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