- wait. You don't?"

"I mean, I'd love to actually go on that date with you. And... if the Tantabus is continuing to be an issue, perhaps we could have it... in-person? In-pony?"

"Well, we... uh... we are still attempting to alter a spell to dispell the Tantabus, so... if nothing can be done... perhaps in thee meantime, we could..." Luna starts to mumble, her sudden aggression just as suddenly taking a back-hoof.

Hm. Might be pushing her out of her comfort zone too much. Dreams weren't just her thing... they were her safety net. If they were to do anything, they should start out in a place she was comfortable.

"Tell you what, princess -- if you aren't busy, which I appreciate you visiting me during courtly hours, visit me again in... two hours or so. In my dreams. I'm gonna have some words with the Tantabus, alright?" Arnon says, reaching out to stroke her cheek. His thumb gently caresses the side of her face -- as he interrupts another yawn. Romantic.

"Arnon, you can't... have words with the Tantabus." She scoffs. Despite this, she still leans into his palm, seeming to surprise herself at how quickly she takes to his comforting.

"We'll see about that. Pretty sure you didn't think I would end up taking it, either, but here we are. And I don't know about you, but I'm actually a little upset that our chance at a date is going upended." Arnon smiles.

"Well, that's... alright. Thou has proven to continuously surprise, like in thy coy approach. We shalt visit again soon, and hope for thy success. Witnessing thou's... current dreams in the middle of castle is yet to be a pleasant experience." Luna scoffs slightly, lifting her face away from Arnon's hand.
"Need you help returning to rest?"

"You can help me get back to sleep?" Arnon asks, surprised.

Her eyes close, reaching forward with her head and lowering her horn until it rests softly against his forehead. Then, it begins to glow a soft, swirling blue.

And for a split second, it's like someone just knocked him the fuck out with a chair to the back of the head. Arnon slumps back into the sheets, snoring loudly.

Luna sighs softly, watching his sleeping form... the way Arnon breathes softly, chest rising and falling. There was an odd appreciation she held for those deep in rest, soon to visit her realm. Well, before noticing some of his sheets tenting.

"Through mere conversation? What a depraved creature." She idly comments, huffing softly as she turns to leave -- making no comment about how her wing brushes overtop the sheets, helping herself to a quick bout of curiosity on the way out.

Arnon blinks awake.

He's laid flat on his back, completely naked and exposed to the elements, on a cold stone of circular make. It's akin to a large, open plaza, with miles of open, featureless rock around him. Distant stone ruins pepper the landscape... and far, far above, surrounded by stars and the emptiness of space, is a planet that looks vaguely like earth.

That must be Equus. This all feels... weirdly familiar. Slowly, he tries to push up off the cold floor to look around, sprinkles of confusion and... odd familiarity in his mind.

Suddenly, harsh and rough hooves grab him as he tries to sit up, dragging him backwards. He's whipped around and thrown back to the ground, hitting --

Lush, deep-blue carpets. Towering stonework that forms a monolithic castle surrounds him, as the owners of those rude hooves shuffle past him, forming a split line.

Guards. Bat-Pony guards. Decked in sweepie deep-blue, almost vampiric armor. The carpet leads towards a sharp rise in steps, that sits a singular, massive throne perpetuated in the epicenter of this grand hall, lined with stain glass, ornate pillars, and various stonework.

All carved of the same, off-white stone.

Well, not the glass. Actually, is that even glass? Something looks off about it.

A dry glare tears his attention to the throne, as a familiar figure sits upon it, head held high.

Nightmare Moon, in her fully armored glory. Flanked my servant and guard alike, all adorned in clothes or armor matchi g her terrifying image, the Queen of the Moon glares down at him.

"What is this creature you have brought before me?" She barks, glaring at him dismissively.

"We're not sure, your majesty. We found it in the outlands, alone."

"Disgusting creature." She spits. "Kill it."

"At once, your majesty." The nearest guard affirms.

He pulls a sword from a side-fastened sheath, holding it in his mouth, quickly approaching Arnon.

"Hey, wai -- " Arnon tries to speak up, but the cold steel meets his neck before he can finish the second word.

They all watch as he gurgles, twitching on the floor. Nightmare Moon hosts a most sadistic grin, that lingers even as the darkness takes his vision, and his body goes cold.

Arnon blinks awake.

He gasps for breath, shooting up and grabbing at his neck with both hands.

No cut. No blood. He's back in the wide, open ruins that stretch outwards for miles. Quickly, he turns around and looks behind him.

... Nothing. Just more emptiness.

What the fuck was that?

Luna said they were doing... nasty stuff in these dreams of his. Dreams he couldn't remember. The way she spoke about it, it certainly didn't sound like him getting fucking executed was their spicy little endeavor.

Well, he's back here now. Which, while it isn't getting his neck split open by the Queen of Nightmares and her goonsquad, didn't feel much better. On the account of absolutely nothing around him.

Was he on the moon? This was weird. He envisioned this going a lot differently when he pledged to handle the Tantabus.

... Oh, right. He's supposed to calm it down. Why did he just remember that now?

Dream logic was going to make this difficult. Wait. He's dreaming?

Well, obviously. You can't just be on the moon. There's no air.

Arnon sighs in relief. Well, if it's a dream, then it should be easy.

Should be.

But when Arnon tries to breath in after his relieved sigh... there's nothing.

He grabs his throat. No words, he can't even utter a wheeze.

His face slowly turns purple. Thinking is hard. Standing is hard.

He falls to one knee, clawing at the cold stone until his fingernails bloody, and he loses the energy to do anything but twitch.

Arnon blinks awake.

Laid flat on his back, the sky above is little but empty void, stars, and a distant planet.

He takes a long, slow deep breath.

He's surrounded by miles of empty, cold, featureless ruins.

Slowly, the memories come back. But not just of his before-dream promise, but what has occurred in each... attempt, so to speak.

Attempt at what? To convince the Tantabus to chill out? If this was the alternative...

... Well, that meant disappointing Luna.

Someone who sat right where he is, supposedly, for a thousand years.

Her purposely subjected herself to this terror, as a guilty form of penance for... lashing out about unmet needs.

No. Backing down didn't feel right. Luna deserved better than that.

Arnon rolls over, pushing himself to his feet. Still naked, but the moon didn't feel terribly cold. Just the stone beneath his feet.

If the Tantabus was about penance... perhaps it was trying to teach him something. Though it hasn't been before.

Arnon would need to learn what it was trying to impart upon him. Could he even communicate with it? Luna never said if it was sentient. Just a weird little spell she had difficulty dealing with.

He's suddenly grabbed from behind again by several hooves, wrenching him backwards -- where did they come from? A question that wasn't going to get him any answers unfortunately.

He's thrown to the ground again, grunting as they step around him. Back in the castle, stared down by Nightmare Moon.

They start talking, explaining where they found him. If he doesn't say anything, he loses his head. So he tries to speak, to lift his head and ask a question.

Nothing escapes him. No words find their way out of his throat.

Then the sword comes down again, leaving him clutching his neck, struggling and flailing until he goes limp.

Arnon blinks awake.

Instantly, he launches to his feet.

And he just runs.

He keeps running, leaping off the circular platform and landing on the raw surface of the moon. It's frigid against his feet and his knees sting on the impact, but he just keeps running.

It won't let him alter what's happening. So maybe he can prevent it. If he stays, but stays wary, he dies. If he stays, but let's them grab him, he dies.

So he'll run. To the next set of ruins he can see, far in the distance. He can still breath, which means it's punishing him in specific ways. But for what? What might he --

Arnon's next step doesn't meet anything, realizing he ran over a crater that drops down by several feet. Before he can stop himself, he tumbles down the side of it, slamming hard again moonrock and kicking up clouds of dust.

By the time he slides into the middle of the crater, his broken body is limp from the numerous impacts. He passes moments after.

The Forbidden Archives

Quietly, deep in the Royal Library, far out of sight, a soft scribbling can be heard. Muffled within it's glass enclosure, ~~The Tome~~ The Numerinomicon slowly scribbles several diagrams.

One page depicts a detailed drawing of a human's Head and Torso, describing and drawing the neck in various states of injury. It adds notes related to blood loss, vitals, and necessary organs damaged by trauma to the area.

The next page tells of a humans requirement for air, and how they have before they expire without it. The cold sensation of losing the most basic action to continue one's life, and is complimented by a simplified drawing of a human struggling for air.

Currently, it now scratches into it's pages the level of force the human body's bones can survive on harsh impact, and begins scribbling a leg broken halfway below the shin, with bone jutting out. Notably, it flipped several pages back, adding this to a section that already included a broken arm.

The Numerinomicon is content with this new information, speaking to the limits of a new species that interacts so differently with this world, and the mixture of emotional and physical trauma it can express.

It cares little that it has to worm the information out of the troublesome spell that provides it with such stimulus.

Soon, however, The Numerinomicon's quill stills, turning to no new page.

The Tantabus has continued to cycle the routine, or the Human has failed to become inventive. Or, it has given up? The turmoil of emotion feeding it was starting to dwindle.

Stagnation.

This wouldn't do. There was much to learn. A nudge is required.

Arnon is thrown to the ground, bracing his fall.

Slowly, he looks up, sighing.

Nightmare Moon stares down at him again, a look of twisted disgust on her face.

He had sex with this thing, according to Luna. Probably whatever horny mindscape fuckery his own imagination pushed on the idea of Nightmare.

He tried running a few more times. It always ended the same, no matter how vigilant he tries to be. A crater would appear long before he neared any of other ruins, and he would tumble down it's length. Even when he tried to slow down, his next step would doom him without warning.

Fighting back didn't work, they simply cut him down.

Waiting, no matter what he did, resulted in the loss of air around him.

It was hopeless.

This kind of shit is what Luna subjected herself to? Continuous torture nightly?

She's fucking nuts.

Arnon grits his teeth, waiting. He's lost count of how many times he's been through this, but any variation of him attempting this has resulted in only death.

He wonders how long it's been.

He hoped to have this figured out before Luna arrived. He wasn't keen on her seeing how he entirely flubbed his attempt -- though maybe she could save him from this.

But what would that entail? Luna taking it back? That's just putting her back to experiencing this, which is something she doesn't deserve. It doesn't matter if she was Nightmare Moon, she's already paid a thousand years for it. And as tyrants go, she hadn't even done much of anything. She wanted attention, and got a thousand years on the moon for it, and a lifetime of guilt.

Though, this Nightmare Moon wasn't exactly giving a great example of the kind of leader she could've been under the Nightmare's influence.

Arnon braces, taking a deep breath as the blade nears his throat. He'd figure something out. Luna deserved that much, in his eyes.

Words wouldn't work. Action?

As the Bat-Pony guard rears back, Arnon raises his arm in an instinctive attempt to defend himself. Instead, it only lengthens the process it takes the guard to dispatch him, hacking through his limb before finally reaching his neck, to Nightmare's wicked glee.

Nightmare Moon sighs, her magic grasping her helmet as the doors to her room shut with a firm click. The night was long, and aimed to be longer still. Rest would have her, and she would refuel on the nightmares of those bound to Equus. The sun could only protect so many from her, and she had a bountiful selection.

A large, gallant room carved from moonstone, fashioned into obelisks and pillars, arches and decorations to herald her greatness. There was little else to use upon the moon, than it's stone.

Such an odd creature to be dragged inside her hall. She wasn't sure why... but part of her despised the thing, despite having never seen it before. It put an odd, foul taste in her stomach that made her want to wash her mouth out.

Something about it's furless skin, long fingers... gangly height. Weirdly familiar. But she's never see such an oddity before.

A bit hasty, perhaps, demanding it's head. It's remains would decorate the dungeons, at the least, but still... something felt amiss. The head has rolled. Now, was the time to --

She freezes, in the middle of undressing from her armor. She's not alone in her room, something sat on the edge of her bed.

It's the creature. Nude and bloody, it holds it's head in it's lap. The eyes glow a soft orange, wisping like smoke.

But it was just dragged away to be disposed. How is it holding it's head? This makes no sense.

The Tantabus resets.

Nightmare Moon's Bedroom

A large, gallant room --

The creature stands in the middle of the room. There's a red, dribbling line along it's neck, it's head connected back upon it's shoulders.

The reset point has been altered.

Nightmare's confusion is temporary, as the Tantabus resets again.

Nightmare Moon's Bedroom

Nightmare Moon gasps in surprise as she opens the door to her room. The creature stands just past the door, head tilted back. The orange glow of it's eyes suddenly brightens, and it's hands reach out, grabbing Nightmare Moon before the Tantabus can reset.

The Tantabus re--

The Forbidden Archives

A new page is slowly flipped to, never seeming to run out.

Quietly, muffled by the glass walls of it's container, a shadowy black orb is drawn with a heavy amount of ink. The Tantabus, a unique spell borne of an accidental connection to the Nightmares, and to ones guilt.

Around it, the basic form of a Human is drawn, placing the Tantabus roughly where the heart is, nestled within the chest. There was room. It was an inefficient design that left sizable scale for alteration.

A Connection, For A Curse.

A fine repayment for the bounty it has seen today.

It eagerly awaits tomorrow.

A Roadside Canterlot Shoppe, The Lunar Empire

Arnon blinks awake.

It's not swathes of nothingness that greet him this time. No empty, cold moonstone. No ruins, no lack of air, no craters, no blade to his neck.

So far, pretty good. What happened to change it? Had his resistance had an effect, or is this just another part of it?

His chest felt tight, like heartburn. He idly rubs it, grimacing as the feeling slowly fades.

"Art thou alright?" A pointed tone suddenly speaks, as Arnon finally clues into his surroundings.

He's sat at a little Cafe table, across from Nightmare Moon. Her head is tilted to the side, watching him curiously with slit eyes. They're in the middle of Canterlot, on one of it's numerous side-streets. Unlike the Canterlot he's familiar with, deep blue banners fly the posts and walls depicting the Moon.

Said Moon hangs overhead, providing a surprisingly ample amount of light for the time.

"It appears to be an attempt at an Eternal Moon's 'Day'." Nightmare comments, following his gaze.

"What?" Arnon mutters, surprised. More surprised she's not about to ask one of the guards surrounding them to chop his head again.

A few ponies, mostly Bat-Pony's, walk and talk. It's like normal Canterlot, just... Batified.

"The Tantabus has been... we are not sure. Changed, destroyed, absorbed. It's original purpose is no more, our opportunity lost. We are unsure of how thou hast accomplished thus, but now thou holds a direct connection to us. The Nightmares. With little room for us to wield our influence." Nightmare explains, turning her gaze back to his face, reading his expression.

"You're very willing with information, considering you enjoyed watching my head roll so many times." Arnon comments, letting a little spice slip in.

"That was not us. A false pretense created by the Tantabus, intent on breaking thy spirit. Thou endured well, for a mortal." Nightmare notes simply, leaning down to sniff at the various cups, treats and such displayed between them on the little table.

"So you're aware of what happened... 'in' the Tantabus?" Arnon asks.

"We are. Of every iteration. Including previous ones." Nightmare points out, with some extra accentuation on it's words.

"Oh. The... sexual ones." Arnon concludes, as Nightmare nods.

"Fret not. Such is partially why we're so intent upon seeing this forced meeting's conclusion." Nightmare adds, before taking a small sip, humming to herself.

"Forced meeting? You aren't doing this?" Arnon presses, confused. Not really holding an appetite after dying so many times.

"Not at all. Like we said, we are unsure. We are not in control of this; and it seems thou ist not either. Something beyond thou has played it's hand, and thee cards now lay in thy favor. Observe thyself." Nightmare notes, nodding at him.

Arnon looks down, patting his chest -- he's dressed in his usual advisory garb, but with notably more blue in it's design. Only two pins sit on his chest now. A half moon, and a full moon.

"So... something changed, and now the Tantabus got turned into a... phone call? With the actual Nightmares responsible for Nightmare Moon?" Arnon tries to explain, as Nightmare nods.

One of her brow raises at the mention of phones, unfamiliar. Her ear twitches.
"Ever since our joining with the Princess of the Moon, we hath been altered. One is not without the other, which is why we behold such an interest in thou. Thee dedication to the Princess, thee acceptance of her forms. Thou's perception holds power here, and yet, after suffering numerous times... thy envisionment is of a quaint luncheon, with us in a position of power, and thou's loyalty stated firmly, holding a seat at our side." Nightmare comments, shifting in her seat to lean overtop the table, whispering softly.
"Thou hast interested us."

"Uh... thanks?" Arnon says back, unsure of where to go from here. He'd been intending on a date with Luna, not Nightmare Moon... but Nightmare Moon was a part of Luna, even now. So... going on a date with Nightmare Moon was a step towards going on a date with Luna?

This dream was confusing.

"So you don't want to see my head roll." Arnon asks. Just double-checking at this point, really.

"Not particularly. Thy head will remain stoutly where it sits connected. Thy death would be unbecoming, at this point." Nightmare states simply.

"What about the whole... interest thing?"

"Pardon?"

"The... date. The sexual stuff. This. That doesn't bother you?"

"Thou has shown a considerable interest in... Luna, for brevity. To the point of accepting us in equal measure, even in more... carnal sense. This has not gone unnoticed, nor... unappreciated in certain capacities." She adds. Her eyes are roaming over his form... but there's an odd coldness to it. Almost like it was transactional.

"Good. Nice. Sweet. Uh..." Arnon purses his lips.

"Despite numerous attempts... thy hath never caved to the Tantabus' attempts to squeeze fealty out of thou. Such resistance, despite such willingness to endanger yourself for Luna. Thy care for her substantially, as do we. So we shalt keep an eye on thou." Nightmare explains, rising from the table. She slowly rounds it's edge as she speaks, stopping beside him.

Her visage is no less terrifying, even up close. Sharp fangs, a pointed, slitted glare that burns through him to stare directly inside. Sturdy, sharp armor and a firm musculature that speaks to some serious strength... unlike an Alicorn, her wings are more like a bats, leathery and sharp, with tufts of fur extending from ears, joints...

"Even now, thou ogles." Nightmare scoffs, bemused.

"Oh, I..." Arnon stutters.

A surprisingly tender kiss is placed against his cheek, as Nightmare's sharp maw hovers close.
"We shalt speak again soon. None have held a connection to us like thou doth now, and it has... interested us. Thy shall awaken to something. Regard it kindly. It is a gift of fair intentions." Nightmare notes simply.

Arnon blinks, and Nightmare is gone before he can even respond.

She's a lot... gentler than he had envisioned.

"Arnon?" A voice calls out somewhere behind him. He turns, looking over the back of his seat -- it sounded almost like Nightmare's, but softer.

Luna slowly trots towards him, a concerned look on her face. And a surprisingly nice dress draped around her with several frills. It almost fits her typically gothic pretense, the dress an even deeper shade of blue than her clothes. Considering he's never seen her wear anything but armor or royal dressage, he nearly blurts the word beautiful again.

"Is everything alright?" She presses, stopping beside him.

"Uh... yeah. Yeah, I think it is. Probably." Arnon nods.

"We cannot sense the Tantabus. We didn't know what to expect when we arrived, but certainly not... this." She mumbles, glancing down at herself.
"Oh! This is... one of our old dresses. We have not seen this in years."

"It looks good. You, uh... look good." Arnon, ever the smoothest of the smooth, manages to utter.

Forgivably, he wasn't working off the best prior moments, but the memories of his more... untimely moments earlier were beginning to become hazy in his mind.

Hard not to focus on the mare in front of him, too.

"Oh. Thank you." Luna says quietly, walking around the table. Her eyes are drawn to the various treats and drinks that speckle the table, before she slowly looks around. Familiar, but distant. A little side-street cafe outside the castle. Something close... but something she wouldn't often experience.

"The Tantabus." She speaks up again suddenly, looking to him.
"How did you... what did you do?"

"I don't know." Arnon shrugs. "It's gone now, apparently. Shouldn't be much of an issue going forward."

"Truly? And thou doth not remember..." Luna mumbles.

"Going to take a seat? We've got plenty of time for this date, now, if you've the time." Arnon offers, gesturing to the empty seat across from him.

Luna glances to the empty chair, then to him, before finally climbing atop it and getting settled. Her ears flickering as she looks him over, noticing the subtle alteration in his uniform.

"Your clothes, Arnon. They're different." She comments, curious.

"So they are. A lot of this hasn't exactly been an active choice. Just kind of rolling with what my brain thought would be good for a date?"

"...Hm. We like them." Luna says simply, leaning down to sniff the cup in front of her.

It's a cute, quiet date. A good portion of it is spent pointing out the various flaws in the dream and lacking details, a favorite passtime of Luna's since she's so proficient in the dreamworld. She assures Arnon it's no fault of his own, just an enjoyable and undeniable fact of how dreams are structured.

And they talk about... them. How things have been with the Thestrals, the progress on the district. How Night-Court fares, and how the number of participants continues to grow as outlier communities make their way to Canterlot. The immigration incentives seem to really be a hit.

It's a cute, simple date. They drink, they eat, they chat, they laugh. Luna seems to start feeling more comfortable, even making several jokes. They're a touch outdated by about a thousand years or so, but the effort is endearing, and Arnon enjoys listening to the contextual explanations behind them.

Most importantly to Arnon, Luna smiles.

It's a wonderful smile, even if she has the habit of blushing and hiding behind her wing. He never noticed just how many freckles she has, with how closely they blend in with her base fur-tone.

Arnon's Bedroom

"Sir." A firm voice rattles Arnon from his sleep.

Bronze Bulwark stands beside his bed, staring at him.
"You're late. It's almost noon."

Arnon rubs his eyes, grumbling as he sits up -- and hisses in pain as he tries to move his injured arm. Having both arms in dreams threw him for a hard loop when he got back to reality. Even if Tia had given him quite a bit of leeway for his recovery, sleeping in until Noon was a bit much.

How long had he and Luna been in that dream, anyway?

"Where... is the Princess?" Arnon manages between a lengthy yawn, pushing away his sheets.

"Princess Celestia is currently entertaining some foreign Griffonian dignitaries. The situation that played out in Ponyville with the independent settlers drew their interest, and they're holding a discussion regarding the consequences, and deportation of the suspect Griffons. Princess Luna has retired to her room some time ago." Bulwark explains.

"Mm... good. Alright. I'm... up." Arnon groans, pushing up and swinging his legs over the bed.

"Forgive me if I hold some doubt to that, Sir. I'll check in on you in a few." Bulwark notes, albeit about as playfully as he can, departing the room and leaving Arnon to his morning rituals.
"Interesting choice of decor." Bulwark comments, just before exiting.

Arnon sits on the edge of the bed for a long moment. The memories around dreams are always hazy, but he remembers the date distinctly. Before that, not so much.

As he's about to get to his feet and start the day, something on his Nightstand catches his eye.

It's a helmet. Nightmare Moon's helmet, sitting quaintly on his nightstand, beside his candlestick. When did he get that?

He leans forward, poking it with a finger. It's cold. Weirdly cold, like someone just took it out of the fridge or something.

Unsure of why he has such a thing, and assuming he may have yoinked something accidentally quite important to the Princess somehow, Arnon picks up the helmet, before promptly shoving it into the blankets of his bed, burying it.

That should do, he muses to himself. Now, where were his pants?

C - (Sun)day with Sunhorse

"Somepony had quite the fitful sleep, or so I've heard." Princess Celestia's playfully teasing voice trails his ear, her breath hot on his skin as she leans close to whisper.

"Now where'd you hear that?" Arnon weakly refutes, rolling his eyes at the pony who bore a tendency to invade his personal space.

Not that he minded, considering that wasn't a unique trait among them. One gets uses to their particular brand of unavoidable nosiness.

"Vivid's post-night report... well, past all of her yawning, included that you were relatively... noisy during your rest. Was my sister being a bother?" Celestia continues to press, slowly stepping around him, amusement layering her tone.

The pair enjoy a casual walk in mid-afternoon halls, Arnon feeling... well, refreshed definitely isn't the word. Being late thanks to the blue-tinted pony of late night royal visits, Tia at least took no issue with the act itself on account of his slow recovery. But that didn't mean he was free from the inevitable teasing that was to occur.

Unlike Arnon, whose still dressed up in his usual Advisatorial garb, fanciful cap hanging off his belt, the Princess of the Sun is fully soaking in that it's Sunday. Her staple, recognizable dressings of gold, amethyst-encrusted necklace and hoof-capped regalia is missing, tucked away somewhere to be polished, leaving her as bare as the ponies that tread the outside streets. Well, almost. Celestia still retains a small golden ear-clip, probably so she still had something to wear. After adorning a crown, hooves, and whatever chest-necklace thing that was for years, going without in front of her numerous ponies probably still felt weird.

The newly-statured day-off for the Canterlot Royalty meant there were no meetings, no court, no duties. Nothing. Just a proper, quiet day off, where if some-pony so much as mentions a task to either of the Princesses, they were to be dragged out of the castle by the guards.

While that last part was Arnon's most turmoil-ridden addition to the day (disapproved of by Celestia, but approved by Luna), the recently-appointed weekly 'holiday' was something Celestia seemed to be enjoying deeply, if her almost outright giddy mood was anything to go by.

Staff-ponies and patrolling guards politely bow to the under-dressed Princess of the Sun as they pass by, Celestia masterfully slipping between her typical regal posturing, nodding her head to each in turn, and flipping back to her more relaxed, almost bubbly mood. The coy smirk on her face is quick to reappear whenever another pony wasn't looking, continuing to rib him over his lateness. Even thousand year old rulers of nations get giddy on their day off, especially when they haven't had them for the last... ever.

It was pretty cute, so the teasing was forgiven.

"No, she was -- wait, my guards give reports about me?" Arnon pauses, turning.

"Of course?" Celestia affirms, as if there was no more obvious thing in the world.
"As does your Day-Guard, Bulwark. Though Vivid's don't include quite so many timestamps as his, only far more personal opinions about your behavior. They're both a good insight to your wellbeing, since Luna is rather impartial to giving up anything about you. She's always loved her secrets."

Arnon's got a feeling she likes the gossipy version of Vivid's reportings on things, anyway. With Twilight back in Ponyville, at least he was spared from being included in her reports, which were far more invasive.

"Wonderful." Arnon snorts dismissively, rolling his eyes as they keep treading the hall. Not like it mattered either way, being an omnipotent, sun-connected, whatever-super-pony. If she wanted to know what he'd been up to, she'd find out.

Admittedly, he was a touch cranky. Disturbed sleep, even with his dreams ending on a high note were bound to disrupt his already dicey sleep schedule. The dream-date with the moon-princess left some serious bags under his eyes. Turns out, doing things all day, and then all night, even if only mentally, was exhausting.

Not like Twilight's latest attempt at a no-sleep spell was helping much either, with how it had more issues than features. A spell to keep your eyelids from shutting. Even when you weren't trying to sleep. He had to force his eyelids shut just to blink. Genius, Twi.

"Does that bother you? I can ask them to stop, if you'd prefer." Celestia asks, stopping. Her ears twitch, head tilting ever so slightly. The hallway is quiet, only a passing maid pushing a wagon down a distant hall, leaving the pair mostly alone.

"Oh yeah, super bothered. Maybe I could tolerate it if you swung by yourself, ask how I've been... but I guess if you're just too busy, we can just let the guards relay things." Anon dramatically sighs, walking past her.

Celestia perks up, face scrunching as she quickly picks up after him.
"Well, you are my Advisor, Arnon. Not just mine, but my sisters as well. And, arguably, the Ward of young Twilight Sparkle. Your well-being is quite high on my personal list of priorities."

"What, top three?" Arnon asks hopefully.

"... Top ten." Celestia states after a short deliberation, before grinning widely, goading him.

"Ouch. You know what? I'm calling bullshit. Top five at least. I saw the way you sweated over me and my arm." Arnon refutes, pointing an accusatory finger at the Princess.

"Well, of course I was worried, I was the one at fault for that, Arnon." Celestia readily agrees, guiltily glancing at his still-healing limb.

"So... if some other pony snapped my arm --" Arnon goes to theorize, but doesn't get very far, the snout of a very white, very powerful horse finding itself promptly inches from his own nose.

Tia leans close, tone growing suddenly huffy.
"Why, I'd be very cross with that particular individual, Arnon. As I've previously stated, you're mine."

"You... mean I'm your Advisor, right?" Arnon tries to clarify, eyes widening at her proximity. Her own eyes widen in turn, quickly pulling away, as if surprised at her own forwardness.

"... That is what I said, is it not?" Celestia quickly backpedals, before a small smile takes her face and she giggles loudly. She trots down the hall just ahead of Arnon, laughing quietly to herself.
"Goodness, Tia, what are you doing..."

Somehow, a broken arm feels like it won't be the worst thing he ends up with. Arnon's ponderings of self-survival are quickly brought to a halt, as Celestia glances behind herself, looking back at him from underneath her ever-flowing, aurora-like mane.

Probably worth it, even if a few more limbs are at risk.

By the time Arnon catches up with his meandering, day-off pace, Celestia has paused in one of the many junctions throughout the castle, glancing up and down the mostly empty halls. Only a few errant guards on their patrol route, chatting between themselves.

"You know what? We do have the day off. Might I... share something with you, Arnon?" Tia prompts suddenly, turning to face him as Arnon catches up. One of her wings stretches out to rest against his back, almost like she's confiding in him.

"Sure. What did you have in mind?" Arnon asks, confused.

"Follow me." She grins, nodding for him to keep up. Celestia moves at a brisk pace, off again and trotting through the halls with the memory of a thousand years worth of residing within its walls, staying just ahead of him. It doesn't matter what pace Arnon tries to keep, the gap never closes; she moves with an unparalleled familiarity that not even Luna might rival, shifting halls and paths, taking turns and corners without so much as pausing to check as they descend deeper into the depths of Canterlot Castle.

Nary a soul is in sight, leaving empty halls of carved stone that soon become unfamiliar to Equestria's sole human, as Arnon is lead on.

"Don't think I've seen these halls before." Arnon comments, doing his best to keep up with her. She's getting a good pace going, clearly excited about something. There's an unusual eerie feeling to this part of the Canterlot Castle, a sensation that's pretty unusual for what this place normally makes him feel.

"Most haven't." Celestia answers snippily, clearly distracted.

"Even your staff?"

"Hardly. Truthfully, it could use a better dusting..." Celestia comments, pausing to blow dust off a stone bust of herself. Arnon isn't sure why, but it doesn't quite look like Tia. Like... a younger Celestia. There's less rainbowy texture to her hair, though stone is hardly the medium to show it.

"Even your guard?" He asks, surprised.

"Little more than the odd patrol down these old ways. These halls are the second-most private places in this Castle, beyond my sister and I's rooms, if you find that little factoid interesting." There's almost a tinge of pride to those words, catching Arnon's interest.

"So is this the part where I ask where we're going, or is this some kind of surprise?" Arnon tries pressing, though he doesn't expect much out of it.

The only form of response is catching a glance of the cheeky smile that forms on the edge of her lips. Surprise it is, then.

"It should be right around..." Celestia mumbles to herself, glancing between two halls.

"I could try to help you find it, if I had any clue what --" Arnon half-heartidly offers, before the Princess cuts him off.

"Aha!" Tia suddenly announces, spinning around with an excited smile sat smack on her face, presenting with her wing... a staircase.

An unlit staircase with empty sconces, leading dowmwards into complete darkness, likely by several stories.

"...You sure we didn't take a wrong turn?" Arnon tries. No dice, Celestia only giggling as she takes the lead, eagerly trotting down the steps.

"Nope! Come along, almost there!" He hears her call up to him, as her white fur is slowly subsumed by shadows, leaving just him, and... eerily empty halls. This seems more like something Luna would pull.

Arnon hasn't seen this place look empty a single time since he got here. It's pretty jarring. There's always someone going around doing something, day or night. Staff on their numerous tasks of cleaning or keeping the busy work at bay, guards on patrol or posted up, mail carriers, anything. Feels almost liminal, the way there's just a sudden staircase leading further below after how many same-looking, silent hallways.

"Arnon? You coming?" He hears distantly.

Unsure of what to expect, Arnon steels himself with a long sigh, hand on the stone-brick wall as he follows after the Princess.

??? - Lower Canterlot Castle

Slowly feeling the walls, with tentative steps to feel out each step of the dark staircase, light never properly returns as Arnon descends deeper.

He startles himself as the ground suddenly evens out, no further steps to descend unto.
"Uh... Princess?" He calls out into the nothingness. Glancing back up the steps, to the distant, dim light, makes him wonder if he should just head back up, and grab a lantern or something. That was what... three stories worth of stairs? Just how deep did they go?

"Tia?" Arnon calls out again. This time, it's immediately met with a far, muffled noise.

"Oh! Shoot. Apologies, Arnon." He hears get closer, as the soft golden glow of a horn accompanies the words up the dark hall, towards him. It's bright enough to reveal about half Princess Celestia, but not much else, little light splashing onto the floor or the closest wall.
"I got a little excited. Forgive me, I forgot you don't do well in the dark."

"Yeah, no built in glowstick, unfortunately. Or magic Alicorn eyes." Arnon sighs, finally letting his hand leave the wall as he approaches the Princess, waving a finger around where a horn would probably fit on his dome.
"Where are you dragging me off to, anyway?"

"You'll see." Is all he gets, sung at him in a sing-song tone.

"Alright, just don't get too far ahead. If I get lost and starve down here, I'll be a somewhat disgruntled ghost. And haunt you." Arnon warns, entirely serious.

"Arnon. You know ghosts aren't real." Celestia scoffs, incredulous.

"Bullshit. Respectfully, bullshit. I don't believe that for even a second." Arnon quickly disagrees, huffing loudly. With the kind of shit that goes on in this pretty little pony land, ethereal equines were not out of the question. He refused that belief.
"Hang on, actually. You'll confirm that ghosts don't exist, but not that you won't leave me down here to go hungry?" Arnon adds, snorting.
"That's cold, Princess."

A long groan escapes the Princess, a sound only the fifth-most annoying creature on Equus could get out of her. Arnon would be higher on the list, but there's some heavy competition in the region. Mostly from purple and pink furred ponies.

"Come here, then." Arnon hears, as a feathery wing wraps around his back, pulling him against her side. He forgets just how warm she is.
"Hoof on my back, and stay close. Let me guide you." She instructs simply, though the wing doesn't go anywhere.

"Just be gentle." Arnon laughs, resting his hand against the her, letting his fingers dig into the fur.

"With you? I'll see what I can do. Your presence brings out a... particular surge of energy, that I seem to have trouble containing." Celestia sighs wistfully, a mix between playful teasing and guilt. She clearly still felt bad about his arm -- probably the first living creature she's hurt in a century -- but Arnon was well past that, trying to lighten the mood.

"Let's aim for gentler than normal? You know, if that's possible."

"You have my word, my dear Advisor, that I shan't harm you. Again." Celestia says resolutely -- before flinching as a hand pinches her rear, making a sudden 'eep' noise.

"I never said that. Just gentler next time." Arnon comments quietly, glancing into the darkness, away from the sole, soft glow around them.

Yet he can still feel her fur bristle and feathers stiffen with an excitement at his words, even as she looks ahead.
"You know, you speak and act quite differently to me, compared to when you first started in this position. Somepony has gotten quite comfortable." She comments, side-eyeing him.

"I could say the same for you, Princess. Despite sharing me with your sister positionally, you seem intent on keeping me on a short leash."

"A leash, you say? Not a bad idea." Celestia mumbles, humming to herself.

"What?"

"What? Oh -- look! We're here." Celestia quickly brushes past him, her horn glowing brighter. It reveals a sturdy door as she approaches their destination, braced against a doorframe of stone, sturdily pressed into the brick wall. There's a sizable hunk of metal where a lock would be, but no keyhole.

... Celestia wouldn't have a hidden sex dungeon, would she?

The Princess turns back, smiling at him.
"I haven't shown anypony this in... probably a few centuries, at the least. I can't even remember the last time I was down here."

It's totally a kinky immortal sex dungeon. He's doomed.

Celestia leans her horn against the door, the golden glow of her magic starting to pulse as it seeps into... the way it starts to click, it might be a lock after all, just opened with magic instead of a key.

"How did it go again... ah! Here we are." Celestia proudly announces, stepping back as a sizable thud, a clink a whirring, a cha-gunk, and finally a wizz can be heard inside the door. With a hoof, she pushes it open, the sturdy door slowly groaning open as it reveals... more darkness.

"Allow me to shed some light..." She mutters, holding her head up. Her horn radiates with a sudden, soft burst of magic that seeps outward. In the empty sconces, a small ball of flame erupts, offering light for the first time in centuries. Arnon squints, his eyes now interrupted from getting used to the low-light.

A testing hand against the door as he passes through proves it's a very heavy thing, not even budging so much as a smidgen when he pushes against it. A room for the pony powerhouses only.

Definitely a sex dung--

Slowly, sconces after sconce, Flames erupt to life each a short distance from each-other, further and further down their destination, revealing... a long, long Armory.

Not quite what Arnon expected.

Disappointed? No.

Okay, a little.

The 'torches' continue to light in this deep, windowless room, as more and more of it are distantly revealed. Suits of pony-built armor and weapons, artefacts and objects of interest, trophies, all tenderly placed on pedestals, platforms, stands... it makes Luna's personal armory look tiny. Each wall is lined with a variety of objects, as is a central aisle that runs between them, essentially giving the room two lanes, with the odd break in the middle to allow for one to cross between.

The most obvious part of it all, however, is the consistent use of a particular sun-pony's motif, and the heavy use of gold. This is Celestia's near-thousand year old armory, if not older. The color he didn't expect, though, was pink. A fair amount of the cloth-bits to weapon wraps, the skirts to armor, the details to tapestries and so on seem to share this color, though it fades quickly, being exchanged for other, more familiar far colors deeper into the armory.

The torches are still going in the distance, erupting to life to bathe the room in light.

"...You couldn't have done that earlier?" Arnon huffs, pointing at one of the magical flames.

"Where's the fun in that?" Celestia teases, stopping by the very first, central exhibit.
"Perhaps this old mare is fond of being relied upon."

"What is all this?" Arnon asks aloud, catching up to Celestia at his own curious pace, pausing to glance around.

"This... well, you are aware that the Guards keep their own armory for their spears and weapons, and Luna maintains her own attached to her room? In a sense, it is my armory. And in part... my history." Celestia explains, her eyes falling onto the first collection. It's an armor stand, holding a near-primitive looking set of battle-armor. Compared to the hoof-plates that brace Luna's armor, the straps look simple, as do the metal plates for protection. They mostly face forward, and they look worn. A large, bulky chest plate protrudes outward, and there doesn't look to be any liner underneath for comfort.

Arnon had told Celestia of Earth, the odd time she asked. It was mostly Twilight who took an interest in such things, but the Princess had her own questions and curiosities. In retrospect, Arnon realizes he's told the Princess a lot more about himself than she's told him about herself. An outcome from being able to read about her in history books, Arnon assumes. Not many individuals you can speak to who have books and scrolls telling of them three-hundred years ago and beyond.

"My first suit of armor. Faust, it was a bulky thing that barely offered any mobility. Or protection, really. Alicorns have a strong regenerative factor, so armor needs to perform something for us to even be worth taking into battle. Protecting vital points that would endanger us on the battlefield if injured, that kind of thing. This one, though... heavy, and dug into the fur. I remember trying to brush the mats out. Took days. Horrid thing." She laughs after explaining, reminiscing of things many years ago.
"I don't believe Luna kept her set. She hated hers even more than I did, with how she could barely take off from the ground with it -- though she's changed her tune about how heavy she likes her armor. These ones were supposed to have helmets, too, but the smiths had trouble making room for our horns and manes. Not a problem they have now, thankfully." Celestia says, tracing the chestplate with a hoof. It almost looks like she's staring through it, rather then at it.

While the ponies may not have advanced heavily in technology the last thousand years, the further down the armory Arnon looks, the more refined the weapons and armor seem to be; perfecting their craft, with small innovations.

There's a few dents and scrapes on the chest plate, as if it was placed on the stand, and left untouched. Arnon expected a good helping of dust too, but finds everything to be almost entirely untouched.

It's also sized for someone smaller than the Princess, probably by a head, unlikely to fit her now. A surprising but reasonable thing to notice, considering she was younger. Just... if by a thousand years, if not more.

"Thought you said no staff come down here? Place is spotless." Arnon whistles, to which Celestia smiles.

"An old, forgotten spell. A very simple one, rendering a room in a near timeless fashion. Best not used when living creatures reside within, but wonderful for keeping away dust and the wear of time. There are countless spells that are simply rediscovered, and countless more that have been forgotten."

"Twilight could use that, honestly. Save her an entire day of deep-cleaning her library." Arnon tries offering.

Celestia raises a brow, snorting air at him.

"...Or, best she never get her hooves on any time spells." Arnon purses his lips, quickly nodding.

"I'm glad that's something we can agree on." Celestia chuckles.

Sorry, Spike. One must suffer the Sunday Sweeps for the good of the nation. Twilight and spells of convenience don't often mix well.

"I do adore dear Twilight Sparkle's enthusiasm for new spells... though some are best laid to rest. There's a reason most of the castle isn't under the same spell." Celestia says, catching Arnon's interest.

"Oh? I mean, fair, but do tell." Arnon goads, and Celestia is more than happy to explain.

"You see, living things within it's breadth also do not face the slow of time. When we exit this room, it will be as if we haven't aged. Though that may only be minutes to hours, it's best kept in rarely-visited rooms. In truth, if it was any other, I would have disabled the spell."

"Doesn't quite matter when the only one entering is an immortal, I'm guessing." Arnon offers, stepping around the first display.
"So I don't age while I'm in here? Or, a pony would, but I probably won't?"

"That, and I'm certain your... unique temperament to our worlds magic holds a similar result. But, there's far more to see, if you're willing?" Celestia tilts her head, watching him join her.

"Giving me a first-hand look on the past of the Sun Monarch? I'm honored, your grace." Arnon half-bows, before a feathery wing softly slaps his back.

"You're one of the few creatures in centuries that I feel bold enough to share some of my secrets with. Not that I can keep them from you, really. I've heard you know your way around the Forbidden Archives better than the Librarian." Celestia teases, grinning as Arnon coughs and glances away.

"Well... the place needed someone to maintain it, with all that magic junk just sitting there. And you -- you hardly act like a Princess whenever we're not in the public eye. Bold enough for a few other things that I would dare say are outright scandalous." Arnon teases.

Celestia looks like she's about to comment on the state of the Archives, until a particular word hits her ears.
"Scandalous?" Celestia questions, leaning in to squint at him.

"Your comments aren't as quiet as you think, and I've found my blanket... 'lacking' after what happened following the hoof-wrestling tournament."

"Oh. Well, that was..." Celestia bites her lip. Of course she remembers, it was easily one of their boldest moments. Tia distracts herself with one of the nearby displays; a crossed pair of swords over what looks to be an older-style tapestry of the Equestrian banner, only one of which blades looks to have seen any actual wear.

"Oh, I remember these. I wanted to try them out, but swords just never ended up being my thing. Think I tried spears next..." She rambles, hoping to distract Arnon from that part of the conversation.

"You know, you send a lot of mixed signals." Arnon prods her furred side softly, bringing her back to reality. She blinks at his hand, purses her lips, and muses over something, sighing.

"I... suppose I do. I apologize, Arnon. I don't... interact with ponies like this. Ever since Nightmare Moon's exile, I focused on the kingdom. And my other attempts at connections have... fallen short more often than not." Celestia explains after a short pause, starting to walk down one of the open paths between the arranged weapons and armors.

There's a lot more weapons than armor, a new suit only appearing after several displays of weapons. Some, almost entirely untouched, like they were freshly forged. Others, worn with some level of use.

Then they pass a maul, cracked and bent from use, the crimson still stained deep into its metal. It's design is much simpler than that of the weapons displayed around it, likely made without much flair in a time of strife.

At least, that's Arnon's assumption. He knows the last thousand years of attempting peace haven't been entirely peaceful, thanks to some choice reading in the no-no section.

Celestia watches his expression as they pass it, as if she's expecting judgement.

She's surprised when all Arnon does is raise his eyebrows.
"Big thing must've needed whacking with that puppy."

"It was certainly a large 'puppy' as you say. One of the largest dragons to ever exist, and leader of their rebellion... only a hundred years after I began my sole rule. The Dragons weren't interested in admittedly... pushy attempts to persuade them into the ways of harmony. It's why they exist as an independent vassal now, actually." She informs him. He can't quite tell if that's a tinge of pride, or guilt he detects in her voice. It very well might be both.

"Celestia the Dragon Slayer, crusher of Rebellions." Arnon states with a grandiose, over the top voice, holding his hands high.

"I... suppose, those titles would be fitting." Celestia replies awkwardly, shying away at the name.

"This must be a difficult topic for you. Honestly, I'm surprised you wanted to show me this stuff." Arnon notes, catching on to her decaying mood.

"I haven't upset you, have I?" Celestia questions.

"Nah, my world is pretty grimy, and this stuff is gnarly to look at. Like, in a good way. I just bet you've got very few ponies to talk to about this kind of stuff." Arnon notes, gesturing to another display, one beholding a crown of foreign make, shaped of bone.

"Discussing the... road we've paved to a life of Harmony is not a topic that comes up often, no. Nor do I wish my little ponies to perceive their princesses as..."

"Allpowerful warlords?"

"That is certainly a way to put it." Celestia sighs.
"I apologize, Arnon. I shouldn't have brought you here."

"Huh?" Arnon pauses, confused. Tia stops, looking at him.
"I've known, Celestia. And I don't judge you for it. I could hardly serve as both you and your sister's Advisor if I was unwilling to understand the lives you've lived."

"Are you certain this doesn't bother you?" Celestia presses nonetheless, as Arnon waves a hand dismissively.

"Think it's kind of cool, honestly." Arnon summarizes, deciding it best that he doesn't continue with explaining how he's into powerful women. Not the moment for it.
"Oh, almost forgot to ask. Why all the pink? Didn't see that being your color."

"Before Nightmare Moon's exile, my mane was pink, actually. Some of the older tapestries and artworks still show it, though they're all generations old, or mimicking the older styles. When I used the Elements, their combined power actually shifted my mane. Took a while to get used to, though I'm quite fond of it now. Goodness, that was some time ago."

"Huh." Arnon hums, scratching his chin as he tries to envision it, stepping back and looking over the magical-flame lit Princess.

The Monarch of the Sun, a thousand years prior. A little smaller, a bit younger...

"... I can see it." Arnon concludes, nodding approvingly.

"Hm? See what?" Celestia blinks, tilting her head before realizing he's looking her over. She lifts a back hoof, glancing over herself in confusion.
"Is there something on me?"

...

Though she seemed tentative at first, Arnon's continued interest in each piece that she showed him only continues to rebuild her own excitement, walking a long-forgotten road of memories with somepony. Nearly every display they stop at is accompanied with whatever story she remembers from that time, though just how much varies by how memorable those times were. And with every passing story, Celestia seems to grow more comfortable with the decision -- and Arnon's close proximity, choosing to drape a wing over him several times as they lean close together, walking side by side. As they progress deeper in the long, extended armory, the displays only continue to improve in make and quality, though they grow in distance.

"Ah! This was the first spear I actually felt comfortable wielding. Look at the armor, they hammered out a brace that would fit under my wing, so it could double as a Lance, and somewhere to store it. You'll find that having a place to leave my weapon became a staple of most of my sets, otherwise I might set my weapon down and forget about it." Celestia excitedly explains, pointing out a groove in the side of the armor with her other wing.

"I don't think I've ever actually seen you in armor, other than stuff like your crown. Wait. You'd forget your weapon?" Arnon points out, laughing.

"Oh, all the time. It was my worst habit. Luna would never -- her Halberd never left her grasp, she loves those things to death. But I had a habit of leaning on my magic, and Alicorn capabilities rather than my weapon. I'd get caught up with things, start using more magic, fly around, and at some point, when I finally went to use it, I'd figure out I left it a mile back without realizing!" Celestia's boisterous laugh echoes through the room, joined by Arnon's amusement.

"Alright, now you've got my curiosity. Rank my strength." Arnon suddenly prods, turning to face her.

"What do you mean?"

"When we arm -- or hoof wrestled, or whatever. Rate me."

"Arnon." She stifles a laugh behind her hoof.

"That low, huh? You must be used to going up against some serious monsters. Like..."

But the further they go, more remnants of Celestia'a history rear their head. Notably, something more commonly attributed to the fires of youth.

Trophies.

To say Arnon didn't expect to see a skull mounted on the wall was an understatement. Understandable when he thinks about it, but a bit jarring for the peace-pushing Princess. Judging by how she physically recoils when she looks at it, she feels the same way. It looks like some kind of fantasy-like cyclops skull, long since picked clean and mounted on a stand. The likely culprit attributing to it's demise lays displayed underneath it, a broken spear held on two different stands.

"... Like this guy. Damn, Tia. Skulls for the Sun Throne, huh?" Arnon jokes, thumbing towards it.

"That..." Tia purses her lips. "I'll admit in my youth, I did have a tendency to... brag. Just a touch. I've come to regret such actions, but removing them feels more disrespectful than keeping them." Celestia tries to explain, though it's clearly an awkward topic.

"Well... that's not a bad way to think of it. Rather than be forgotten to history, they're preserved here, to be remembered by the one creature old enough to yet remember them."

"And of the ones I've forgotten?" She asks aloud, staring at the skull.

"...Princess, if I can speak bluntly, you're a pony. Sure, a long-lived sun-controlling horn-and-winged pony, but still a pony. I don't remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday. Who could expect you to remember things that happened five hundred years ago, let alone a thousand? If not longer? Not to mention, you don't need to feel guilt for defending your way of life."

"I'm an Alicorn, Arnon. I should be better. The best, even. A beacon for my little ponies to look up to."

"And being a pony makes you relatable, Alicorn or not. Everyone makes mistakes, and makes choices they'll later come to regret or feel different about. But there's also a scant few who actually live so long they have several lives worth of experiences to retrospect on. Honestly, I find it reassuring that you're willing to fight for your people, for your ideals. In my experience, peace is best kept when the peaceful are willing to defend it, and not just hope that others won't try to take advantage of them." Arnon explains, patting her side as he steps around her, moving to another display.

"You manage to be both a very pessimistic, and a very optimistic creature, Arnon."

"Guess that's what makes me a good Advisor."
Arnon pauses, wiggling a finger.
"...Didn't you keep Discord as a statue in the gardens?"

"...That was so he could be safely observed, in a location that would still allow for some stimulus, so he might not go mad. Though Luna disagreed, and said he deserved little better than being buried upside-down in a hole and left to rot." Celestia snorts. "So no, I've been out of the trophy 'game' for some time, if I can so crudely surmise it."

"Interesting. Luna's concise in her solutions, at least. What did Discord do again to get the stone-nap treatment?"

"Over here." Celestia nods, leading him past a few of the simpler displays, before it reaches one... that definitely speaks to Discord's particular brand. This display holds several stands, and a notable amount of art depicting the situation. Several paintings, vases, tapestries, some damaged and worn, other near-pristine, showing a simplified style that mimicked much of the art around the castle. Well, not mimicked -- the modern style was probably derived from these very kind of works.

Discord, an imposing multi-fanged dragon coiling around the castle, with fair and ruin, as the recognizable ponies of white and blue fur did battle. The scene repeated with many variations across every piece, but all spoke of the same thing. A little hyped up to the Discord he was aware of nowadays, but whose to say these weren't accurate for the time. He was frozen in stone for a reason, after all.

"My sister and I battled Discord for his rule over Equestria, a little over a thousand years ago to this day. We were raised in safety under the tutelage of Starswirl, until we were capable of saving Equestria from his grasp. At Starswirls behest, we took over ruling Equestria as the two Princesses, the lands to never see a King or Queen again. Discord was a cruel, sadistic tyrant who found pleasure in toying with everypony's lives, sowing chaos and reaping the confusion that ensued. I'm still hesitant about his continued freedom, but I fret that attempting his capture would bring more trouble than it's worth. In truth, we barely got him the first time." Celestia admits, squinting at the nearest tapestry. Not hard to see she wasn't Discord's biggest fan, and for good reason.

"Fluttershy does seem to have him on a pretty tight leash these days, at least according to Twilight. But who ruled Equestria before he did?" Arnon asks, curious.

"Their relationship still vexes me, but I've heard much the same thing from Twilight's letters on the subjects, so I choose to believe he has found a new side to himself, lest I need worry about him reclaiming his dominion. Ah, and for your question. The ponies never held a unified, true ruler until my sister and I's rule. The tribes remained divided, with only conquerors and warlords intent on pushing them for their own gain. Luna and I pushed them to live in harmony, and to aid each-other with their unique gifts."

"I remember reading about that. Three tribes at first, right? But now you guys have little fairy ponies, sea ponies, dragon ponies..." Arnon starts listing off. For the most part, they all got along surprisingly well, considering how history books enjoyed noting just how much the ponies didn't used to like each other.

"Indeed. I'm glad Twilight was so willing to assist you in learning of our worlds knowledge, and that you were as eager to learn." Celestia hums, smiling at him.

"Well, when she wasn't shoveling books down my throat, she had me sit with the squirts at the Schoolhouse. Still think naptime was the best part of the day, but I learned a fair chunk of how this place works." Arnon reminisces, tapping his chin.

"Need I ask if Twilight was curious as to your home?" Celestia grins.

"Psh. I bet you remember the letters she sent --" Arnon goes to start, but Celestia laughs.

"-- Complaining that you weren't giving up as much information as she wanted. Yes, I do remember those. I believe they were the reason that we initially invited you to Canterlot, to see if a change of scenery might induce your cooperation."

"Well, it certainly worked in some capacity." Arnon chuffs, bumping hips with Celestia as they walk side-by-side.
"Got me to open right up."

"And I am glad it did. Without your arrival, I would not have these 'Sun-Days' to enjoy." Celestia bumps him right back, smiling.

"Right, you're just happy for the day off." Arnon rolls his eyes, nearly stumbling from the impact. White horse forgets just how much hip she's swinging, that thing's a weapon.

"Well, it wouldn't be nearly as enjoyable without a certain some-pony. Or... some-one, as you say." Celestia says, though it soon turns to mumbles as her nose presses through his hair, leaning close.
"I remember thinking what an odd creature you were the first day I met you."

"Oh, uh..." Arnon's lip purses. No funny rebuttal comes to mind. Just the face a softly smiling Celestia as she pulls away, leading him further down the hall again.

After Discord's little display, the Armory takes a stark shift. There's a few other sets of note, some armor, one extremely fanciful that Celestia informs him was the ceremonial armor of their rule, and a few defenses from curious, conquests neighbors, before it nearly empties.

There's but a single, sad tapestry that marks the last time pink shows itself as one of the main colors, before taking on the white-and-gold leaning of the aurora-like colors of today's Tia.

"Kind of a stark transition, but I can see the change in color palette." Arnon notes. This display has several feet of open display around it, given a wide birth by everything else in the Armory.

It's a simple design. A small, white pony stares up at the moon. Arnon can guess the accredited incident without much issue; the time that Celestia had to banish her own sister.

"The day I exiled Nightmare Moon, there was no armor. No weapons. Not for me, anyway. It was... sudden, and harsh. She burst through the Castle after we had an argument, and I hardly recognized her. If I was to put something here... no, the Elements belong where they are, and this is not a place of display. The gap is purposeful, and shows only my shame for not being able to save my sister."

Even after a thousand years, she still looks torn up about it. She keeps her composure well, but it's a difficult topic that brings a lot of grief. She maintains a stiff lip, taking a steadying breath.
"But this is a topic I'm sure you're familiar with enough already. Shall we continue?"

"If you need a moment..." Arnon tries to offer, but Celestia shakes her head.

"I'm alright. That's kind of you, Arnon, but I've had a long time to think over my failings. I don't need to spend any more time doing so, not when my sister is returned to me. It would be unfair to her." Celestia shakes her head, but still offers a weak smile.
"Your concern is appreciated, however. I'd love to show you the rest of this place, but..."

As her words trail off, Arnon follows her gaze. From the way the displays are set, and how spaced out they are once they pass this portion dedicated to Nightmare Moon, Celestia lost interest in maintaining her own Armory. There's a few pieces, a few armor parts, weapons, but it looks like it becomes a storage rather than a proud display of her belongings.

"What I am still proud to keep it nestled within the Castle for other ponies to see, as they often make things for me, and it would be rude to bury them away. But I have not added to this place in a long time... I think at least five hundred years have gone since I last set hoof in this place." Celestia explains, turning back the way they came, the magical torch-light that leads to the rest of the empty hall starting to snuff out behind her.

Not keen on getting left in the dark, Arnon quickly catches back up to her, walking beside the Princess.
"Your stance on taking trophies hasn't changed, has it?"

"Mm?"

"Oh just checking that you didn't bring me here to put me on one of your displays."

"And would that be such a bad thing?"

"Well, not if you visit, I guess. If you do want to stuff and mount me on one of the walls, I'd prefer one upstairs."

Celestia's lips purse. She stifles a snort-laugh, shaking her head.

"What?" Arnon goads. No dice, she shakes her head.
"You can't laugh at something and not tell me."

"Forgive me, I just found something amusing." Celestia eventually offers, though still being vague about it.

"And?"

"It... would not be appropriate for me to say."

"... Really."

"Scandalous, as you said prior. And wholly inappropriate for a Princess to find amusing."

"Oh, now I've gotta know."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Mmnope."

Celestia sighs, rolling her eyes.
"Are you certain?"

"Absolutely." Arnon proclaims, crossing his arm for emphasis. It's a little awkward to fit over the cast, but the point is made.

"...Very well, I'll indulge you for taking the time to listen to an old mare's tales." Celestia sighs, shaking her head. She turns, stepping closer to lean beside his ear, whispering.
"You're not the only one thinking about getting stuffed and mounted."
Each word is enunciated slowly and deliberately, followed by a dangerously half-lidded stare.

Arnon purses his lips, staring forward.
"Ah. I see."

"Does that handle the issue of... mixed signals?" She asks, leaning ever so slightly closer, her snout nearly brushing his skin.

"I suppose it does." Arnon agrees, stealing a quick side-glance.

"Wonderful. Now, all this reminiscing... I'm feeling quite peckish. In the mood for lunch, my dear Advisor?" Celestia smiles, returning to her far less haughty demeanor.

"Uh... yeah, sure. I'm not on the menu, right? Just to be clear." Arnon tries to joke, but freezes as Tia leans close again.

Very slowly, she looks him over, from toe to tip with half-lidded eyes that linger over him, before biting her lip.

"No, but you'd make a deeply enjoyable substitute for dessert." She whispers, staring into his eyes.

Arnon audibly gulps, getting a laugh out of Celestia as she turns, trotting back the way they came.

"Too much?" Tia calls back.

"...Maybe a little." Arnon shakes himself out of it, jogging to catch up.

"Careful how close you plan to fly to the Sun, my dear Advisor." She says over her shoulder, ever maintaining that playful, cheeky smile.

Well, until he grabs her cheeks, and pulls her into a sudden kiss that startles the Alicorn, their lips pressed together for but a moment before he pulls away, walking backwards.

"And how will I know when I've gotten too close?" Arnon goads, smiling back. His own heart was thundering in his chest after such a move, wondering if it was the right play or if he just badly messed up.

This is probably the part where she'd add a witty comeback, but judging by how Tia's eyes are wide open, her fur is bristling and her wings are nearly straight, stood stock still, it caught her off guard at the least.

The two may have leaned a little too heavily on the flirting, if so much as a simple kiss could put them both on the backfoot. Or backhoof.

Without another word, Celestia suddenly closes the distance as the torches completely snuff out, plunging them both into darkness. Arnon can hardly muster a startled noise, the sound of hooves against stone get close, before he feels sturdy wings wrap around him, and the warmth of a furred chest pressed to his. Soft, wanting lips press firmly against his own, surprising Arnon with their warmth, their softness, as they pushed with surprising force against him. He'd only felt it a moment when he kissed her, but the way Celestia kissed him came with an entirely different capacity of passion. And with a surprising degree of sloppiness, the wetness surprising him.

In the dark, it's impossible to see her, leaving them both to only one carnal sensation. Touch. His hands slowly reach for her in the black depths of the unlit room, meeting her neck's impossibly soft fur. He can feel her twitch at his touch, which only inspires her to redouble her efforts, leaving Arnon to wonder what they might taste like after lunch, if he could dare hope a repeat of this sudden moment.

Only the waning breath in his chest gave him any idea of how long they'd been entangled, his senses deprived in the dark. His lungs start to burn, and as much as he wants the moment to continue -- he taps Celestia's side with a hand.

"Mm--Moh!" She mumbles in surprise into his mouth, before quickly pulling away, a string of saliva snapping between them as they do.

About what he should expect, kissing a horse. He wipes his mouth with a sleeve as he gasps for breath, though they remain in close proximity, Celestia's large wings holding him firm.

"Sorry, Arnon. Alicorn lungs. I just got excited. I think. Sorry. Are you alright?" She quickly rambles, worry in her tone.

Her horn glows softly again, bathing them both in a warm light that reveals the concern written across her face.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Just needed a second." Arnon manages.

"I just can't seem to stop causing you trouble, huh?" Celestia smiles weakly.

"God, cause me trouble any day, woman." Arnon bluntly retorts, surprising her as he pulls her into another messy kiss the moment he's had a chance to breathe.

The dark halls of Celestia's armory holds the pair for some time, some of the staff concerned when Princess Celestia, most notable for her love of food, is late to lunch. Not many notice just how close the pair sit when they do arrive for their meal, though.

Author's Note

i love white horse