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