Chapters SEASHELL
Dear SunburstFrom the desk of Azure Sky, April 24, YS 1330:
Dear Sunburst,
Thank you, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU so much for what you did for Princess Twilight and Captain Dash!
They’re a lot happier now than they were before. Princess Twilight laughs all the time. Captain Dash smiles at her when she does. They never used to do that. They’re so happy now that they told the whole world they love each other—they told their old friends from the town they lived in before, and the newspaper reporters, and the other princesses, and everything. And a few ponies said they didn’t like it at first, but guess what? You were right, it’s not a big deal.
When I asked them what changed to make this happen, they told me that you helped them see things the way they really are. Captain Dash said you gave her a kick in the flank that she couldn’t give herself because when she saw the flowers you left and read your note, she realized that if it was so easy for somepony else to see, it was time to just give up and stop pretending. She gave Princess Twilight those roses that night and told her everything about how much she liked her, and then Princess Twilight felt the same way. Then they kissed. Now they can do that whenever they want to. It makes them really happy.
Captain Dash said she’d been waiting so many years for that kiss, and she thought it would never happen, but now they can because of you. I think you’re the best guard ever. You really did just what Princess Twilight needed to save her from being sad and lonely when nopony else could.
She said she felt like she’d been dying slowly for a long time, but now she feels alive again. I think you saved her life in a certain kind of way.
Do you think you’ll ever come back and be a guard at the palace again? I hope you will someday. If you ask the princess I bet she can get them to give you orders for it. You should, because it would be awesome to see you again. That’s what Captain Dash would say – “Awesome.” Sometimes I think she likes that word almost as much as she likes Princess Twilight.
I have to go to class soon, but I’ll write you another letter later. I hope you write back. Bye!– Azure Sky
THEEND
Author's Note
NOTE: You may safely disregard the 'incomplete' tag if you're the kind of reader who doesn't want to commit to starting a story before it's done being written. The story is complete with all chapters written (they had to be for me to print the book, after all), I'm just releasing them one a day or so over time.
You can skip to the first chapter here: https://www.fimfiction.net/story/568949/3/seashell-print-rewrite/excerpt-i
Foreword (by PaulAsaran)
SEASHELL
Forewordby PaulAsaran
I can’t recall the first time I visited the Seawall and met Sunburst. What I do remember is falling in love with the place. Much like she did. It takes a certain kind of person to enjoy isolation, and that was why this little pony connected with me so very well. I could see that beach, witness the ruins, stare out at the distant something on the horizon. Would that I could be there with her.
Then I bothered to read the rest of Seashell . As of this writing, I think I’ve read the original three times. Which says a lot if you have any idea who I am. When I learned there was to be a printed copy, I leapt at the opportunity to have it on my physical bookshelves. The new version is different, as are so many things that come from experience.
Ah, experience. What a difference it makes. It allows us to see things we wouldn’t have before, to revisit what we believed we knew and realize we didn’t know it as well as we thought. Here we find Sunburst, a royal guard protecting Princess Twilight Sparkle and who comes to realize – from her experiences – that there’s more to that role than the physical. From the sidelines, being a background pony, she comes to know what plagues her charge. This torments her, for it is something that can’t be stabbed with a spear or intimidated with loud noises. An insidious self-denial, a feeling that what is cannot be changed, that it is not our place to act.
I identified with this too. Back when I first read Seashell , I identified with this so well.
But like Sunburst, we learn from our experiences. Sometimes all that is needed is a bouquet of roses and the right words – or whatever our version of that little push happens to be. We find our strength and our self-confidence, whatever scraps of it there are, and turn them to productive pursuits.
Now I come back after so long and rediscover Sunburst all over again. The story is the same, though a few of the details have been tweaked. Things are better. Winston has learned from his experiences. Here we have the productive results. Now I can watch Sunburst wallow in her inadequacies and go above and beyond the call of duty and smile as I recall my own battles with self-confidence. That battle is never truly won, but I – like Sunburst in the end – find myself in a better place regardless.
Sunburst has grown. Winston has grown. I have grown.
I wonder: How will you grow?
Perhaps – indeed, it is probable – you do not share a love of isolation with Sunburst and myself. Perhaps you are more like Rainbow Dash, keeping eyes off your longing through displays of confidence and command. Or Princess Twilight, adapting her mentor’s mask of perfect political propriety to hide the pain. If you’re lucky, you are like Azure Sky and haven’t succumbed to the heavy weight of adult concerns that adults really shouldn’t be concerning themselves over. Whatever the case may be, I hope you will come visit the Seawall with us. To stare at that uncertain something in the hazy distance and, when you’ve gained the right amount of experience to know what you’re doing, chase after it for all you’re worth. You may not make it to that infinite something, but try hard enough and you may at least make it to those ruins. That’s something to be proud of all on its own.
So come. Read with us. Or read on your own, whatever makes you most comfortable. Read, observe, grow. Experience. Perhaps in ten years you will take from Winston’s example, look back at your old works, and say: now I know how to make it great.
You will have your own Seawall, and it will be beautiful.
– PaulAsaran
Author's Note
NOTE: You may safely disregard the 'incomplete' tag if you're the kind of reader who doesn't want to commit to starting a story before it's done being written. The story is complete with all chapters written (they had to be for me to print the book, after all), I'm just releasing them one a day or so over time.
You can skip to the first chapter here: https://www.fimfiction.net/story/568949/3/seashell-print-rewrite/excerpt-i
Preface
SEASHELL
PrefaceFrom the desk of the author, March 12, CE 2024:
This story is going to be ten years old by the time it will have reached print. A version of it is that old, anyway. If you’ve read this story before on FimFiction.net, that’s the one you read.
I decided it was not the version I wanted to print.
To explain briefly: this story was worth rewriting ten years on because I think the parts at its heart and core are still important enough to be worth writing about, but how it was told needed to change. To quote someone more famous than myself without asking their permission, but at least in what I think is a largely non-harmful and properly acknowledged way, I think Neil Gaiman said it best:
“When people ask if I'd change anything about a book I've already written, I want to explain to them that I'm not the person who wrote that book any longer, and even if I tried right now I'd write a different one. Everything you make as a writer* is a combination of what you want to say and who you are at the time you are telling that story. *possibly also as an artist or as a human being”
That’s really the crux of it right there. Stories are always products of the author’s circumstances and experiences, and a lot changes in ten years. Some things are universal, and those parts of the story never change. But certain approaches to the details? About the way the story is told, depending on the teller?
Those change.
Those change a lot.
Looking back at what I wrote ten years ago, I knew I couldn’t just print it verbatim today. It wasn’t me anymore, not with a decade of hindsight and (I hope) growth as a writer. There were parts in the old version that were, as the kids say, cringe. I changed those. There were also some parts which read as being edgy-for-the-sake-of-edgy, and I didn’t think things like that really fit or helped the story, so those went too. There was more I wanted to see in a few of the things that the old version doesn’t cover, so I added them.
And so the changes went. Before I knew it, it was more of a remake or a rewrite than a mere edition or revision. It turned out that when I asked myself what I’d change, the answer was, as Neil said, I wouldn’t just change it—I’d write a different book.
But don’t worry: in the ways I think matter, it’s the same story. You just get to read it in a different telling, now. Personally, I think this is the better version. The last ten years of watching people experience the old version was something I enjoyed greatly, but I had to reckon with the fact that it’s something from the past, whose time has come and gone. Now I look forward to finding out what this new one brings to the table, and what the next ten years of writing that starts with this will look like. Thanks for being part of that process by reading this new print version of an old favorite.
SEASHELL
Excerpt IFrom the journal of Sunburst, November 22, YS 1328:
Other ponies tell me they think I’m crazy to volunteer for duty on the Seawall.
Maybe they’re right.
Normally, being posted to the Seawall is really only one of two things: either a punishment for somepony who screwed up, or the exact opposite, something specially requested as an opportunity to earn a great mark of honor by doing what few are willing to do.
Well, I’m not being punished, and at this point in my career, there are easier ways to earn recognition and a sense of honor. The only explanation that leaves, I suppose, is some sort of crazy.
Exactly what kind of crazy is a bit of a mystery, even to me. I can’t explain why I volunteered when the posting came up. The best I can come up with is that maybe I thought it could quench, at least for a while, the sense of restlessness I’ve always felt. Maybe I thought it would help bring me closer to understanding what kind of place in this world it is that a mare like me really belongs. I’m not sure why I would think such a thing, it was just something deep down in my gut. I don’t even know why it felt like it made sense, but it did, so here I am.
Whatever somepony’s reasons for ending up here, it’s a job best suited for those who are comfortable with solitude and austerity. That much is obvious to anypony. The Seawall is on the extreme west of our continent, well outside the boundaries, nebulous as they are, of Equestria proper. It’s a lonely curiosity ~~more or less in the middle of nowhere.~~ No. Not ‘more or less.’ It IS in the middle of nowhere. Or, being on the sea, maybe it’s just on the very edge of nowhere, which makes it even further away. At least the ‘middle’ would be halfway from the far edge. This is the far edge.
As such, the most distinguishing feature here, more than anything else, is a sense of sheer loneliness. There’s only one other pony around, and she seems as content with silence as I am. I’m alone, more alone than I’ve ever been in my life, and knowing me, that’s saying something.
I don’t say it in a bad way, either.
I love this place, this Seawall.
But why? To understand it and why it exists, I suppose the question to start with is who would build such a thing in the first place. It was constructed by the old unicorn kingdom about two thousand years ago, long before all three types of ponies lived together. Why they built it, we no longer know. Maybe the motivation was as simple as what it seems like: fear of an invasion by sea. Invasion by what or whom? Good question. We still don’t fully understand what’s out there. Back then, with certain magics and clever devices we’ve never fully rediscovered after the fall of the old unicorn kingdom, maybe they knew more. If so, it’s unsettling to think they were afraid of it—whatever ‘it’ was.
There’s also the other possibility, maybe even more sinister, that it was built for the opposite reason: to keep ponies from leaving. Fleeing to the sea and taking one’s chances might have been the only way to escape the powers that ruled the land in those days.
I’m no archaeologist, but I think it was probably used for both. It was good for both, so I don’t see why it wouldn’t have been. The unicorns did fear invasion and the loss of their power, and they did more or less think they owned the earth ponies at one point.
But that’s ancient history.
Now that those dark days are a millennium behind us, it’s not much use for anything now but keeping two ponies here, waiting and watching the sea.
The wall itself isn’t a very large structure. Most of the coast is mountains with their sides eroded and pounded by waves until they’ve crumbled away and formed sheer cliffs that drop almost vertically into the water. Nothing could get past them, except maybe birds and pegasi. The wall really only fills a gap of a few thousand feet from one rocky embankment to another, plugging up the single usable passage from the sea to the inland for dozens of miles. There were fortified access doors along the bottom of the wall, once, when there used to be a permanent garrison here to guard it. Later, I guess probably when the wall was abandoned, the doors were plugged up permanently with stone and the peculiarly excellent strong concrete famous in ancient unicorn construction, which cut off access to anypony who couldn’t fly or use magic. It may have also been able to stop ponies even if they could do those things, because there are old remains of crystal pylons along the wall’s top. They were probably using barrier fields or anti-magic to seal it up even more. Fortunately, those are long gone, so I have no trouble flying back and forth over it now.
That’s how I know that the beach the wall cuts off from the inland is sandy and beautiful. My favorite thing to do here is to walk along the beach, just listening to the waves. They’re like a heartbeat—the heartbeat of the whole planet, rolling and crashing and receding, endlessly, back and forth, forever.
Sometimes I close my eyes and lose myself in the sound of the waves, and it feels like I lose myself in all of existence, like I’m a part of them and they’re a part of everything, and none of it, none of us, are ever really separate. I… don’t know how to describe it, at least not any better than that. But eventually I have to open my eyes, and let the waves be the waves, and I’m just me again. I suppose that’s the way of things. None of us can really be other than what we are.
But here in this place, I can feel like it for a little while.
It’s a feeling that I know will always live in my heart now in some way. I can never forget now.
Still, the beach would be even more beautiful if it got more sun. That’s the thing about this place—it’s unbelievably cloudy! Every day is overcast, Celestia’s sun hidden behind a thick sheet of steel-colored clouds. The ocean is an endless natural factory for them. Moisture rolls off the water on the cool Western breeze, condenses, gets trapped by the mountains at the edge of the land, and hangs here to blanket the coast. With no pegasi around, the weather is completely unregulated, and as much as I would like to help the sun shine a little more sometimes, it’s much too big a job for me alone. It’s also not why I’m here, anyway, so it’s best not to get drawn into trying to interfere. I just have to take whatever comes, rain or shine (mostly rain).
I’ve learned to seize whatever scarce moments the sun pokes through. When they happen, they make an already beautiful and untouched land absolutely breathtaking for the few minutes that the clouds break. I always feel like the luckiest mare in the world to be here for those. The dew sparkles like diamond dust on the clover and heather, and the sand of the beach glitters in the light.
And truth be told, it’s nice this way. Scarcity makes the shining sun even more of a special treasure. The clouds keep the heat down. They make flying easier at certain times of day. The veil of darker, more washed and faded colors they cast over the land gives it a certain charm and a sense of mystery. This place is full of silently held secrets and it invites me to explore and discover them, one by one, in the course of time. It’s a place with a sense of truly being a far-flung edge of the world, one of the few remaining refuges away from it all. Sometimes there’s treasures to find, like the large beautiful shell I came across washed up on the beach just the other day. The intricate spirals and gleaming ivory mother-of-pearl iridescence it shines with are more spectacular than anything I’ve seen the artists of Equestria make.
And to think, some ponies would call this place bleak. Bleak! How could I ever think that? This place is a wonder of the world in my eyes. Everypony should be so lucky as to end up in a place like this at least once in their life, a place which enraptures them so.
Most important of all, the solitude suits me.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I was picked for the posting. Maybe they sensed it in me, scrying out in an unspoken way the true reason why I would volunteer. There must have been some reason to choose me over the hoof-full of probably more promising candidates with bigger careers to advance.
Then again, this isn’t an action-packed assignment, either.
I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be watching for in particular. The orders are to “Report anything not usual in the coastal environment.” Vague, isn’t it? I wonder if the Princesses expect something to come from over the waves someday. Maybe we’re just here to be here when it happens. I suppose it’s possible. Nopony really knows for sure what’s out there, past the oceans. Could be nothing. There’s never really anything to report, anyway. It’s all pretty much the same: “It rained again today,” and so on. But that’s a good thing. That’s how I hope it stays: quiet.
Not that there aren’t some challenges here to test me, if I want something to do. There’s a pair of watchtowers on tiny islets out in the distance in the water. They’re a long way out and they’re nerve-wracking to fly to because if something happened on the way and I couldn’t fly all the way back, there’s nopony here to help. I’d be stranded, or fall to the sea and drown in the vastness of the ocean. But this tradeoff, paying for the freedom of wings by living with the risk of falling, is part of being a pegasus.
A real pegasus lives and dies on her wings.
A pegasus knows that what the endless sky gives, it can also take away in an instant.
And so, I’ve chanced it a few times. Yeah, maybe I know I shouldn’t, but what’s the point in living if I can’t feel alive?
The towers are made of heavy stone blocks, more old unicorn construction. They’re still standing, but were long ago abandoned and are in ruins now. Every time I’ve flown to them I’ve landed on their roofs and used them as observation towers to look out even further over the sea, into the great unknown expanses of the West. On the clearest days, sometimes I think I can see something out there… almost. I can’t quite tell, not even with the sharp pegasus eyes I was gifted to be born with and trained as a flight scout to spot the subtle hidden things. It’s not so much seeing something, exactly, as it is seeing the signs: the way there might be just the slightest unevenness in the horizon’s white haze, a subtle raggedness in the normally smooth gradient leading to the thin edge where sea and sky meet. It’s like there’s something secret hidden there, just barely below where the line of sight is blocked by the curvature of the planet itself. But no matter how hard I look, I can’t quite tell.
In a way, I also sense the same thing in my partner on this posting. She’s a unicorn. That’s how this posting is always assigned, one pegasus and one unicorn. Her name is Morning Mist. I’m not sure what her story is, but she seems to handle being here well. I think she might even be as happy as I am to be so alone.
Just as well, then, that most of our time is spent apart performing our respective duties here. Mine consist mainly of flying along the Seawall and the coast and observing, and hers of recording and sending back reports.
Sometimes, when I’m flying over the wall, I see that she’s teleported herself to the top of it and she’s staring out from between its low crenelations. She gazes out over the water deep into the west, past the islet towers, off into the horizon. She always has a sense of longing, as if she wants something so deeply it aches, almost like a sadness for something she hopes to see out there, some sort of an answer to the mystery hiding below the horizon. I see something in her during those brief moments, as restless as my own heart sometimes feels. Maybe that’s why we were sent here together. I think we’re more alike in some strange way than one would think a pegasus scout and a unicorn message-scribe would be. Maybe we’re here with one another because being here together is better than being restless and lonely alone.
I think that’s why we don’t talk very much, even when we’re together.
I don’t know what it could be that she searches for. Although I wish I did, and I feel like we’ve made our best efforts to be friends and trust each other, she hasn’t chosen to share much about herself with me. I understand that, though. I’m that way myself. I always have been. We both instinctively live behind veils. She seems to quietly hold many secrets. I don’t know what else could be among them. For that matter, I don’t even know if her posting here is a punishment, or an honor, or maybe both somehow. That isn’t my business, though, so I know I shouldn’t dwell on it. My job is to watch the Seawall, not to watch her.
Maybe someday we’ll be comfortable enough with each other to talk about ourselves. Until then, some secrets will just have to remain secret, or at least unspoken aside from the tiny glimpses we chance to catch.
SEASHELL
Excerpt IIFrom the journal of Sunburst, April 21, YS 1329:
My next assignment is royal guard duty! Finding this out came as a shock. It’s not an assignment I would have expected directly from coming off my posting at the Seawall.
Then again, I really didn’t know what to expect. Normally I would have found out ahead of time, but being at the Seawall is not a normal situation and there was no way to get my new orders until after I returned. I was told before I left that it would be something fairly easy to balance things out after an arduous assignment like the wall. But being stationed in Canterlot itself? I didn’t see that coming.
I have two weeks of leave before I have to report for my next duty assignment, too. Since I’m already in Canterlot checking back in from the wall, I decided to just stick around and use the time to get a little bit of a feel for the city. As paradoxical as it may sound for somepony who loved being posted to the literal furthest away it seems possible to be, I’m not usually a very enthusiastic traveler and there’s nowhere in particular I feel drawn to go see as a tourist. Besides, I think I owe it to myself to relax for a while.
And on my very first full day off, what was the very first thing I did?
A shower.
A real shower, I mean. A long, steamy one.
Hot water, and soap, and conditioner for my mane, and everything. The works!
…I realize it would seem silly to anypony else to call basics like soap and conditioner “the works,” but they really feel like it after six months of bathing outdoors with nothing but cold rain kicked out of a cloud.
I guess by more normal standards for actual civilized ponies my one big luxury was that I bought some premium feather oil and spent a nice long relaxing morning combing and glossing and preening my wings. Not that I don’t take care of them normally, but I was elated to see my yellow feathers back in top shape and shining again in the sun like burnished gold after months of roughing it in the wilderness. Still, I… always feel kinda funny, in a kind of embarrassed way, about stuff like that. It’s the kind of thing I know aunt Spitfire would rib me for. “You a pegasus or a peacock?” I can just hear her asking with the little smirk she shoots when she’s being good-natured about her teasing. I love her. She’s everything I aspire to be as a pegasus. But I don’t think she has a ‘chill’ setting.
So far, I’ve spent a fair amount of time hanging around being lazy and sitting by myself at an outdoor table at a corner cafe with a cold drink and watching it all drift by. Canterlot is a busy town, but I’m on vacation and I only need to be as busy as I decide to be.
I had a lot of fun the other day, watching the aristocrats with more money than they know what to do with walk around in their funny hats, and their overwrought dresses, and other such coverings, as if the beauty of the natural form of a pony isn’t enough for them. Still, there is some talent to be admired in some of it. Clothes and fashion aren’t a big interest of mine, but it’s neat to see the art that goes into it when it’s done well. Also it’s entertaining to be a fly on the wall and ponywatch. What struck me most was the sheer range of quality on display: some ponies have impeccable taste, and some are just comical in their pretense and maybe would have done better to just be naked. But one way or another, it never really fails to be interesting.
But now that I’m reflecting on this, I feel a little bit of a creeping concern. When I read back the paragraph I just wrote, I suddenly see how it says a lot about the distance and isolation in my way of passively pony-watching. I don’t think I was conscious of it in the moment. I realize now I was watching the show but not engaging with the reality and presence of the ponies in it. I know they’re people who exist but I don’t know why I couldn’t feel it.
Maybe, even for all its deprivations, the Seawall was too comfortable. Growing up like I did, the only pegasus in an earth pony town, made me feel very alone at times. I think I got used to it. After a while there was something easier about that loneliness, and about being by myself. I don’t know what exactly. But whatever it is, I think being alone for six months on the wall let me indulge in that familiar feeling of distance and insularity from other ponies—whether it was healthy or not.
Maybe the fact that I see it now, even if it took a little time, means it was a mirror I needed to be shown. Maybe everything good has a dark side and maybe even the stuff that’s bad for you can be used for something good.
Actually, the more I think about it, the more I’m not sure it’s as simple as just being either good or bad for me. My gaze keeps going back to the seashell I brought home from the wall, sitting now on a little shelf above the desk I’m writing at. Twisting spirals and pastel rainbow mother-of-pearl shimmering colors make it a refuge of intense beauty for the creature that once lived inside. At the same time, the protection offered by a strong hard shell means self-imposed isolation—protection by retreat into a fortress of insularity. These aspects are inseparable from each other in the purpose of such a thing. It wouldn’t exist in its captivating form without serving the function of being a barrier, a place to hide away. I don’t think this makes it good or bad, it just is what it is; and it is what the shell-dwelling creature knows. To the mollusk, the solitude of the shell is what’s right. It is safety. The creature within stays alive that way.
Lately I wonder sometimes how different I am. I wonder if that was why I was really there, out on the wall, and if that was what I was really looking for. I wonder about the upsides and downsides to distance, and what’s really best for a creature like myself.
SEASHELL
Excerpt IIIFrom the journal of Sunburst, May 4, YS 1329:
Being on leave was fun for a while, but it’s over and I’m back at work.
I’m guarding Princess Twilight Sparkle. Turns out this is a pretty good assignment. I was doubtful at first; I’d always thought of the royal guards as fulfilling a formal and ceremonial role at least as much as a functional one. I was afraid it would be a lot of work maintaining an uncomfortable suit of plate armor in picture perfect polish just to stand there and look pretty in it all day. It seems like the ponies for that kind of thing should be mostly pegasi from the heavy combat fliers and unicorns from the Dawn's Hammer paladins, maybe. Those are closer to the kinds of big muscular armored ponies I always saw guarding Celestia and Luna. As a scout trained to fly light and move fast, I didn’t know how I’d fit in.
Fortunately Princess Twilight seems to think differently about how her protectors should work. There’s not a lot of us, and we’re not here for show. We can even keep our natural colors and don’t have to use dyes or spells to give us all uniformly white or gray coats like I heard the guards for the Royal Sisters have to. Instead of plate armor, we just wear chain shirts. So much lighter. So much more breathable! We mostly patrol, too, instead of standing around at static postings. There’s only a few door guards who have to be stationary, and we rotate them out halfway through a shift, because who wants to be stuck in one place for so long? It’s mind-numbing, and a bored guard who gets distracted easily is a much less effective guard. The big picture is that we’re supposed to be a mostly unnoticed but fast-responding minimally intrusive presence instead of a big show of force.
Princess Twilight’s Captain of the Guard sure seems to be the good choice in that vein. She’s a pegasus named Rainbow Dash. She used to be a Wonderbolt, and was even the team captain after Aunt Spitfire. It was a little surreal at first to recognize the unmistakable blue coat and crazy rainbow striped mane from the old posters on a real pony right in front of me. There’s one funny thing I found out, though: I’d have pegged her dead to rights as a Cloudsdale pegasus, but I heard that before the ’Bolts she was living in some small mostly earth pony town called Ponyville. Weirdly, Princess Twilight also used to live there for a while, too. Why a princess was in a place like that, I’m not sure. There must be an interesting story behind it.
Coming from the same place can’t just be a coincidence, and I’m pretty sure the two of them must have known each other from way back. Also it’s kind of interesting that Princess Twilight personally commissioned Captain Dash as an officer. A personal commission directly from a Princess is rare these days, but I guess Captain Dash was too good to pass up. I suppose it makes sense. If I was able to personally pick and choose whoever I wanted to run the team guarding me, it’d be a former captain of the Wonderbolts. But I might be a little biased, with my aunt and all.
Because of how this guard is supposed to operate, most of the other ponies on the guard team are a bit like me—trained to be quick and mobile, I mean. There’s some flight scouts (myself among them), a few Cloudsdale lancers, and some unicorn fast skirmishers. They’re not on the bulky side, but they’re quick and strong with their magic. There are a few pretty big stallions and mares, but even they emphasize speed and maneuvering over trying to be tanks and taking bruises. There’s even a few former Wonderbolts, like Captain Dash. They’re the whole package of incredibly fast and tough. I’ve heard plenty about the training program they go through. Just scout training was hard enough for me. I don’t think I’d last a week in their horseshoes. Okay, maybe not even a day. I’m kind of a wimp. I can admit that to a journal. Just don’t tell anypony else, right? Right.
So, yeah, in short, it’s a good group.
The work schedule is kind of strange, but it’s not bad. Shifts are only six hours long, meaning there’s four shifts a day: midnight, morning, afternoon, and evening. We’re split up into five sections. Each section is on the same shift for a week at a time, then rotates to a new one, then once a section’s gone through all four shifts there’s a fifth week set aside just for training. Those training days are pretty exciting. We work out for an hour or so, then get some time at the range for weapons practice, and then a couple hours in either classroom instruction or tactical teamwork exercises. After that we have the rest of the day off to hang around Canterlot and enjoy the city.
So I still get time to watch ponies in funny hats walk around with their snouts in the air.
This is kind of awesome.
SEASHELL
Excerpt IVFrom the journal of Sunburst, May 15, YS 1329:
It was the distance, from everything and everypony.
That’s why I loved the Seawall so much.
There was so much freedom there. I never had to worry what anypony would think. There weren’t any social rules because there wasn’t any social anything. I never had to be polite or rude to get what I wanted because those things don’t exist when you’re by yourself. All I ever had to do was be me, just perfectly me.
I never had to feel awkward.
I sure did today.
As guards, at the start of a shift, when we put on our armor, the chain-shirts and the shin-plates and the helmets, we transform in a way. We become something else. We turn into something apart from regular ponies. Both physically and symbolically, we take on a shell. We become… I don’t know. Something a little larger than life. Heroic, almost, it might seem like. But part of what comes with it is that we become something alone, and apart, and unapproachable. Royal guards aren’t known for their conversation, are they?
Wearing the image, the metal shell and the authority and the weight of guardianship—it takes a toll. It’s tiring work even on the best days. By the end of a shift, most of us are eager to leave it behind and do regular-pony-things again after all the hours of doing guard-things.
Taking off the shell of armor to regain our natural skin and our natural inclination to be able to be closer comes with a trade: skin is easily hurt.
I’m afraid I hurt somepony today.
It was Starry Night, to be exact. She’s a unicorn with a cutie mark of three white stars that stand out brightly against her deep cobalt blue coat. Her mane is streaked in sky-blue and white. I never really remembered her name before, but now I don’t think I’ll forget. Come to think of it, that’s another thing I liked about being out there alone on the Wall: not having to remember names. But anyway.
We’d spoken a few times before, but just casually. We were acquainted but not very familiar. From the way she was walking close to me as we left the palace after the shift, though, I started to get the idea that she wanted my attention for something. She said there was a really nice bar she knew of just a few blocks away, with good food and even better drinks. She asked if I’d like to drop in there and try one of those drinks with her.
That didn’t sound very interesting, so I told her no, I don’t usually drink. It was my unthinking response because it’s the truth, I don’t. Maybe once in a while I’ll have one at home… I just don’t drink in bars, is what I meant. It’s never been a thing I could enjoy. They’re loud and always have the same overplayed music. I don’t know why they always smell just a little bit smoky, but they do and I don’t like it. They’re always either so empty I feel way too visible because there’s only a couple ponies in there, or so crowded it makes me uncomfortable because there’s too many ponies too close.
Well, of course, I couldn’t explain all that on the spot, so I just told her I don’t drink and left it at that, and we parted ways. She seemed kind of put off, which I didn’t really get at first. Then one of the other guards pulled a bit closer next to me, once she was out of earshot.
And I got an earful about how the reason I was being asked to go somewhere with her wasn’t about the drinking.
Only then did the metaphorical light suddenly turn on over my head and I realized what had happened. Didn’t I instantly feel like the jerk. Maybe I really have been gone too long at the Seawall, where I didn’t have to think about how not to hurt anypony’s feelings. It should have been easier to see, but I didn’t consider her perspective instead of my own—how it’s a smack in the face to somepony to be shot down based on what seems like rejecting an aspect of themselves or something they like. There’s a kinder way to turn down a date, as my mother had to explain to me back when I was in high school. I should have made it about why I couldn’t say yes right then, not about pointing out the reasons she gave me to say no. I shouldn’t have made it her fault.
I think my mom felt the need to give me such advice partly because being the lone pegasus in an earth pony farming town didn’t make any part of the social world easy for me, and partly because she was hoping I’d turn out more girly than I did, more like her. I think she had dresses and finding a perfect stallion and giving her some grandfoals in mind for what she’d have preferred to see me do with my life. Of course, after I was done with school I went and enlisted to go to flight scout training, which kind of smashed that hope into the ground (ironic metaphor for a flier, but I’m sure it’s how she felt). I think she forgave me, though, because I followed her advice when I explained why. I told her it wasn’t anything to do with her or rejecting the things she wanted, it was about me and my life and this just seemed like the right thing for me to do. It was easy to say: it was true so I didn’t really have to think much about it.
I never did use that tactic for handling being asked for a date, though. Back in high school, what few awkward attempts at romance were directed at me inevitably ended up being some combination of clumsy, traumatic, or both. Now that I think back on it, I don’t know how much of a chance there ever really was to use what she told me. Most of those attempts didn’t even actually involve being asked out on a date as such.
Well, maybe one. There was the time when a dorky earth pony colt with acne and a slightly greasy mane and bad fetlocks asked me in a mumbling voice while I was at my locker if I would go to some dance or something. I never answered one way or another. It caught me off-guard and I didn’t know what to say, so I pretended not to hear over the noise in the hallway. I grabbed my stuff, then I shut my locker door and just walked away as quickly as I could without responding. He didn’t try again.
I think for the most part I didn’t care about the ponies I brushed off (most of them earned it, to be honest, in stupid teenager ways which I responded to in my own equally stupid teenager ways) but that’s the one I feel bad about. I always have. It was a callous thing to do, I know now, and looking back at it he was a lot braver for finding it inside himself to ask than I was for running away. But the truth is that those kinds of incidents also taught me a lot about myself.
I learned I didn’t want to be asked out. I didn’t ask for the attention. I never have. All I wanted was to be left alone.
Maybe if I’m honest about it, I resent being asked out today, too, just as much as I did back then. Maybe that’s why I shot it down so thoughtlessly, because I hate having to think about how to respond nicely. It feels like I’m playing a game when I try to maneuver words like that. It feels like I’m lying. It’s a mask that’s not me and I don’t like feeling as if I’m being put in the position of having no choice but to wear it. The truth is usually pretty blunt, not finely pointed and sparing of our feelings, and my instinct has always been to just say it, not find an angle on it. What we want doesn’t change what is. That’s kind of just common sense, isn’t it?
But still, that wasn’t fair to Starry Night, because it’s not her fault. When I put myself in her horseshoes, I can understand her disappointment. I can understand how it must feel to be brushed away without any thought of being polite. Not that I would have said yes, but I could have said no in a different way. It tears me in two, between saying what comes naturally to me or what’s easier on somepony else, and the feeling of being torn is just another reason why it’s easier to be alone.
SEASHELL
Excerpt VFrom the journal of Sunburst, May 28, YS 1329:
I don’t think Princess Twilight actually likes her palace all that much. I’m sure she’d never say it out loud, but it seems to be getting more and more apparent now that I’ve been here for a little while.
The other day, some of the large paintings in one of the main halls were removed for cleaning and restoration work. Temporary replacements were going to be hung. When the princess was asked which ones she preferred, she would only say that she didn’t care, they could put up posters of the Great and Powerful Trixie (whoever that is) for all it mattered. She sounded annoyed to even have the subject brought up.
After that, out of curiosity I started paying more attention to what decorations actually do matter to her. The answer seems to be none of them. She never really looks at the paintings or the statues or whatever other artifacts line the hallways. I think they’re just so much clutter to her.
I wonder how this princess got here. She seems so out of place—not on the surface, I mean, but underneath, with a sense of it growing in the subtle things I keep seeing the longer I’m here. Every day I stand guard and end up watching her during official business or even during what should be her personal time, it feels like she’s more distant from every other pony. She seems very alone; the kind of alone a pony can feel even in a huge crowd.
She watches other ponies. She studies them. I can see her doing it, and feel somehow as if I know exactly what’s going through her head when she looks right through the ponies who come to her court like they were made of glass. She watches and she sees and she understands. She’s very, very smart, anypony can see it as easy as anything.
But she is alone.
It’s like she’s a sculpture made of ice. She’s the centerpiece of the table, and everypony can see her, admire her, look up at her in awe of her majestic form and presence… but nopony would dare touch her. They know and she knows some sort of barrier of cold makes it impossible, too painful to endure the frostbite.
It’s a little like an accusation my own mother teased me with in the past, when I continually failed to ever have a date or hang out with any other ponies from school.
“If you’re going to be an ice queen,” she said, “you’ll never have any friends.”
At the time I stopped myself from impulsively answering completely honestly by saying I thought that would be fine with me. Saying something like that would have upset her. She wouldn't have understood.
I think she was just worried about thinking I was having social difficulty. She wasn’t wrong. Oh, I guess it’s gotten better since. I can talk to other ponies without much trouble. I’ve had friends, but they haven’t been the center of my life, is all. They’ve always just been the sort of friends that are a peripheral feature of the place I happen to be. They’ve always been the kind that have to get left behind when I leave, I suppose. I just never really met anypony I stayed in touch with across the distance. I don’t know why, exactly. The bond was just never all that deep.
The princess seems kind of like that in her own way. She’s personable enough. She’s polite and everypony who comes through here seems to take away a good impression of her. I like how she can talk about anything and make it relatable, and she can make decisions and make them understandable even if they’re not what you wanted to hear. Most importantly, she’s always honest, not just a politician with a silver tongue.
She would easily make a lot more friends, I think, if she was anypony else but the princess. I suppose the demands of her office don’t really allow it. She stays here, they move on, and that’s that. The only lasting constant is the constant movement enforcing detachment.
I guess we’re the same, in that way, the distance from everypony else. How we got here is the difference. I know that I chose this because I’m comfortable with it. This is where it’s easy for me to be. But what about her?
Is this who she is, or is it who she’s made to be as the price for being Princess Twilight Sparkle?
My kind being the exception among most ponies, I have to think it’s the latter.
I almost wish I could just ask her without that being a horribly inappropriate affront to the decorum of subordination that must, of course, be kept between the royalty and her guard.
Maybe it’s a chicken-and-egg problem that even she doesn’t know how to solve. Nopony can really get close enough to ask her why she doesn’t like her palace, and that’s why she doesn't like her palace. I think she came from somewhere smaller, where she was smaller… somewhere she misses. I can only guess maybe there’s some ponies she misses too, because in a smaller place they could get closer. Moving here just meant moving into a big cage, with bars that don’t keep her in so much as they keep everypony else out.
As a guard, maybe I’m one of those bars. It’s a strange feeling, and not really a good one. If I am, I don't want to be, but the job is what it is.
Day by day it’s becoming increasingly clear that princesses are not necessarily the creatures they seem to be on the surface. I wonder what else I’ll discover before I’m done here.
SEASHELL
Excerpt VIFrom the journal of Sunburst, May 30, YS 1329:
The other day I wrote about how alone the Princess seems to be.
Maybe I should also fill in the picture with more nuance and write about the exception to be found in her personal student. She’s a little unicorn filly with a white coat and powder blue mane named Azure Sky. I made her acquaintance soon after I got here when our paths crossed in one of the hallways. When she spotted my cutie mark, she smiled up at me with her big pale purple eyes. She’s such a cute kid.
I remember our first conversation vividly.
“You have a sun cutie mark!” she exclaimed. “Like Celestia.”
See what I mean? How could I forget that? What a comparison to bring up just off the cuff!
I struggled for a second to respond. “Oh... not really,” I ended up saying. “It’s smaller and the design’s different. I think Celestia’s is a bit more important. I just got this one by clearing away clouds over my mom’s garden when I was a kid. She needed more sunlight for her flowers, that’s all.”
“Hope you didn’t fly too high toward the sun,” she giggled. “You wouldn’t want to make Icarhorse’s mistake.”
For the second time in under a minute, I was surprised by this little filly. I couldn’t believe she knew about Icarhorse, the ancient pegasus story of a pony who flew so close to the sun that the feathers on her wings burned up and she fell to her death. From a pegasus, I might have expected it. My dad told me the story as a foal. Cloudsdale pegasi still tell it to their kids because it helps warn naïve young fliers about ascending too high too quickly and meeting tragic consequences, but I’d never heard of it being told among unicorns. I guess she must have read it on her own. Sharp kid.
I laughed a little. “No, I’m not worried,” I assured her. “No pegasus can fly that high.”
“Nah, I guess not,” she agreed with an enthusiastic nod. “Hey! Were you in the Wonderbolts?” she asked suddenly.
“No.” I shook my head. “The Wonderbolts are a bit much for me.”
“Oh.” She looked a little disappointed. “I thought you might be the one I saw on some of their posters.”
Yep. There it was. Of course she would come up. Honestly, though? This happens often enough that I’ve gotten over being embarrassed and now it’s kind of amusing.
“That’s Spitfire,” I said. “I guess I look like her. But I’m not her. Sorry.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I’m Sunburst.”
“I’m Azure Sky,” she responded.
Then we just sort of looked at each other blankly, the way it happens when two ponies suddenly hit the wall in a conversation. Or I did, anyway. Azure had a knack for finding more.
“Captain Dash is in some of the posters too,” she said. “Sometimes I try to ask her what it was like to be a Wonderbolt, but she won’t say anything. She just kind of freezes up a little bit and goes to do something else. Isn't that weird? And Princess Twilight seems really sad but she won't tell me why. She just tells me to keep studying.”
“Azure?” Princess Twilight’s voice suddenly sounded from nearby as she rounded a corner and found the two of us. “Come on, kiddo. Time for today's lessons.” She smiled warmly at her student.
“Okay!” The little filly smiled back. “I just met, umm, Sunburst.”
“Pleased to meet you.” I nodded.
“I see.” The princess nodded to me briefly. “I hope Azure Sky here wasn't any trouble.” She turned and started walking. “Come on, let’s not bother the guards anymore,” she said while her student fell in next to her.
“No, princess,” I said. “She's no trouble at all.”
“Did you see her cutie mark? It’s the sun, like Celestia’s!” Azure said to the princess. I cringed a little bit. Being compared once again to our illustrious solar princess, and in front of another princess of all ponies, was embarrassing. “I hope mine is something cool like that. When do you think I’ll get one?”
“Well, you’re about that age.” The princess smiled down at her student while they kept walking away side by side. “It’ll be soon…” Their voices faded down the hall as they moved further away.
It’s clear that the princess regards her student warmly. Maybe there’s even a permanent bond solidifying between them, seeing how the princess is basically raising that filly. Even that, though, has limits. There has to be a clear delineation between student and teacher, and besides, there’s things adults can’t just talk about with a child. At the end of the day she still seems alone.
And the things Azure said? I don’t know. She’s a very curious filly, but she’s just a child. Still… now I can’t help but wonder.
SEASHELL
Excerpt VIIFrom the journal of Sunburst, June 5, YS 1329:
Today as I write, I’m feeling confused. I’ve seen something I know wasn’t meant for my eyes. In some ways it sheds light, but in others it only raises more and deeper questions.
What would a palace be without all the extras to make it just as elegant on the outside as on the inside? A house needs a yard, after all, and of course this palace has one. The grounds are very well-kept with extensive gardens. There are a lot of good places to just sit and think in the quiet splendor of nature for a while and soak up Celestia’s sun. That is, for somepony with the time to spare for such things.
The morning guard shift starts at 6am, about when the sun rises. Today, in the first light of the morning, the rose bushes at the center of the gardens revealed a profusion of the first newly opened fresh blooms of the year. All of the central bushes were white roses. They were shining brilliant and clean, with morning dew glittering on their petals like the shards of myriad diamonds.
All those white rose hedges surround a single tree, also blossoming with smaller and plainer flowers, almost white but tinged with a delicate pink. It’s not a tall tree, but its beauty is unmatched by any other I’ve seen.
But most surprising of all was to find Captain Dash and Princess Twilight out there in the morning, enjoying the same sight. The two of them were standing side by side in front of the rose bushes. I’m sure they thought they were alone. That part of the garden has a lot of hedging around it and from the ground it’s just about impossible to see in from outside.
Still, the hedge-walls didn’t stop me from noticing. I was observing this from the air, flying around the grounds on a security patrol. My being a scout trained to spot and observe didn't help their privacy either.
Captain Dash is confident and outspoken, the kind of pony with a tough skin. Nothing seems to get her down. It really threw me, then, to see her staring so sadly the way she was at the roses and at the blooming tree. Even at the distance I was from her, I could tell she wasn't her usual self, and I couldn't understand it at first. It seemed to have to do with the flowers, because the princess was staring at them too, and also seemed very morose. I wondered, was something wrong with the roses? But how could that be? They were so beautiful, and the response just seemed so out of place.
And if that seemed strange, what happened next was downright shocking. The princess said something quietly into Captain Dash’s ear. Captain Dash looked at her and nodded, and I swear, tears started to fill the captain’s eyes. Yes, Captain Rainbow Dash, a hero of the Wonderbolts, toughest of the tough, fearless, invincible… and she was on the edge of outright crying, in front of our princess no less!
The princess hugged the captain and nuzzled her cheek, then kissed the side of her head in a gentle, caring way. They embraced for a long moment, while the princess cradled the captain’s head against the side of her neck just above the shoulder and softly stroked her rainbow streaked mane. Then they stood side by side again, close together, and the princess put one wing over the captain and rubbed her back comfortingly.
My blood almost ran cold. It was so unexpected. I’d only ever seen the Princess as a high, isolated, distant figure: nopony touches her, and she doesn’t touch them. The only exception I’ve ever seen is the occasional brief contact with her personal student, momentary hugs of comfort or affection. Nopony else. Especially not a mere member of the guard.
But here it was, happening.
Seeing it awakened something in me. I think in this moment I suddenly understood; I started to truly and deeply feel the reality, beyond a mere superficial intellectual book-fact kind of way, of her being living flesh and blood like all the rest of us. It should have been obvious, but I guess after seeing the façade of regality for long enough it becomes hard to tell from the truth underneath. I needed the jarring blow of seeing an unexpectedly tender moment to shock me out of it and set me right again. She’s a real pony after all, and she’s not always made of ice, at least not in the few short moments when there’s nopony around to demand for her to be. Empathy for her came over me for the way she has to hide her real self. I felt in my own heart how hard it must be on her, to have these feelings, to want to be real, to want to reach out and touch, to want to be connected, and to be held back from doing so outside of a rare few brief private moments like this one.
Some part of me ached from the realization of how much it must hurt her.
After a minute or two, Captain Dash said something to her quietly. When she did, the princess reluctantly withdrew her wing and folded it. I knew without hearing the words what was being said. The sun was getting higher, edging up on the horizon to set the morning sky on fire. Royal court business would be starting soon, and it was almost time for Twilight Sparkle to turn back into the shell of ice and go be a princess for the day. The captain was reminding her of that, and Princess Twilight begrudgingly nodded slightly in agreement. Then they parted from each other and walked out of the garden in opposite directions. I immediately understood why. It was so that nopony would see them leaving together. It wouldn’t be dignified, after all, for a rumor to spread of any undue familiarity.
I blinked a few times, once they were gone, and shook the surprise out of my head. I couldn’t help but let it wash through me, but I also couldn’t get lost in it entirely. Whatever I’d just seen, I still had my own work to do. There was still guarding to be done. I kept on with the security patrol, methodically monitoring the perimeter of the palace grounds.
I tried to get through the watch without being too distracted. It was tough, but the rest of the day wasn’t very eventful, fortunately. For that, I’m thankful.
SEASHELL
Excerpt VIIIFrom the journal of Sunburst, June 7, YS 1329:
This afternoon I took a walk in the city, thinking about what I’d seen. I do a lot of my best thinking when I can pace around aimlessly by myself. It’s another virtue of the life lived alone, I guess, plenty of time for reflection.
Sometimes it can be a double-edged sword.
At some point along the unplanned path of my wandering, I came across a little flower shop at a street corner. It was really more of a stand than an enclosed building. It had an open storefront and there was a pale pink earth pony with a deeper pink mane standing behind a wooden counter. She was surrounded by an immense multitude of all kinds of flowers. But most of all…
Most of all…
Roses.
Roses in incredible great profusions were wreathed all around her little shop in all the various colors they come in: red, yellow, pink, oranges, lavenders… and white. Her white roses were like the brightest pure snow fallen fresh from the finest winter clouds.
I walked up to the stand and I stood there for a second looking around at all the different varieties. The scent was exquisite perfume, and the sight a spectacular endless floral rainbow. I didn’t know where to even start taking it all in.
“Hi! How can I help you?” The pony behind the counter welcomed me cheerfully. Somehow, through the overwhelming splendor of the flowers, I noticed even more that she had such pretty jade green eyes.
Maybe I stared into them just a tiny slice of a second longer than I think I meant to.
“Your roses,” I finally said, when the words came to me. “I just… they come in so many different colors.”
“Oh, yes.” She nodded, with a small smile of pride. “Almost anything you could want, except black and blue. Breeders haven’t quite figured those out yet. I think they’re a pipe dream, myself, but… eh, you know. Gardeners will keep trying just so somepony can say they were the first to breed a truly black rose.” She shrugged. “Although I’m not sure what we’d ever do with them. I can’t see a black rose being a very attractive flower, honestly.”
I looked around and noted the most abundant color. “I’m guessing there’s more demand for red.”
“Definitely,” she agreed. “Red roses are the classic choice; a great way of saying ‘I love you’ in that special somepony kind of way. They’re the best seller of any flower I have.”
I’d suspected as much already, partly because it’s a well known cliché and partly because it’s just logical. Red is a strong color, after all. It’s the color of blood, and the heart that pumps it, and the feelings of passion and strong emotions and lusts associated with those things.
White, though, seemed so quiet and reserved by contrast. It was almost a contradiction for a flower as bold as a rose.
“What about white?” I asked. “Why do ponies buy those?”
“White?” She thought for a moment. “Well, a few different things. Sometimes they’re used in funeral arrangements. It’s a mourning color. But it’s kind of funny, because on the other hoof, I also supply them for lots of weddings. I guess it’s… you know, like the reason a bride wears a white dress. It’s a pure color, it’s clean and fresh. It’s supposed to be innocent. I guess it’s not always totally platonic like ‘let’s be friends’, but also not like how red is more direct and kinda says ‘I want you in bed with me.’ It's more subtle. Love but not lust.”
I stood there pondering the roses, white and red and all the hues in-between.
“Anything else you’d like to know?” the pony behind the counter asked politely after a few seconds.
“No.” I shook my head. “Thanks. I just have some things to think about.”
“Not a problem.” She smiled. “Come by anytime. I’m always here. Just me and the roses.”
I nodded and walked on, lost within my own thoughts about the language of flowers; of the expressive power in the vocabulary of their manifold colors.
I drifted my way on down the street and kept rolling what she’d said about white over in my mind.
Subtle, was it?
The color was, maybe. The things it reflected, though, certainly were not necessarily so. It was muted on the surface, but underneath there was a strong undercurrent of emotion. Captain Dash hadn't completely broken down crying, but the tears… those were in her eyes, sure as anything. Her response to those white roses was like the flowers themselves.
What was it about, though, exactly? All I could do was wonder.
Mourning.
Pure, high love.
Either one of those could fit.
Either, or both.
Maybe the intensity of one emotion tends to fuel another.
Princess Twilight knew what it was, I was sure, by the way she was comforting Captain Dash. I began to wonder just how close the two of them were.
They came from the same place before they came here, after all.
Maybe the princess isn't so completely alone as I'd thought. I hope not, anyway, for her sake and the captain’s. I guess hoping is about all I can do.
I thought about all these things for a while as I walked.
But then not too long later, I passed a pair of elegant-looking unicorn nobles in funny hats walking side by side with their snoots in the air. They were chatting back and forth, something about how dreadful the hors d'oeuvres were at last week’s high society parties. And not to even start on the under-chilled champagne! Apparently this week had been an absolute tragedy in the higher social circles. Giggling inside and trying not to let it show sort of broke my concentration on more serious subjects. Even if it was a bit of emotional whiplash, I welcomed the distraction because it was a relief that I needed by that point, if I’m being honest.
Canterlot sure is an interesting town.
SEASHELL
Excerpt IXFrom the journal of Sunburst, June 20, YS 1329:
I had this week off, so I spent it in Cloudsdale visiting my dad and my aunt. There should have been more than enough to do there to keep me occupied, but the thing with the roses just won’t stop running through my head.
I may have done something a little foolish in that regard.
I hadn’t planned to ask Aunt Spitfire what I did… at least, not exactly. Or maybe that’s just what I want to tell myself because I sort of knew I shouldn’t ask but I couldn’t stand it anymore. What matters is, it happened, and I’m not sure if I really wanted it to but it did so here it is.
To the best of my memory, it went like this:
I went with Aunt Spitfire to one of her favorite restaurants. It’s a small hole-in-the-wall that she likes because fan-fillies don’t know about so she doesn’t get harassed for autographs when she’s just trying to eat lunch. We’d been seated, the waiter had come around for our orders and gotten back with some ciders, and we were still waiting for sandwiches and hay-fries.
“So, royal guard duty, huh?” she asked. “Sounds like you really arrived, Sunny. Lots of Wonderbolts can’t even get that gig. How do you like it so far?”
“It’s pretty good,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting it, and I’m not even sure what I did to get it, but I’m definitely not going to complain.”
“Twilight Sparkle’s the princess you’re guarding?”
“Yep.”
Aunt Spitfire suddenly grinned. “Rainbow Dash is the Captain of the Guard, right? Pretty sure she was still there last I heard.”
“She is,” I answered. “And yes, because I know you’re going to ask: she keeps us in shape. Lots of training. No time to get soft and slow on her watch.”
“Good. Wouldn’t have expected any less.” My aunt settled into thought for a moment or two. “Hey, when you get a chance, ask Rainbow about the time her unicorn friend kicked me in the face at the Best Young Fliers’ competition. The white one. Purple mane. Butterfly wings. She’ll know what I’m talking about.”
Now that had to be a story—and probably a little bit of an embarrassing one for Captain Dash. I couldn’t even imagine what it was, but not knowing didn’t stop idle speculations from flashing through my mind. In my meandering thoughts, all sorts of scenarios came and went, all of them undoubtedly not even close to reality. But one thread ran through them all, and all the other shifting details flowed like water around it.
‘The white one.’
White.
And as this newly introduced detail scraped like flint and steel against the existing preoccupied thoughts in my daydreaming, sudden sparks shot off and struck dry-brush tinder ideas, setting them aflame with new cross-associations.
White.
White roses.
The look of grieving Captain Dash had.
The tears, not quite being shed, but welling up.
Pain.
Longing.
I suddenly felt cold. “I don’t know if I want to ask about something like that,” I mumbled.
“Eh.” Spitfire shrugged. “Up to you. But it’s the best way to hear her story about the sonic rainboom.”
I blinked. “Sonic… rainboom…?”
“Yeah.” Aunt Spitfire smirked. “Fair warning: once you get her started, you might not be able to get her to shut up about it. Worth it for the story, though.”
“Oh.” I shifted in my chair. “Okay. I thought it might be… a different kind of story.”
“Huh?” She gave me a look. “Whaddya mean?”
“Just… I don’t know.” I shook my head. “Nothing, I guess.”
“What is it, Sunburst?” Spitfire leaned just slightly closer. “What’d you hear?”
“I didn’t hear,” I said. “I… I saw. But I don’t know what.” I said the words, and I was surprised with myself. I wasn’t sure why I was talking about this at all, something so personal for somepony else. It didn’t feel quite right, but I also just felt so trapped with it. Some part of me needed an outlet to somepony I could trust. I hadn’t realized how much until that moment, when it was spilling out almost unwilling.
Still, Aunt Spitfire was cool about it. She just tilted back in her chair and waited, leaving the ball in my court. I knew that look. She wasn’t going to pressure me. I could change the subject and she’d let it slide, let me keep my secrets.
Maybe that’s just what I should have done, but I couldn’t help it.
“You said a white unicorn. You know anything about white roses?” I asked. “Would those mean something?”
She looked at me blankly. “What? Not following, sorry.”
“There’s white roses in the center of the palace gardens,” I continued. “And the other day… Captain Dash… and the princess…” My seat suddenly felt uncomfortable. I squirmed my wings, trying to adjust them for no particular reason. “I saw them there together. Early in the morning, right before sunrise, when they could be alone. And I think… I think Captain Dash was crying. It feels so weird to say that, but I’m pretty sure it’s what I saw.”
“Wait, you mean the…” Aunt Spitfire sank into thought, trying to remember something for several long seconds. “The rose garden with the tree in the middle? With all the hedging around it?”
“You know about it?” I was hit totally off-guard, not expecting that.
“Know about it?” Spitfire laughed. “I was there on the big day the whole garden was planted for, Sunny! It wasn’t for a unicorn. It was for an earth pony.”
Earth pony? I hadn’t seen any earth pony. I gave my aunt a curious look and waited to see where this next turn in the story would take things.
“That’s the garden Rainbow Dash got married in,” she went on. “I was at her wedding. I watched her and her wife plant that apple tree and say their vows in front of it. Remember it like it was yesterday. The whole team was there. Soarin got so drunk…” She rolled her eyes and shook her head with a reminiscing smirk.
No slight to Soarin, but I couldn’t care less about his storied antics just then. “Captain Dash is married?” I asked.
“Was.” Spitfire’s smirk died, fast.
I didn’t want to ask, but I didn’t need to.
“Damn Apple family curse,” Aunt Spitfire mumbled sourly, glaring into her cider.
“What?”
“That’s what Rainbow Dash called it.” Spitfire shook her head and waved a hoof. “See, her wife was a pony named Applejack, from the Apple family out of Ponyville. They’d known each other for a long time before they went ahead and tied the knot. Rainbow told me part of the reason they took so long was because of a superstition that when Apples fall in love and get married, they have a way of dying young sometimes. Happened to Applejack’s grandfather on her mom’s side. Then it happened to Applejack’s mom and dad. And then… then they finally got over it and just had their wedding already, and of course it wasn’t long before it happened to Applejack. Because of course the ‘tradition’ had to hold.”
“Like… a real curse?” I don’t even know why I asked. It was a dumb question.
“Nah. I don’t believe in curses.” Spitfire shook her head. “Runs of bad luck happen, though. And that is some run, you know? It really sucks. They loved each other so much, but they only got to have a few short years together. Then one day. Just—” she slapped the table with her hoof “—just like that. ‘Jack was just gone. Taken away, snatched out of Rainbow’s hooves.”
“I never knew,” I said quietly.
“No reason you would. Just about killed Rainbow Dash at the time, too.” Aunt Spitfire suddenly had a wistful sadness to her voice and a look in her eyes that I couldn’t remember ever seeing in her before. “I mean it. Like, literally. I thought… I guess I shouldn’t be tellin’ you this, kiddo, but I honestly thought she was gonna die too. It was like… like… damn it, it’s still hard to even talk about.”
Spitfire’s voice was starting to shake. She choked up and shook her head.
“Like what?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking after a long moment. I’d like to think I asked for her sake, because now I could feel how she was the one who needed to talk. But I also know I needed to hear the rest, too. I suppose I could just say I asked for the both of us and leave it at that.
“I guess it’s like this: have you ever heard about what happens to swans when they lose their mate?” she asked. “Sometimes, they die from grief. They spiral into depression. They won’t eat, they won’t fly, they just stop doing anything at all. They don’t want to live anymore, so they just quit.”
“That doesn’t sound like Captain Dash,” I said.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have thought so either,” Spitfire said. “Except, I saw it. After Applejack died, of course the ‘Bolts gave Rainbow a lot of time off to deal with everything she had to figure out. But eventually that time passed, then even more time just kept going by with no word, and she just never came back. So I finally went to go see what was up, and when I found her, I swear to Celestia, it was the most scared I’ve ever been for anypony. I found out she hadn’t flown since the funeral. She wasn’t eating, either. She’d lost so much weight she looked like a blue bag of skin and bones. Her hair was falling out. She wouldn’t even preen her wings. Most days all she would do was lie around in bed moping or crying. And I thought, this is it for her. She’s got the swan syndrome. She’s on her way out, trying to follow her wife.”
“Jeeze.” I was almost breathless in a kind of fascinated horror. “What did you do?”
“I started by wondering if I should do anything at all, to be totally honest with you,” Aunt Spitfire confessed. “‘Cause, yeah, this is gonna sound bad, but seeing her like that, with her heart broken so hard it was killing her—I thought it might be kinder to just let her go instead of fighting to try to drag it out and forcing her through even more. I was afraid interfering would just make her misery last longer and it would only turn out the same in the end, one way or another.”
I just sat there in stunned silence. Something felt heavy on my chest and tight in my throat.
“At least, that’s what I thought for about three seconds. But then I made myself shake off that nonsense and I said to myself, oh hell no, screw that, Rainbow’s not a swan. She’s a pony! And I got mad about what I was seeing. Not at her. Just at what was happening to her. So I decided, okay, you know what? We’re fighting. Whether it’s right or it’s wrong, it’s what I know how to do, and anything is better than doing nothing. So I made up my mind, and the first thing I did was go get a chocolate milkshake and the greasiest, most calorie-packed oatburger I could find and practically force ‘em down her throat, ‘cause jeeze did she need it.”
She cracked a crooked smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back wryly.
“Well, I guess she made it,” I said, feeling a bit lifted with relief.
“Hell yeah she made it!” Spitfire said proudly. “Like I said, Rainbow’s not a swan. She’s tougher than that. She’s a real pegasus. Blood of the old Cloud Empire. I mean… it wasn’t easy for her. She had a long road to get anywhere close to being okay again. Grief counseling. Therapists. All that stuff. Heck, when I checked in with her friends, they told me sometimes on bad days somepony had to drag her flank into the shower with them and scrub her down just to make sure she’d bathe. But in the end she didn’t quit. Eventually she started having less bad days. After a while she was back to standing on her own four hooves. She started working out again. Started flying again.”
“Must have been good to have her back.” I let myself relax into my chair again, letting the tension fade.
“Well, seeing her get better was a relief,” Aunt Spitfire responded. “But she never came back to the Wonderbolts. Said she just couldn’t do it. It hurt too much now. She was away on tour doing shows when Applejack… when it happened. I think she blamed herself for not being there. I don’t know what she thinks she would have done to change anything, but… eh, doesn’t matter. That’s just how it felt for her, you know? It killed all the joy in being a ‘Bolt. I could tell. It was over.”
“Guess that explains the career change,” I mumbled.
“Yeah.” Spitfire nodded emphatically. “Yeah, it does. And I wanted you to hear that explanation from me, Sunburst, instead of ending up getting half-truths from rumors somewhere else, after what you saw. It’s something I don’t know if I should have told you. It’s too personal. A guard shouldn’t know that kind of thing about her captain. But I think you get that, and I think you can handle it. Now that you know, I hope you’ll know enough to understand that it’s always gonna hurt like hell for her, and just leave it alone. For Rainbow’s sake. Alright?”
I was inclined to agree very much by that point.
That story’s gonna give me nightmares and I wasn’t even there.
SEASHELL
Excerpt XFrom the journal of Sunburst, June 30, YS 1329:
I found Applejack today.
She caught me by surprise from an old issue of Ponyville’s local paper. I turned the page and her eyes locked with mine, her face shining with a smile as bright as the sun.
All I could do was stare back, helpless in her gaze.
When I did, I learned what it’s like to see a ghost.
She ~~is~~ was a beautiful creature. Even through the dotted half-tone of a black and white newsprint photo, every detail jumped out with vividness that struck me like a punch on the muzzle and made hairs prickle on the back of my neck while a shiver ran down my spine. Freckles danced across her cheeks. She had a mane of thick, straw-like horsehair tied back in a messy half-loose tail with a casualness that did nothing to make it any less pretty, the hue obviously a sun-bleached blonde that came through somehow even in grainy monochrome. Her gracile, still-feminine muscles were sculpted from endless summer days of farm labor.
She seemed so alive she could have walked out of the page and appeared in person, and I think I would have believed it.
My mind involuntarily sped away through space and time, beelining back home again to the town where I grew up. She made me think of any of a dozen earth pony farm-fillies I’d known, neighbors and classmates and acquaintances, who for all I knew were still there on the farms of that little town, still working the orchards and fields of their foremothers, now grown mares and ready to have their own fillies who would one day work the same fields in turn.
Unless one of those mares fell for a Cloudsdale pegasus stallion. Unless the dice-roll of heredity fell on the father’s side, and the filly they had was born the odd pegasus out in that little earth pony town. Unless the filly was her father’s daughter through and through, and when she couldn’t stand to live life on the ground anymore, among earth ponies who had no way to understand why her wings were everything to her, she ran away to her father in the cloud city.
Unless that happened, the way it does sometimes.
I shook off the thought and tried to read what I had actually pulled the newspaper from the archives for.
After several tries, I still only barely skimmed through the actual text of the article. Now it seemed unimportant somehow, just so many words scattered about the page like dead fallen leaves in a dreary newspaper-grey autumn, incomparable to the springtime vibrancy captured in the almost-living photograph of the actual pony herself.
Almost-living, but still a ghost.
Still just a remnant impression left behind by a beautiful pony who once was, but is no longer. Still just an image infused with the illusion of anima, but which would never actually move with the true breath of life.
No, the truth is that I couldn’t bear to read the article. The words would just be more relics of the past, more of what she left behind, just more echoes of what was long ago. More of what was lost. More of what can no longer be.
So after a couple minutes of staring at the photograph, taking in her image until it burned in my mind, until I could close my eyes and still see it as clearly as if they were open, I just closed the newspaper again and put it back in its storage slot in the archives of Princess Twilight’s palace library.
And then I left while the leaving was good, while my eyes were still dry, before I could embarrass myself. But when I got home, the tears I had feared didn’t come. I was too tired; tired of thinking about her and about Rainbow Dash and about the ashes of their life together, and about the ghosts of a little earth pony farm town, and found myself too numbed by fatigue from it all.
Some grey clouds just hold gloom, not rain. They don’t bring life to anything. Those are the ones that should really just be pushed away. I was foolish to have touched it in the first place, that cloud. That newspaper. That photo. What did I think could have possibly come from it? All it ever had was ghosts.
SEASHELL
Excerpt XIFrom the journal of Sunburst, July 2, YS 1329:
This whole day, I couldn’t stop thinking about something every pegasus knows: that history always repeats itself.
No battle is ever the end of all war.
No peace is ever eternal.
This awareness is in our blood, our bones, our feathers, our souls. Pegasi stand eternally ready to fight because we know nothing lasts. We know it’s all fleeting. The greatest commanders and queens do their great works, and then die. The clouds bear us up, our islands in the sky, then dissipate and dissolve into thin air or coalesce into rain and fall away to the rivers and seas. The sun shines, then sets. The moon waxes, then wanes. Even the stars themselves burn bright, then choke and burst out someday.
Then it all comes back around, and it all happens again.
Against it all, we fight to hold on as long as we can.
History always repeats itself. We always fight the same battle, again, and again, and again, forever.
Fighting it is what we know how to do, but what good is it, really? How many times do we really keep what matters, in the end? How many lovers were doomed to be torn apart by the vast tides of fate they couldn’t possibly prevail against, no matter how hard they battled in savage desperation to hold something, anything, of what they had?
It’s all happened before, and it’s all still happening.
History always repeats itself.
Countless times, over and over.
Applejack and Rainbow Dash.
One in the ground, and one brought to the ground in anguish.
My mind wouldn’t stop spiraling around it, around and around this, like a dark condor soaring on a thermal of hot rising entropy.
By the afternoon, I was exhausted by these relentlessly hopeless thoughts.
I tried to take a nap to escape them.
But when I fell asleep, I dreamed.
I dreamed about the sun-warmed dirt under my hooves in a field of sunflowers. I dreamed of moving rainclouds to water them, then clearing the clouds to let the sun shine on them again. I dreamed of chasing a thieving crow out of the vegetable garden, flying in hot pursuit after her, burning inside with an unreasoning fury and harrying her endlessly over farm fields through a surreal fiery orange sunset sky, because in desperation and pain I didn’t know what else to do but fight—something, anything.
I woke up with a jolt, thinking about these things, remembering.
It’s all happened before, and it’s all still happening.
History always repeats itself.
Countless times, over and over.
My mother and my father.
Myself, left as the only winged misfit in a little earth pony farm town I couldn’t make myself belong in, drifting on the storm-waves of a divorce years in the making because my parents being in love wasn’t enough by itself to stop the ship of their marriage from peeling apart plank by creaking plank in slow motion.
Some part of me must have known what I needed and decided to give me the kick it took, because with the rattling shake of those dreams, something finally broke loose. I screamed into my pillow and the tears finally came out.
Once the gates were opened, I started to cry for them, too. Applejack and Rainbow Dash, I mean. I thought of my parents, torn apart by the conflicted calls of the sky and the land, but they were still alive. We could all still see each other in the small doses which suited them. Special occasions. Visits for a day or two. But when I thought of Applejack… of Rainbow Dash, her wife torn away by the swallowing earth, of Applejack, an earth pony to the marrow of her very bones just as much as Rainbow Dash was a pegasus in every fiber… how I knew one was departed for the eternity of the ground in the earth pony tradition of burial, and the other destined someday for the far reaches of the sky in the pegasus rite of cremation.
From the sky we come, and the sky gives us life, and to the sky we return, rising on the smoke, flying away with the ashes on the wind. But when one of us falls in love with an earth pony who can’t follow, who goes instead to the dark vault of the swallowing dirt, how can we face eternity knowing this separation from our beloved? What does that do to somepony? To feel that unbridgeable distance, that loss, with no reunion, ever?
In being reminded of the visceral sense of the divide between my mother and my father left for me in their breaking apart, a gate of comprehension and commiseration was opened. I suddenly felt—not knew from outside at a distance, but felt as if it was my own—how a pain so much worse even than that could sink a pony below the horizon of having any will to keep going.
So I cried.
I cried and I cried, for more than an hour, until my eyes were stinging and burning, and my throat was sore, and my ribs ached like I’d been kicked over and over. I cried until I poured it all out.
But when it was over, I felt better. I felt clear in a way I hadn’t been able to feel for days.
From the catharsis of the storm comes the rainbow.
Every pegasus knows it, because every pegasus knows that history always repeats itself.
The waters of the sea always evaporate to create new clouds. The sun always rises once more. The moon always waxes again.
Though we may be brought to the ground, we always find a way to fly another day. No matter how hard she crashed, Rainbow Dash soars again now, just like Aunt Spitfire said.
Because history always repeats itself.
Because no battle is ever the end of all war.
Because no peace is ever eternal.
Because fighting is what we know how to do, not just to hold on to what was, but to make the most of what will be.
It’s all happened before, and it’s all still happening.
And this may all come back again someday, this sadness, this haunting by the ghosts of who and what was lost. It may bloom again, when the white roses bloom in spring, as they always will. But for now? For now it’s passed, washed away in the rain like the dust always is. For now, the sun is finally out again, and what my time at the wall taught me is that when the sun shines, the joy and the light is too valuable not to appreciate for every moment it lasts.
So let that be the end of it, for now, and for a long time to come. No more grey clouds. Not from this. Not in my skies.
SEASHELL
Excerpt XIIFrom the journal of Sunburst, August 7, YS 1329:
Despite preferring to be alone right now, sometimes I think maybe I’d like to have a daughter someday.
Not that I think it’ll ever happen, of course, if I look at it realistically. There’s two ways to get a foal: make one, or adopt one.
I don’t see myself going through the process of making one. I hear the first step is pretty fun but then it gets less pleasant for a while. I don’t think I’m interested in pregnancy and childbirth as life experiences; I’ve never heard particularly good things about them.
As far as adopting, would I get the stamp of approval while I’m a single mare in the guard who might be moving from posting to posting every couple years or so and maybe going out on special duty assignments in-between those? Yeah, good luck.
So it’s not a serious thought, just an idle fantasy, one of the many that I’m sure goes through the head of everypony at some point.
I guess what brings this one up for me now is the youngest resident of the palace.
Princess Twilight's student is smart as a whip and cute as a button, and it’s so adorable sometimes to see such a tiny filly levitating an old book as big as herself out of the library. Most unicorns her age barely even know how to make their horns glow, but she’s doing stuff that could put many adults to shame. Of course, that should be expected; her kind of rare talent is why she gets to become the personal student of a princess.
I should mention she got her cutie mark a little while back, just like Princess Twilight predicted she would. It’s a purple crystal surrounded by stars representing magic. Apparently she was able to not only find and magically produce the right harmonic frequency to make a sample of amethyst shatter explosively, but then she was also able to gather all the shards and put it back together again into one solid piece, as good as new.
Impressive as all that is, though, she’s still just a little kid. Her innocence makes everything she can do all the more adorable.
And don’t you know, kids say the darndest things.
Early in the midnight shift last night I found her wandering in the dark. She seemed scared, looking around and moving from shadow to shadow, ducking and cowering behind the suits of armor lining the hall. I was a bit concerned to see her out alone at night, and I’m sure she wasn’t having a good time either. The palace can be an eerie place in the dark.
“Azure?” I called out to her. She startled at my voice, though I was trying to talk softly. “Are you alright? What are you doing out of your room at this hour?”
She froze and stared at me with wide eyes while I walked up to her.
“I… I… Just…” She mumbled and looked down at the floor. “…Sorry.”
“It’s alright. You’re not in trouble,” I said. “I just need to know if anything is wrong.”
She looked up at me shyly. “I wanted to see Princess Twilight,” she said. “I was scared. I had a nightmare.”
“Oh. I’m pretty sure the princess is asleep right now,” I said. “I think you'll have to wait until the morning to talk to her.”
“I just wanted to see her,” Azure said. “It’s always safe with her.”
“Hey, the whole palace is safe.” I smiled and tried to look reassuring. “Me and the other guards are here to make sure of that. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. C’mon, I’ll give you a ride back to your room.” I knelt down in front of her.
“Okay.” She climbed up onto my back. She was laying flat on her belly, with her forelegs hooked around my wings. I was a little surprised to find she’s even lighter than she looks. I stood back up and started walking to her room.
As I was walking, I felt her forehoof stroke one of my wings hesitantly. I don’t usually like having my wings messed with, but I didn’t say anything. I kind of understood. It’s easy to be curious about the things other ponies have that you don’t. I’ve always wondered myself just how a unicorn’s horn works and what it’s like to have one, or how it feels to have the subtle but powerful magic of the world run up through an earth pony’s hooves. My mom would try to tell me about it sometimes, but I think some things can’t be understood by just words.
Azure must have ruffled one of my feathers a little, leaving it not feeling exactly right. I’d have to preen it later, but for now I just stretched my wing a bit and gave it a quick shake to see if it would move back into place. I had a feeling it wouldn’t, though, and sure enough, it fell out, slowly drifting its way down through the air and onto the ground. Even in the dim moonlight the bright yellow feather contrasted with the deep scarlet of the hallway carpeting.
Azure gasped. “I’m sorry, ohmygosh I didn't mean to—”
“It’s fine, you didn't do anything,” I said. “If it was that loose, it was ready to be shed anyway. It happens. A new one’ll grow back in no time.”
“Oh.” She sounded relieved.
“Could you do me a favor, though?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said.
“Could you pick it up for me? I can't just go around leaving moltings lying all over the palace, you know,” I said. “If all the pegasi did that, pretty soon the place would look like we’d had the mother of all pillowfights in here.”
She laughed. A faint aura of sky-blue magic surrounded the feather and it floated up into the air. Azure carried it with us while we walked.
A minute later, we were back at her room. I carried her inside and let her down off my back. The room was clean and organized, except for the stacks of books. They randomly rose in haphazardly constructed little towers, mostly clustered around the bed against the middle of the far wall of the room.
I looked around. “So I guess you read a lot.”
“Yep!” She nodded vigorously. “It’s my favorite thing.”
“I like reading too,” I agreed. “It’s a lot of fun. Good for your brain.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Only… well, Princess Twilight says I should never stop reading to learn more but she also said I have to remember that books can’t teach me everything. I think she’s right. Sometimes there’s things I can’t find in books.”
“No. I guess not,” I said. “Like flying. I didn't actually know what it was like until I learned how to do it myself.”
“And magic!” she said. “There’s lots of books that tell you how to do magic, but you don't know how it really feels until you can do it with your own horn. Then you know what the books are talking about when they say you’ll feel a certain thing when you do a certain spell.”
“Exactly.” I nodded. “Experience is very important.”
“But there's some things…” she said hesitantly. “Some things are just confusing. You're a grown-up and grown-ups know a lot of things sometimes because they have more experience, right? Maybe you can help. Can I ask you about one?”
“Uh…” I was hesitant, but I couldn't see much harm. “Fine, I guess so. Shoot.”
She looked up at me expectantly with her big pale purple eyes. Her face was so innocent.
“What's a lesbian?” she asked.
Ooooooh boy. There it was.
I just about choked. A little feeling of panic hit me inside. I thought she was just going to ask me to take her on a flight so she could know what it was like to be a pegasus or something, not spring this on me. I was sorely tempted to pawn off the standard cop-out answer of ‘you’ll find out when you’re older’ on her.
“Er… well, uh… ermmm…” I fumbled around for a second or two without really saying anything.
I was really between a rock and a hard place. On the one hoof, I was a kid once and I also asked questions like these. I usually asked my father because he would always shoot straight with me about the things I asked, and I always respected honesty a lot more than being told to just wait until some undefinable ‘when you’re older.’ It's not like having my curiosity answered ever hurt me, anyway. But on the other hoof, Azure wasn't my filly. How much should I say? Did I really have any right? Would saying anything be unwanted interference?
But a sort of realization came over me after a moment. I knew, now that the question was out there, I was answering it one way or another no matter what I said or didn’t say. Sure, I could get all awkward and give her the wait ‘til you're older excuse, but that would tell her that lesbians are an awkward and difficult subject that ponies don’t want to talk about—that they’re abnormal, a thing we sweep under the rug. Was that really the answer I wanted to give her?
No.
For a lot of reasons, no.
So I guess I thought it wasn’t much of a choice, really.
“Alright,” I started. “You know how sometimes ponies fall in love with each other in a ‘special somepony’ kind of way, right? Like when a mother and a father pony decide to… you know, have a foal?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Right. So, a lesbian is a mare who’s attracted that way to other mares, instead of to stallions.”
“Oh!” Her eyes lit up in comprehension. “That’s it? That’s not a big deal. I already know ponies like that. One of the other fillies in school has two moms instead of a mom and a dad.”
“Right.” I nodded. “Then I guess you already know. It’s just the way some ponies are, that’s all.”
“And…” She hesitated. “And that’s okay, isn't it?”
“Yep.” I nodded. “Don’t know why it wouldn’t be.”
“Do you like other mares?” she asked me.
I stared at her, not expecting that question. But at this point, the ice was broken on the topic and I’d already started being honest, so…
“I guess, sometimes,” I said.
“What do you mean ‘sometimes?’” she wondered. “Do you… like stallions?”
“Also sometimes.”
“How does that work?” She looked at me curiously. “So, you’re only a lesbian part of the time?”
“I don’t really know,” I admitted. “I never thought about it like that. A pony can like whoever she likes.”
“So then why can’t a princess be a lesbian?” she asked.
“Uh…” I was a bit stumped about where that was coming from. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Captain Dash said so,” she told me. “She was talking to Princess Twilight. I heard her when they were alone together. Captain Dash said,” — at this point she did a cute and childlike but respectable imitation of Captain Dash's scratchy voice — “‘I think we both know there’s some things we can’t have. A lesbian princess? It’ll always just be too much of a controversy and get in the way of everything.’” She returned to her normal voice. “And after the captain said that, the princess sounded kind of sad but she said she thought so too.” She looked up at me. “But why, though? If it’s okay to be one?”
My jaw almost dropped to the floor. I was stunned. For a few seconds, I couldn’t say anything.
“Hey… uh… look…” I finally managed. “This really, really sounds like it’s turning into personal business. I think it’s something you and the princess are going to have to talk about some time, later, maybe, when she’s ready. Sorry, Azure. I really don't have any answers for that one.”
I stood there in uncomfortable silence for a moment while she furrowed her eyebrows in thought.
“I don’t get it,” she finally concluded.
“Can’t say I do, either.” I shrugged. “Right now, though, what I get is that it’s way past your bedtime. You’re gonna need your rest to keep up with school and with Princess Twilight’s lessons, right?”
“Not really.” She smirked. “It’s the weekend! I don’t have classes tomorrow.”
Right. Of course it was. Made me look really smart, didn’t it? “Regardless.” I shook my head. “You should be getting some sleep, and I need to get back out there and keep guarding. How about it?”
“Alright.” She finally cooperated and climbed into bed, but not before hugging me without warning. I froze, not being sure if it was appropriate to return the hug, so I didn’t. I doubt it would have mattered much if I had, anyway; hugs aren’t very comforting through the cold, hard steel rings of a guard’s chain shirt. It didn’t last more than a second or so before Azure released me and pulled back.
I pulled up the blankets and tucked her in after she laid down. “Goodnight, Azure,” I said.
“Goodnight Ms. Sunburst,” she yawned.
I exited and closed the door to her room, and went back to my watch until I was relieved by the morning shift.
Thinking back on all this, I feel like I may have let Azure down by not being able to answer her question about Princess Twilight, and it gives me some regret. It’s not lost on me how the uncomforting cold and hardness of hugging my chainmail shirt has its mirror in the unsatisfying lack of an explanation to offer, either, and I feel like I failed her twice. But at the same time, I’m also still reeling from the question the kid just dropped on me. I'm nervous about even writing it down. Maybe this is another one of those things I should just… forget.
SEASHELL
Excerpt XIIIFrom the journal of Sunburst, August 21, YS 1329:
Here’s a little bit of an interesting thing I’ve learned: the princess likes burgers. She loves them. I mean in a serious way. They’re her favorite, especially with a big pile of hay fries fresh out of a deep fryer. The greasier and more ketchup slathered, the better, too, both the burger and fries. A frosty cold chocolate milkshake more often than not rounds it all out (if you can call that a ‘rounded meal’).
Captain Dash likes that kind of food, too.
I guess I’ve known this for a while, because maybe once a week or so if there’s nothing else keeping them too busy, the princess and the captain get together and have a feast of takeout burgers and fries from a fast food place not too far from here. Ostensibly, it’s so they can turn the daily security and logistics report from a usual brief few notes into a working dinner where the two of them go more in-depth into things.
Tonight was one of those nights.
I was on the evening shift. It’s my favorite shift, I think. This time of day is nice and quiet; not as quiet as the midnight shift, when everypony but the guard is asleep so there’s nopony to have to worry about babysitting (aside from the occasional foal who’s up past her bedtime), but nowhere near the noise and commotion of the morning and afternoon shifts with all the business of the day still going on. The random timer we use to make security sweeps less predictable had just gone off, so I was walking through the halls on a patrol. I try to be as unobtrusive as I can. I like to think I’m pretty good at it and my presence usually goes unnoticed. As a result, once in a while I catch certain bits of conversations that maybe I wouldn’t if the participants knew I was in earshot. Fortunately—well, no, not ‘fortunately,’ more like a basic requirement of being a good guard—I’m not the kind to go blabbing.
Who would I tell, anyway? Except maybe this journal, I mean. You don’t count, journal. Sorry.
I went through the big assembly hall first, but the princess doesn’t exactly hang out there after the day’s business with dignitaries and whoever else needs attention is finished. She doesn’t like the official areas, the big dining room or the ministerial offices or anything. Unless she has to do some sort of official entertainment like a state dinner or something, she prefers to eat in one of the smaller, more personal rooms off in some corner of the palace. It’s more private that way, I suppose, and privacy is valued because it’s hard to come by for a princess. It makes me feel a little guilty about intruding, but it’s my job.
I’d just as soon leave her to whatever comfortable solitude she can find within her shell, but that’s not always how it works, here in this cage.
And so, I was walking down one of the corridors and I caught that smell… greasy fast food. That’s how I knew it was burger night, and it didn’t surprise me to find them together in one of the viewing rooms. They were sitting at a table just big enough for two ponies, in front of the huge windows looking out over the gardens with a breathtaking scenic view of the flowers glowing in all their bright colors in the last of the day’s fading sunset fire.
I only took a quick look at them through the doorway and I didn’t hear all that much, just a few words passing between the two. I wasn’t there to eavesdrop, I just happened by pure chance to see and hear what I did.
Captain Dash said something funny. I couldn’t hear all of what it was. Princess Twilight did. She swallowed her bite of burger and let out a tiny laugh in response. That intrigued me. It’s so rare to actually hear her laugh. I couldn't help but for my attention to be captured by it.
And… I’m not sure I even feel comfortable writing down what I’m about to. As stated before, and as I’m starting to be too insistent about, I don't mean to spy. If it’s only for myself, though, just for this journal and nopony else will ever see it, what harm can it do?
The princess said something after she laughed.
“Oh, Rainbow, that’s just too funny.”
Those were her exact words. She didn’t say ‘Captain Dash.’ It struck me how she wasn’t being formal because it wasn't a superior and a subordinate having a structured professional exchange. Instead, it was two friends: old friends, best friends, the kind of friends who knew each other better than a lot of ponies know their own families.
It wasn’t just the words themselves, either. It was the way she said them. I’m not sure how to describe it other than this: it wasn't the voice we hear at court. There’s a certain kind of voice that goes with the public face a princess wears. There’s a persona to it.
But this? This was more. This was something else that fit her in a deeper, truer way.
This was her real voice, undisguised.
It seems strange—because how can a pony have more than one voice?—but I’ve been around her long enough to know it’s true. This real voice comes out in rare fleeting moments once in a while. Sometimes it’s with her student, for example.
Tonight, especially, it had something in it that I will never forget.
It had a lot of genuine happiness in it.
Right now, for this one moment, for those few words, it wasn’t a mask. It wasn’t hiding any feelings, and it wasn’t being wielded with restraint to remain detached. For this one moment, right here, right now, she was truly happy and it truly showed. The real pony shone through like the sunset blazing in the windows, showing all her real colors, all the real warmth of the fire of her soul inside, alive and vital.
And it was so beautiful.
It was in her eyes and the way she looked at Captain Dash. There was something in her smile and her body language. She was relaxed and comfortable and letting herself slouch just a little, and not worrying one bit about holding her posture up in the supremely perfect poise of a princess. She was a whole different pony.
When she was with Captain Dash, I caught a glimpse of the real flesh and blood Twilight Sparkle.
For all the time I could spend writing about it, the truth is, the whole thing lasted barely a few seconds while I was walking through the hall, passing by the doorway to the viewing room. But that was enough. In what I saw and heard in those few seconds, I knew that to the princess, this wasn’t just a meeting to receive some report, it—
No.
I’m being silly.
I should scratch all of this out, and maybe burn the page. Nopony would ever dare to call it anything else, not even the princess or the captain, because of course it wasn’t anything else. Proper separations of personal life and professional duty need to be maintained, and propriety must be strictly enforced. No one knows it better than ponies like them. As far as what could be happening, it was all business, nothing more. Certainly it could never be suggested that anything more personal could be taking place.
I’m sure everything I’ve written is all just in my head, and all just overactive speculation arising from reading too much into tiny meaningless things. I must be crazy, to be basing all this on just a few seconds I happened to catch.
You know what? Yes. Obviously, I’m mistaken about all of this. All I was seeing was a very dry discussion about the security and logistics report. I have to be wrong and there was no sense of deep-running bonds, no feeling of warm friendship, no intimacy, no closeness, no sense of joy in just the presence of the other pony.
No, none of that at all. I know there was no way that, on at least some unspoken and maybe even partly unconscious level, the princess was on a date with Captain Dash.
It’s as plain as the sunlight on a clear day that this is impossible.
I shouldn’t be writing down such obviously untrue things.
Should I?
But how else… how else can I explain now, what I heard from Azure? I admit, I held out on completely believing her at first. She’s a child. Misunderstandings happen. Ponies can be misheard. Things can mean something else when the context is missing. There could have been any number of reasons not to take what she said at face value, even if she is simply curious and well-meaning.
Once you see it with your own eyes, though…
SEASHELL
Excerpt XIVFrom the journal of Sunburst, August 23, YS 1329:
There’s a surprising number of ponds here in Canterlot, dotting the parks of the city. They’re fed by cold clear snowmelt from higher up on Canterlot Mountain, and the streams cascade down into waterfalls as they drop from one terraced city-shelf to another and flow through them on the way down to sea level.
Today, I was sitting by the shores of one of them, thinking about the things I’ve seen. I thought about Captain Dash, and about Princess Twilight, and them eating stupid fast-food burgers, and laughing at each other’s stupid jokes, and why I had to be stupid enough to see it at all when I knew that was a stupid thing to do.
What was I going to do now? I wondered if my next move would be any smarter.
I watched a snail crawl in the silt of the pond, ponderously creeping along, carrying its spiral shell on its back. What a life, to have the option to just not care, to be able to hide away from everypony else until none of it mattered anymore.
How do snails even get up a mountain to reach a pond this high, anyway? I’ve heard it’s on the feet of birds, usually. Probably ducks. No pond goes long without ducks visiting it at some point. When I was a little filly I used to love to chase ducks (don’t ask, I was a weird kid and it was a boring town), and their response was to fly away. They wanted as little to do with most of the other creatures of the world as the snail does, just with a different way of escaping.
It’s the snails and the ducks I envy sometimes. It’s in them that I see my own longings. I wish I didn’t have to deal with this.
But what I think I really don’t want to face is this fact: that running and hiding don’t solve problems, and it’s not the ducks or the snails I learned the most from.
It’s the swans.
A swan taught me a lot, once upon a time—about myself, about where I came from, about the way I see the world. Now that I’m thinking about it, I realize I’ve never written that story down. Well, this seems like as good a time as any, so here it is:
It was during summer, when school was out. For most foals in a little farm town there were plenty of chores to do, but not enough to keep the local swimming hole from being a busy place on the hottest days.
That is, until the swans decided they liked it. Nopony was sure where they came from, or why, only that one morning, some of us went down to the water, and the pair of huge birds was there. Like a king and a queen, they paddled around the pond, serenely and regally in the golden light coming through the morning mist, surveying all that was theirs.
Or, they were serene and regal, until they saw trespassing little fillies and colts about to invade their sovereign domain. Then they were pure terror in pure snow-white plumage.
They swam for the shore in a beeline toward us until they reached the shallows. There, the cob (that’s what I later learned a stallion-swan is called) burst up out of the water, hissing and flapping, puffing up to look even more huge than he already was. The pen (the mare-swan), presumably his… marefriend? Wife? Swans pair up for life. Wife seems more accurate. Anyway. She wasn’t far behind, and didn’t seem any less hostile, but she was more cautious and stayed in the water, scolding us from a distance. The pair’s unexpected wrath sent earth pony fillies and colts scattering randomly in a colorful stampede of panicking children. A few paused at what they thought would be a safe distance to turn and look back. Most just kept making tracks until they were out of sight.
Everypony ran except this fool, the one writing now so many years later. The irony of being the only pony on the scene with wings meant I should have been able to escape even faster than all the rest, but I was the only one who didn’t try. I guess I didn’t see what the fuss was about; I was a pegasus and I’d run up against pushy birds before. I had enough naïve little punk bluster to think there was no way an overgrown goose was going to get the better of me, descendant of great wingèd warriors, blood of the old Cloud Empire.
And more than that, I saw something I just couldn’t stand.
It was something in the way he stared me down, something in his obsidian dead black eyes, something in the way he hissed and spat threats, something in the way he puffed and posed… I knew what I saw in it all. I understood his kind. Hot anger surged through me, scorching over my mind and burning in my heart as I recognized him for what he was:
A bully.
I saw it as clear as the blue sky. He was nothing but a bully, him and his bitch of a bird-wife, just snowy white petty tyrants trying to take the pond from us.
Something about the rage I felt over the injustice of it kept me there, then pushed me to take a slow step forward toward him. The heat of anger was flushing my skin, prickling me with beading sweat and making the mane on the back of my neck bristle and stand up in my own equine threat display.
He hissed another avian eviction decree, wordless but with unmistakable hostile intention.
I stood my ground. “No, YOU beat it!” I shouted back in a hot-blooded hoarse bark.
The swan stood tall and flared his wings in a final warning.
I reared up and flared my wings in challenge.
Then he charged.
So I charged.
We met in a flurry of whipping wings. Feathers flew, snowy white and bright yellow mixed together and bursting up in a cloud around us.
Real, no-nonsense fights, I learned in that moment, aren’t ‘epic.’ They’re fast and savage and undignified. They start before either party really realizes it, and they’re over almost before anypony knows what’s happening.
Ours lasted maybe ten seconds, if that. It felt like the blink of an eye but also an eternity at the same time somehow.
Caught up as I was in the rush, I don’t remember all the details. Most of what I do remember is throwing hooves and beating my wings for balance and traction while the swan beat his wings for the sake of the sheer violence of smacking me around the ears with them. I vaguely remember a sound like being in the winds of a tornado.
I remember most clearly how it ended: he swung his head forward to try to peck me, but I was quicker and saw it coming, so I darted forward under the blow and bit his outstretched neck. I didn’t hold anything back as I chomped down, either; I was entirely driven by adrenaline mixed with wild animal instinct and the sheer thrill of combat. Still, I was just a little filly at the time, and fortunately for us both, it wasn’t a very solid bite on anything important. I mostly just managed to get skin and feathers, and he was able to yank back and pull his neck out of my jaws without any blood drawn. Regardless, the realization that I wasn’t going to run and I would bite with reckless abandon if I had the chance must have been enough of a scare, because that’s when he panicked and broke off from battle, turning tail and flying away as fast as he could. Seeing her cob make a break for it, the pen took to the air right behind him, and the pair fled together.
I just stood there for a moment or two in the sudden silence left behind once he was gone. Feathers slowly drifted down through the air, settling like big silent snowflakes in summer.
And just like that, I’d taken back the pond. It seemed like no big accomplishment in the haze of the aftermath. I hardly even knew what I’d done. I was, to be honest, mostly just dumbfounded by the noise and rush of what had just happened and the stark contrast of sudden silence and stillness in its wake.
Then the adults started showing up because the foals who’d run away had good enough sense to go for help, like I probably should have done. My mom grabbed me, and the world was a blur of motion and commotion once again as I was being rushed to the doctor’s office.
About halfway there, the adrenaline was wearing off enough that I began to really feel what had just happened to me. I realized that I ached and stung in a lot of places, and when I looked down at myself, I could see blood on my leg, so I started crying.
Somehow, somepony got word to my dad at the town weather management office where he worked. He met us there in the doctor’s waiting room not long after my mom and I had arrived.
He took one look at me and asked in shock what in Equestria had happened.
“Your daughter picked a fight with a swan,” my mom informed him, glaring at me sternly.
Uh oh. The ‘your daughter’ stuff was coming out. It happened when I’d done something too wild and savage, too ‘pegasus,’ for earth pony sensibilities. That’s when I knew I was in for it. Grounded. At least a week. No playing outside. Extra chores. The works.
But she wasn’t wrong. I am his daughter, and I’ll never be anything else. “Whoa!” He went from looking worried to grinning slightly at me. “Didya win?”
“Yeah!” I looked up at him and nodded triumphantly through my tears. At least, at the time I figured I was the winner, the swan having been the one to chicken out first and all.
My mom’s death glare told me she didn’t see things that way, and it told my dad that he’d asked exactly the wrong question. He knew the score as quickly as I did.
“Well, it doesn’t matter who won, you shouldn’t be getting into fights,” he covered, dropping the smirk and trying to look as sternly disappointed as my mom.
I wasn’t fooled, but I also realized it wasn’t the time to act unfooled. I was in deep as it was. Better to just go along with it. There were too many ways to make things worse, and no ways to make them better, not at this point.
“I know.” I sheepishly stared down at the floor. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m just sorry you won’t get the chance to tell that poor swan you’re sorry,” my mother scolded me.
The doctor took me back to the examination room. She gave me a good look-over and declared that I was going to have some impressive bruises and maybe a nice black eye from where I’d been smacked in the face with one of the swan’s broad, heavy wings, but I was lucky and it was mostly superficial. The one thing she was really concerned about was a gash on my right foreleg where the swan had gotten me with his claws. After bringing my parents back to consult with them, she washed out the cut with some kind of crazy-strong disinfectant. She told me to “be brave because it might sting a little.”
‘Sting a little,’ my flank. It was awful; the feel of pure acid on a raw nerve. It felt like I was being branded. I cried again.
After she washed and poked around at the cut a bit, giving it the usual doctor’s routine of thoughtful stares and unexplained wordless ‘hmmmm’ noises, she seemed to reach a decision. “Well, young mare, that leg needs stitches,” she pronounced.
“What’s ‘stitches’?” I asked, pretty sure I already had an idea but hoping with the desperate optimism of naïve youth it wasn’t like the kind I was thinking of.
Yeah, it was pretty much exactly the kind I was thinking of.
I was scared at the prospect of getting sewn up like a ripped sock, but the doctor got out a bottle of some sort of gel and spread it over the cut and it all went numb like magic. With the doctor being an earth pony, I know now with hindsight it wasn’t magic, just lidocaine. Despite my mom holding me in a hug and trying to keep my face buried in her chest fluff so I wouldn’t see what was happening and freak out, I peeked anyway, of course, and I was astounded to see myself getting mended with a needle and thread but not feeling it at all.
Strangely, while I was obviously glad not to feel anything, the lack of sensation was more unsettling than I think pain would have been.
Pain would have made sense, when a needle was being poked through my flesh to sew me up. Pain would have been real.
But this? This… nothing?
It was confusing and just didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem like the truth. It felt like something was being disconnected and covered up.
I guess most of all, it felt like a lie.
And because of that, I hated it. Not that the pain would have been any better; both options were bad, but one was at least reality and the other was not.
What the swan taught me was that I value reality.
What I have to decide now is, what do I acknowledge about the reality of the wounded swans I see in front of me now, every day in Princess Twilight’s palace? Is it better to choose to be numb and pretend there’s nothing there this time?
I don’t know.
I just don’t know anymore.
SEASHELL
Excerpt XVFrom the journal of Sunburst, August 27, YS 1329:
I’m sure that some kind of inevitability of circumstance making her somepony else is what Princess Twilight feels when she has to be the kind-looking but untouchable sculpture that constitutes the public face of a princess. She has no choice, or so she believes. I don’t think she even knows it happens. For the most part, nopony else does either.
My eyes are open and I see it now.
Am I the only one?
Most significantly, by contrast I see why that’s not her real self. I see it in the little things where Captain Dash is involved. I saw it in the roses, and I see it in the way they eat dinner together when they can find the time and privacy. I’m starting to see it just every so often in the tiny split-second glances during morning briefings the captain delivers to the princess. I see it in passing in the hallways, in quick looks back over the withers.
It’d be easier if I didn’t see it, but I do, and I can’t be numb to it, no matter how foolish it might be not to, so there’s the truth about the princess. She’s different around Captain Dash. In little glimmers another more real pony comes through—a much happier pony.
It’s subconscious, and she has no idea… but it’s there.
And what about Captain Dash, for her part? Does this go both ways?
It would be easy to chalk this up to just unrequited longing by the princess, but I don’t think it’s as simple as that. Captain Dash’s part in whatever is between them seems more deeply hidden, but I can’t say I think she’s oblivious or not participating. It’s clear enough that in her moments alone with the princess, she does drop her mask of being just a guard and opens herself up as something else instead.
Out in the open, there’s the same little things as with the princess, the glances, but it's harder to catch—faster, sneakier, and even more hidden. She’s good at it. Even with my scout training to observe and pick out all the hidden details, I’m hard-pressed to even say it’s really there. Honestly, I’m not always sure. Sometimes I think so, sometimes I think I’m just imagining it. Maybe that’s why it was easy to pretend at first not to see anything.
But now that I do, I can’t help the feeling that she seems scared of it. She fights and resists revealing anything as hard as she can. I suppose that’s necessary. A princess can get away with a few things here and there, a blind eye turned in an unspoken due paid to her status as royalty. If Captain Dash’s very well-shaped flank happens to catch her eye for just a second, well… she can be forgiven. We all look at other ponies once in a while. It’s a reflex, really, she can’t help it. That’s how it would be brushed off.
The captain of the guard, on the other hoof, has no such luxury. She has to have unparalleled discipline. She’s the leader who has to set the foundational example for all the rest of us in the guard, and that means no unprofessional lusty eyes on another pony she can’t have. It means nothing unbecoming or unsightly to her position, ever.
There’s something so obvious she could never hide it, though.
Just her presence and her service here says it the most and the loudest, enough to overpower any amount of caution and secrecy and render them a moot point.
I know that she loves the princess.
The more I keep thinking about it, the more it’s obvious. Whatever life she had in Ponyville, she left it behind to follow the princess to Canterlot. Maybe after the passing of her wife that wasn’t a whole lot, but still, the fact remains: she accepted the Princess’s personal commission to serve, and pledged her own life to defend her princess against anything that might threaten harm. She’s made it clear to us all in her dedication that this isn’t just her job, it’s her personal calling. She gave the princess her life, to do what she would with it, just so that she could be here and stay with her. If there isn’t love in that, of the highest kind, we might as well just all give up and stop looking because I don't know where else to find it in this world.
In all the little things I’ve seen and all the puzzle pieces falling into place now that I know what I’m looking at, I’m realizing that Princess Twilight and Captain Dash bring out what’s most real and most essential about each other, from deep down in their hearts under the masks they have to wear in public. Under the Princess’s crown, and under the guard’s chainmail coat—under their respective shells—there’s the reality of who they both are.
In the center of it all, under all the outward images and all the defenses, there’s the two ponies who are nearly mad with the desire and the unconscious will to give themselves so completely to each other, if only they could.
That’s love.
I think… no, I know … they don't even see it themselves, because they can't afford to, not in their positions. But that’s love.
I suppose this journal entry is my confession—my admission that, although I may not know much about love being as solitary as I am, I know what I see in them and I can’t deny it any more. I’m ready to be honest with myself about it now. I would rather feel that needle’s stab in my flesh than try to pretend there’s nothing there. I can’t help wondering if it would be better for them to see it, too, difficult as it might be. Pleasure and pain are two sides of the same coin. How can anypony live, I mean really be alive, in the state of numbness that comes from trying to have neither?
SEASHELL
Excerpt XVIFrom the journal of Sunburst, September 22, YS 1329:
Now I know where Princess Twilight gets her well-practiced pleasant-but-distant demeanor, and it breaks my heart.
Other than that, the Summer’s End Ball was a huge success.
I got my mane done up in a fashionable style at one of the city’s best hairdressers, and slid myself into an incredible little red dress from one of Canterlot’s upscale boutiques that made my flank look amazing (if I do say so myself), and got to eat tasty snacks, and I was even asked to dance by a handsome stallion in a flawless tuxedo and then by a pretty mare in a dress even more spectacular than mine.
I can’t say I know the first thing about dancing, and I was kinda stiff and uninspired at it, but it doesn’t matter; at least I did well enough that none of them realized I was a guard on plain-clothes duty (if you can call the clothes at soiree like this ‘plain’) planted in the crowd.
There were a number of us from the guard mixed in with the guests. It was a way to balance out the need for security with needing to avoid the mood-killing effect of a festive event being watched over by guards in armor. It was also an interesting change of pace for those of us who had the opportunity to work a shift in silk party dresses and polite party-chatter instead of the usual chain-shirts and silent stares.
Of course I won’t say it was all peaches and cream. There’s always little issues to deal with at these things, like the middle-aged unicorn noblemare who kicked off the festivities with several back-to-back cocktails after having already clearly pre-gamed a bit before she’d even arrived. I tried to get her to slow her roll on imbibing, but she didn’t listen. At the pace she insisted on going it wasn’t long before I ended up awkwardly escorting her out of the palace while she stumbled her hoofsteps and leaned on me while complaining in slurred speech about how her husband doesn’t touch her ‘that way’ enough anymore, until I was able to get her into one of the coaches that had been retained for the occasion so she could be driven home safely. The coach-mare seemed perfectly happy to take her, the back-seat barf risk from a passenger in that kind of state apparently not even being a consideration. Services contracts for palace special events must pay really well.
Once she wakes up and gets over her hangover, I wonder if she’ll be mad about missing most of the party, or just relieved that somepony shooed her out before she could cause a big scene and end up in the blooper section of the social pages. Either way, I don’t think she’ll remember me. In another two days, I doubt I’ll really remember her, either.
I know who I will remember.
Not for the right reasons, but I will never forget her.
Celestia showed up.
I’d never seen her in person before. I’d also heard she almost never shows up to anything anymore. Somehow, some way, Princess Twilight must have convinced her. Maybe the fact that the Ball was on the equinox helped, with the day being so significant to a pony associated with the sun.
To say that Celestia is spectacular would be to say that white-hot molten steel is a bit warm.
Her legs alone are as long as most ponies are tall.
Her horn is a tower of purest, brightest marble, a long spire reaching for the sky.
Her wings, broad and white as clean snow, arrayed in huge primaries, made me think of a swan, if a swan was elevated from a mean fowl of the lake to the heights of all the most noble facets the soul of a pony can display.
But some part of the swan was still in her.
I could tell it was when she descended the grand staircase from the 2nd floor VIP green rooms to join the guests on the ballroom floor, gliding down the plush red carpeting taking smooth, even steps at a deliberate pace, not hesitating but not rushed.
She waded and swam among the encircling nobles flowing around her, shaking hooves and exchanging greetings with calm eyes and an unwavering placating smile. “How are you, Lord Fancypants? It’s been some years, hasn’t it?” and “Lady Maple Glade, how wonderful to see you again. Is the syrup business treating you well?” and so on emanated from her as she navigated them, engagingly measured pleasantries feeding the parasocial connections she cultivated out of a thousand years of necessity and habit as she swam, the greatest of swans plying her way around on the waters of power.
Most of the noble rabble were content to take the morsel she’d throw to them and then move aside to let the next in line get their bite of smalltalk.
Not Princess Twilight, and not just because a princess is due more than a mere cordial greeting from one of her coequals. She wanted more. She wanted something real.
I saw such longing as she stuck by Celestia’s side. I saw her face light up with joy to be in the tall white princess’s presence and speak with her in a way an old friend would, and darken with every interruption by another schmoozing noble chitter-chattering about the season’s fashion, or just ‘casually’ mentioning something about that ‘silly little trade tariff,’ or whatever else.
I saw her fawning over Celestia’s attention, and I knew when I saw it that I was watching history repeat itself: Princess Twilight had revered Celestia as a student, and she still did now. In some very important ways, Student Twilight becoming Princess Twilight didn’t mean she had ever really gotten over the need for her teacher’s love. I could see her drinking in every second she could, hanging on to every word, craving for every approving smile. Being elevated to the top and then being left there had left her alone, without the presence of the family she’d found along the way.
She was starving for that companionship from somepony again.
She had been for a long, long time.
For years, she’d had to deny herself, settling for whatever secret little scraps she could get in the few moments she could find with a real friend and nopony else watching and expecting her to be a princess instead of a real pony.
Watching Celestia handle the nobles swarming around her, keeping them at a distance, managing them with such adroit skill at keeping up the screen of separation between her public face and her real person, I saw just where Twilight’s Proper Princess façade had come from. She was a brilliant student, and along with everything else, she’d learned this, too. She’d learned it from the very best, from a swan with the practiced mastery of a thousand years of being so thoroughly alone on the lake of her kingdom.
I felt such sadness, such a wrenching, aching pain in my heart, when I finally put it all together and understood this part of the story – when I finally realized how deeply this had hurt them both.
A lot of things suddenly made a lot more sense, and it was crushing.
It got worse around midnight, when Celestia had to bow out and take her leave from the Ball, leaving Princess Twilight utterly alone again.
She was still surrounded by the crowd, of course, the throng of the nobility still enjoying the party, as they would be into the small hours of the morning yet. But she was alone now, without her teacher, and beneath her brave, smiling party face, it was obvious how deeply she felt it and despaired.
After Celestia’s departure, I watched with growing concern while the princess sullenly downed three flutes of champagne in ten minutes and then got most of the way through number four before one of the other guards in the crowd discreetly pulled her aside, and she excused herself politely to one of the private areas of the castle, away from the crowd.
She didn’t return to the party, probably realizing that at this point just turning in and sleeping it off would be the wiser move.
I had to stay to the end, until the last stragglers were herded out at about 3am. Being on duty, I didn’t have the benefit of being able to try to take the edge off with three or four flutes of champagne, or maybe something stronger. All I could do was keep it professional until the job was done, then go home, peel off my dress, collapse into bed, and cry myself to sleep.
But hey, the social gossip columns all agree, it was the high-society party of the season: a splendid time was had by all and the whole event went off without a hitch. It’s unanimous, the Summer’s End Ball was a huge success. And who am I to disagree?
SEASHELL
Excerpt XVIIFrom the journal of Sunburst, September 25, YS 1329:
I hate trying to sleep during the day. It’s the one problem with rotating to the midnight shift. Getting used to it takes a few days (and a set of blackout curtains), and it always feels like by the time I’m really ‘there,’ it’s time to rotate out again to the next shift. No matter how hard I try, it’s never really the same as sleeping at normal hours. I don’t think it ever can be, not physically or psychologically. I toss and turn more. My brain thinks it wants to be awake, so it resists shutting down into a less active state. The dreams during those daylight hours are more intense and more real feeling than the dreams that come at night. They’re more bizarre and they hit harder.
Sometimes it can be a revealing experience. I’ve started to feel a lurking suspicion that some dreams, especially the ones that come from day-sleeping, are a kind of barometer for mental health.
If that’s true, I’m not sure I’m doing so great lately.
I dreamt yesterday that I was back at the Seawall.
It was everything I remember. It was more. There was more beach, and the wall was longer, so long it seemed endless. The fields of scrubland, with sandy soil and short stunted grasses and spiky ground-clinging shrubs, stretched out forever.
It was so empty, so completely empty and alone, under the overcast sky of rolling steel grey clouds.
I was so happy there. I've missed it so much more than I even realized.
I flew to the beach and landed, and just walked and enjoyed the heavenly feeling of the soft fine sand under my hooves and the music of rhythmic washing waves. I looked back over my shoulder now and then to see the trail of hoofprints stretching away forever behind myself.
After what felt like an eternity of beach-walking, the endless stretch of sand was finally broken by something new. I reached a rosebush growing along the wall.
They were white roses.
I went closer to them to investigate. They made my skin crawl with apprehension. I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew roses shouldn’t be growing here.
Not here.
Of all places, not here.
Please. Not here.
Captain Dash shouldn’t be here, either, yet she was. Actually… actually, I think it was just Rainbow Dash, not Captain Dash. She wasn’t wearing any armor or any of her on-duty equipment. She was completely naked, as unshelled as any ordinary pony, a state I rarely ever see her in. It made her seem so exposed, so down-to- earth and vulnerable. A chain snaked out from inside the rose bush, attached to something somewhere in the middle of the wickedly thorny snarl of thick vine-stems. It was latched to an iron collar clasped around her neck, locked and keeping her leashed here near the white roses. She sat with her back turned to them, trying not to look. Her eyes were closed and she was hanging her head. She looked sadder than any pony I’ve ever seen.
I walked up to her. “You don’t belong here,” I said.
“Can’t get away. Been trying for years, but I just can’t.” She looked at me, briefly opening her eyes. They had more pain in them than I’ve ever seen. It hurt me to see her suffer so much. I wanted to hug her and tell her it would be alright, and let her cry on my withers however long she needed to.
I couldn’t.
I couldn’t say such a thing when I knew it wasn’t true; when I knew that what hurt her wasn’t something that could ever be ‘alright.’ All I could do was watch in silence while she suffered. I writhed inside, powerless and upset with myself over not being able to do anything.
It was too much to take and I couldn’t stay there, so I started walking again. What else could I do but move on?
No matter how far I walked, no matter how I tried to run away, I couldn’t stop smelling the spring fragrance perfume of white roses on the wafting sea breeze.
The smell haunted me until I came to another bush, red roses this time: vivid crimson, as bright and as dark as the jarring color of blood. Princess Twilight was there. Like Rainbow Dash, I think she was just Twilight Sparkle now. She wasn’t wearing any of her regalia—once again she was totally naked.
But she wasn’t in an iron collar.
What she was held by was worse. Fine-linked gold chains wrapped around her head, covering her eyes like a blindfold, and into those chains were intertwined silvery steel artificial roses, dozens of them, on long, cruelly thorned stems of sharp metal wire. The spines dug into her flesh, into her eyes, shedding heavy drops of blood slowly running down her face in deep wet ruby trails.
I stared in sinking, prickling horror, and when I looked closely, I could see that the chains across her face were studded with bright purple gems, the same color as the ones that rest in the center of the crown she wears for the most formal of her appearances as Princess. I realized that she was wearing her regalia after all.
This was her symbol of office now.
And this is what it had done to her.
While I watched, she wandered. I started to realize she wasn’t entirely blind. Her steps were confident, deftly stepping around rocks and driftwood on sure hooves. By the way she moved, I knew that somehow, she could see. Binding up her real eyes had been a gristly trade, one that gave her a magic sight instead. She’d taken the gift, but it came at a price, a terrible, self-sacrificed price, and the trade was that now she could see everything—everything but what she was searching for. She wandered in circles around the red rose bush, feeling it was somewhere near, but never able to get close enough to find it. She was always just a little bit away, nearly within the reach of a hoof, but never knowing just where to reach out to.
I was suddenly reminded of Morning Mist, the unicorn I’d been posted here with, when I’d seen her staring off into the ocean, hoping to see something there. Except… except there was no hope in Twilight's longing, only sorrow.
“Princess…” I approached her hesitantly. She looked at me and I kneeled in front of her.
“No need for that here.” She shook her head and turned her blinded stare back to the roses, sweeping her eyeless gaze right past them without being able to find them, then turned to me. “No point. I’m the one who doesn’t belong here. This place is yours. I should be the one bowing to you instead.”
I walked up to the bush. I wanted to pluck one of those roses and bring it to her, so that she could finally have what she wanted so much. The importance of it seemed paramount. I knew suddenly, somehow, that if I could just get one of these flowers to her, one of these real roses, it would break the chains over her eyes and she'd be free. Then she could take another one back to Rainbow Dash, and it would break her free, too.
They would be free and they could leave together.
All she needed was a rose.
I opened my mouth to bite off one of the stems. I hesitated. The thorns seemed so huge, now that I was close to them. They were everywhere, more and more dense the longer I looked. I tried to find a spot where I could work around them, but there was no gap I could navigate. I had fevered visions of those thorns piercing my tongue, scratching me in the face, getting in my coat and ripping at my skin while I ended up getting more and more entangled in them like some kind of terrifying living barbed wire from Tartarus.
I panicked and backed up a few steps from the bush.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“It’s alright,” Twilight said sadly. “It’s just something I can’t have. I knew I never would. That’s not your fault.”
“I’m sorry!” I cried out as I ran away.
I ran and ran, down the beach, down the endless sand and scrubland, along that endless wall, but no matter how far I ran I couldn’t escape the feeling that Rainbow Dash and Twilight Sparkle were still nearby, out there with me in a place where they don’t belong.
I woke up with a gasping shudder and a choked scream, my coat damp with chill sweat.
I turned on my side and cried with tears of frustration and shame because I can’t do anything. I can’t help them.
I’m a coward, and I can’t help them. I can’t do anything.
For a long time, I laid in my bed wide awake and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every detail ran through my head a million times, over and over, trampling my mind. I’m sick of it, but it won't leave me alone.
It nearly ate me alive from the inside over the midnight shift I had to work. I thought about it for hours, patrolling the palace hallways in the dark. At least I was alone. Trying to pretend everything was fine in front of another pony would have been impossible.
What I realize is that solitude is a wall. When a pony hits that wall, and finds they’re on the far side of it, I think they find one of two things. Some ponies find complete freedom. Some find a cage, made of open space instead of bars.
It’s the worst thing in the world, watching the wrong ponies end up here at this wall. Captain Dash and Princess Twilight and myself all have something in common: we’ve given our lives to service. We all volunteered for duty on the wall, each in our own ways—the different ways in which we serve Equestria. But those two are not like me.
I’m watching their hearts crying for each other, so distant when they’re so close every day. It kills me a little bit every time I see more of it. The princess and the captain are going through life alone, while the pony that they love is right here next to them. Princess Twilight lives and works every day in a palace she cares nothing for because all it is to her is empty lonely space. Captain Dash waits forever, haunted by ghosts from her past and serving in silence because she can’t have the pony she loves now, but she can’t leave her, either.
They haven’t done anything to deserve to suffer, they're just… just on the wrong side of a wall.
They built it with service, and with eagerness to please anything demanded from them, and most of all, with excuses and with rationalizations.
‘A lesbian princess will always just be too much of a controversy and get in the way of everything.’
Only it wouldn’t, not really. Would it be perfect, easy, conventional, traditional? No. I guess not. But would it be the end of the world? Laughable to think most ponies would even bat an eye, honestly. I’ve watched Princess Twilight preside over weddings for two mares, and two stallions, and a mare and a stallion. None of them were ever treated like something less. None of them were ever booed or shouted down during their vows.
They just need the excuse. They just need the wall. They just think they need the place they know. They just think they need their seashells to hide in, the beautiful mother-of-pearl sheen and shimmer to show the world as they present their façade.
I want to tell them they don’t have to be here. Sometimes I think I’ll be driven crazy by it. I want to go to one of them, either one would do, and grab her by the withers and shake some sense into her. I want to shout it right in her face—how can you be so blind? Don’t you see that you hold the heart of an amazing, smart, beautiful mare in your hooves, and it could be yours if you would just say something? If you would just talk to her and confess it? In fact, scratch that, you wouldn't even have to talk, just look into her eyes and kiss her the next time the two of you are alone together.
She would kiss you back.
As sure as I know anything, as sure as I know my own feathers, I know she would kiss you back.
I want to tell them the painfully obvious, that all it would take is one spark, but somepony has to start it. Somepony has to start it, otherwise the fire that could be the greatest warmth will always just be cold kindling waiting but never coming to life. It will never become what it should. They will never become what they should.
I don’t know how much longer I can take it.
I’ll hold out as long as I have to, I suppose.
What choice do I have?
SEASHELL
Excerpt XVIIFrom the journal of Sunburst, October 3, YS 1329:
I’m going back to the Seawall!
The posting opened up for applications a while ago and I put in a request for it, but I didn’t dare to hope that I would actually get it. I don’t know why I did, for that matter. Maybe whoever handles billeting for it was just so surprised they decided to call my bluff. I’ve never heard of anypony going back around for a second tour there. Once in a lifetime seems to have always been enough.
Just not enough for me, apparently.
I found out when Captain Dash pulled me into her office at noon today after the morning shift ended. The orders had just arrived at the palace by courier a little earlier. I think she was even more surprised than I was when they showed up.
She stood behind the desk in her office, while I stood in front of it across from her. “Let me get this straight.” She stared at me incredulously. “You actually requested to go back?”
I told her I did.
“Well, Sunburst, you’re an odd duck.” She shrugged and shook her head. “But if this is what you want… congratulations. You must have impressed somepony. I hear the Seawall isn’t a very easy posting to get.”
“Thank you, Captain.” I grinned like a fool. I was just so happy to get that news that I couldn’t help it.
“Gonna miss you here in the palace guard. You’ve done good work here.” She reached up with a forehoof and pushed some papers across her desk to me. “But I guess life moves on. Here’s your copy of the orders. Transfer’s effective in two weeks. Is that enough time for you to be ready? You need any help with anything before then?”
“No thanks, Captain. That should be more than enough,” I assured her. I meant it. Two weeks? Too long, really. I’d probably leave tomorrow if they’d let me. “I’ll just toss my stuff in storage somewhere for the six months ’til I get back. That’s what I did last time. Didn’t have any problems.”
“Sounds like you’ve already got it figured out.” She nodded.
I suppose I did.
I suppose I’ve had my exit from this guard posting figured out for a while, at least in the sense that I need to make one. I just didn’t really know how it would happen or where I’d go next, until now.
The feeling I have right now is a combination of sheer joy that it’s the Seawall I’m going to because there’s nowhere else in this world I’d rather be, and simple relief to have that piece of the exit puzzle solved because I know I can’t really be here much longer.
I know what Captain Dash said, that I’ve been doing good work here, but I’ve been struggling with exactly that thought. It’s been getting harder and harder for me. Am I really doing so well? I can’t see how.
I’ve come to feel that the truth is I’m no good as a guard. I mean, sure, I can see how it could look like it from outside. On the one hoof, I could just write it off and say that my responsibility is ensuring Princess Twilight’s physical safety and I’ve done that, so mission accomplished. Just call it good on that note and not think any more about it. On the other hoof, though, I can’t lie to myself. My princess and my commanding officer are suffering. What good am I if I’m going to stand here, day after day, and just watch it happen? What good am I if I can’t help either of them?
Everypony around would tell me it’s not my problem and not my responsibility, and I know as far as what I’m actually on the hook for, they’re right.
None of that rationalizing changes how I feel.
I keep having dreams about it – dreams of all kinds of places, it doesn’t matter whether it’s somewhere as far removed from everything as the Seawall or someplace as close and crowded as downtown Canterlot. A common thread runs through them: Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash are trapped and somepony just needs to bring them a key that would free them… and I can’t do it. I try and I try, but I can’t, because something I’m terrified of always stops me. They always tell me it’s not my fault, and it only makes me feel more pathetic.
How many times am I going to wake up in tears, cursing myself?
I should say something but I’m too scared. I should do something but I don’t know how, not without feeling like I’ll just screw things up even more. My confidence is just… not there. Not having it is wearing me away. I know it’s only a matter of time before it makes me ineffective in other ways and I become more a liability than a value to have around as a guard.
It’s time I admitted I’m a coward and I can’t be the pony they need here. Best to just stand aside and hope there’s somepony else who can come take my place and do better.
It stabs at me in sharp little jabs day by day to watch them, with the way I see all the little things now.
I have an old seashell I brought home from my previous tour at the Seawall. It’s big, half the size of my head. I found it half-buried in the sand on the beach, long since emptied, battered in the surf and bleached with age. I dug it out of the sand with my hooves. It was muddy and gritty at first, but when I rinsed it off in the salt water of the ocean it shone brilliantly, with opalescent mother-of-pearl in delicate rainbow hues of green and pink over sheening ivory white underneath. It was beautiful, so I kept it as a souvenir to remind me of the wall in case I never saw a place like that again.
I listen to my seashell more and more often lately. When I hold my shell up to my ear, there’s a sound, faint, so faint it’s just barely but unmistakably there, of the place where I found my shell—the ocean on the far side of the wall. The sound is soothing, and calming, and having it nearby at hoof eases some of the pangs of my longing to see it once again.
The sound of that shell takes me back to the lonely shore I realize I fell in love with while I was there. It’s the sound of what I really am and where I need to be right now. It’s a sound that lives in my heart now, forever.
The sound is part of why I can’t stand to be here any more around the princess and the captain. In the softly rushing noise of the ocean surf, I hear them, too. In the sound I hear the silence of the things they’re not saying to each other because they can’t. I hear their loneliness. I hear the mourning song of how life has to be for them because they think they can never have what they really want, not without being hurt again, not without losing everything.
It’s the sound of complete solitude.
It’s the sound of what I love but what they can’t escape.
It’s wonderful but it’s heartbreaking, the sound in my seashell.
SEASHELL
Excerpt XIXFrom the journal of Sunburst, October 16, YS 1329:
It’s over. Today was the last day I was a palace guard.
Tomorrow, in the dark of the early morning before the sun rises, I’ll leave the city and follow the road until it fades away into nothing. Then I’ll travel the trackless wilds beyond Equestria until I finally reach the Seawall, days from now. I and whoever the unicorn is who gets sent with me will relieve the ponies currently there waiting for us to send them home. They’ll leave gladly, as quickly as they can. They have families and friends who’ve been waiting a long time to see them again.
Then it’s six months of pure isolation. Six months of being alone with my thoughts.
That’s right. Just you and me, journal. Just you and me.
No more watching the captain and the princess. What a relief.
I suppose it’s true that I’m running away, and I admit it. I wish I was stronger, better equipped to handle this. Still, at least I feel like I can take my exit with dignity. I’m not running away without any resolution, and that’s what’s important. My one major loose end is tied off, as much as I’m able to do so.
I’ve realized that part of what makes this so difficult is that a pony can be helped only as much as they realize they want to be helped. Sometimes most of the battle isn’t as much about direct intervention as it is about getting them to the realization that they need to fix things themselves. To that end, I came up with a plan. I was scared I would chicken out, but I did it, somehow, and that… that’s what counts, I guess.
It’s a longshot, but it’s the only shot I have, so I took it.
Maybe it’s a foolish shot to take, but if I don’t, I’m not sure what kind of pony I’ll ever be able to see again when I look in a mirror. Somepony will be staring back at me, and I don’t think I’ll like her. I already don’t know if I do as it is.
So this is what I did: before I came to the palace for my last day, I found my way back to the little flower shop where I’d learned the differences between white and red roses. It was a bit out of my way, but this was where my inklings about the captain and the princess had begun all those months ago, so it seemed… poetic, or something. I don’t know. Or maybe I just didn’t know where else to buy flowers off the top of my head. It’s not like I do a whole lot of that.
The same earth pony mare with the pale pink coat was there behind the counter. The same vibrant blooms still surrounded her, wreathing her in their explosion of colors.
“Hi!” She greeted me with the same cheery voice and a morning-fresh smile. Again, like the first time we’d met, and every other time I’d happened to pass by the flower stand after that, I noticed her pretty jade green eyes, colored in a perfect compliment to her coat and mane. I always get pulled into them for just a second. They’re just so striking. I couldn’t let it last too long, though. There wasn’t much time before my last shift was supposed to start.
“Good morning!” I nodded back to her. “I think I’d like to get some roses, please.”
“Great! And, umm… what is it you’re hoping to say with these roses, if I can ask?” she inquired.
On any other day, the question might have given me pause, but right now I didn’t really need to think about it.
It was exhausting, the way I’d spent far too much time thinking about it already.
The whole reason I was here was because I was ready to be done thinking about it.
In my dreams the key they needed was always the same color.
“Red,” I answered her. “I need to say what it is that red says, to… well, to somepony I’ve known for a very long time and I… haven't been able to say it to before. And I need to say how strongly I’ve felt it, and I need to say it in a way that can make up for a lot of lost time feeling it without being able to tell her. I need to say I should have done this a long time ago, because I need this… because I know we both need this… and I need to say that how I feel is deeper than the ocean and higher than the sky. We can’t pretend it’s not there and I can’t keep living without it anymore.”
She stared at me for a long, silent moment with wide eyes.
“Wow,” she breathed, almost in a whisper. She thought for a moment. “I think… you're going to have to say that from your heart, because as nice as flowers are, even I have to admit they only go so far. But maybe I can get you a good running start.” She turned to some of the many flowers filling her little shop and started sifting through them. “It’d have to be these.” She pulled out a selection of a dozen red roses and laid them on the counter. “These are the best I can do for what... what you want to say.”
She said they were the best, and it was easy to believe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more saturated, vividly dark intense crimson. They were deep burgundy, like rich wine, like the lifeblood straight from a vein. The petals of every bloom were perfect, flawless in their delicate curves and smoother and softer than the best satin or silk. Their scent was a gentle perfume that spoke of the fondest days of spring sunshine, with an erotic undertone of warm nights in a subtleness that paradoxically made it seem even more emphatic because of the attention it quietly but unmistakably commanded.
These were the kind of flowers you give a princess.
“They’re perfect,” I said quietly. “I’ll take them.” I didn’t care what the price was. Money doesn’t mean a lot where I’m going for the next six months anyway.
She wrapped them up carefully in tissue paper, tied together with a piece of silk string, and I paid. I gently packed them into my saddle bag, where they would go unseen.
“So who’s the lucky pony?” the flower pony behind the counter asked. “They sound pretty amazing.”
“I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.” My voice was a little unsteady.
“Don’t wanna say? That’s alright, I understand.” She nodded. “Nervous?”
“You have no idea.”
“Well, don’t worry about it, a lot of ponies get nervous,” she reassured me. “Don’t be, though. They’ll love ‘em, I know it. I mean… I know I would, at least.”
“I hope so.” I nodded. “Thanks for your help. I have to be going. I need to be at work soon.” I started to walk away.
“Good luck!” she called after me enthusiastically.
Yeah, I thought to myself. They’re gonna need it.
When I got in, I stashed the flowers in my locker and changed into my armor. Slipping on that chainmail coat is a shell I can’t tell yet if I’m going to miss or be glad to not need for the next six months.
Maybe both. Probably both.
I said a lot of goodbyes throughout the day. Most of them were the other guards in my section. I haven’t gone out of my way to ever really hang out outside work, but I guess looking back at it a certain kind of bond just naturally forms when you’re around a group of ponies working and training with them for this long. I think this day was probably a personal record for the most hugs I’ve ever gotten.
It started to get a little exhausting, really.
The more goodbyes I had to face, the more they made me feel bit by bit like ever more of an antihero. I don’t know what other kind of pony would just run away, and every pony I had to look in the eye as I was leaving them behind kept reminding me of it again and again.
One goodbye in particular meant the most to me, and I was dreading it but I knew it had to come. I haven’t been able to help but get a little attached to Azure Sky. I guess the feeling is mutual. When she hugged me goodbye she threw her forelegs around my neck and clung to me with a grip that seemed several times stronger than should be possible for a little unicorn filly her size. I’m still suspicious that it was magic assisted, whether she was conscious of it or not. Unicorns are known to react with surprisingly forceful reflexive telekinesis in emotional or distressing times, and even when she’s calm she’s already very powerful as it is.
“Why can’t you stay here and keep us all safe?” she asked sadly.
“I’ve got new orders. I’m sorry, Azure.” I felt like a heel even as I said it. I didn’t know how to tell her that I’d requested those new orders, and I could have still been here for a very long time if I hadn’t. But how do I explain this, all of these circumstances pushing me, to a child? I just don’t know. I don’t even know how to explain it completely to myself.
No, I’m not entirely proud of every aspect of how I’m running away and leaving. I just don’t know another way.
“Will you at least come back to say hi sometime?” she asked.
“In six months or so, when I get back to Canterlot, then I can,” I told her. “If it’s alright with Princess Twilight, of course.”
“It will be. She says friends are as important as books and reading,” Azure told me. “And that means really, really important. So I know it’ll be fine.”
I didn’t tell her I’ve never exactly been much of one for friends. Maybe she’s right, though. Maybe some friends are important, or at least should be more important than I’ve made them. I suppose I could try it out. I guess I’ll see if that notion still sticks by the time I get back half a year from now.
“Alright, I’ll see what I can do when the time comes,” I finally told her.
“Okay.” She nodded. “Goodbye, Ms. Sunburst.”
“Goodbye, Azure.” I gave her one last squeeze. She kissed me on the cheek and then let me go.
Eventually the shift was finally over. In the locker room I took off my armor for the last time and put on my saddlebag. I stepped out into the hallway.
Captain Dash’s office was only one door down. I waited until every other pony had gone on ahead of me, and I slipped in and closed the door behind myself silently. I opened my saddlebag and took out the flowers, and unwrapped them from the thin veil of tissue paper protecting them until now. This was it, the moment of truth. I left the roses on Captain Dash’s desk, with a note laying on top of the bouquet where she would easily find it:
Captain Dash,
I know that this must seem strange, but I felt like I had to do this. These roses are beautiful, but they’ll wither away quickly and before we know it they’ll be gone. The memory of what they meant and how special they were will be all that’s left. The lives of ponies are like that, too. It’s tragic to waste the time you have wanting something but being too afraid to ever take your chance.
Please, take these and give them to her. Tell her how you feel before it’s too late. She feels the same way. I’ve seen it in you both. I’ve been watching it all this time. Don’t let a good thing slip away. You both deserve to be happy, and together, you can be. I believe that more than I’ve ever believed anything.
Goodbye.
I snuck back out of her office and I left the palace for the last time, before anypony else could accost me for any more sentimental farewells and whatever.
And that was that.
It seems like such a simple, small thing, leaving behind some flowers and hoping it’s enough to strike a spark, but it was the only thing I could think of. With that last act, I’ve done all I can. The rest is up to them, as it must be.
What’ll happen to me for this? I don’t know. I know that the captain will know it was me. Obviously, she can put two and two together. Maybe I’ll get chewed out. Maybe nothing will happen. Either way, I’ll very shortly be out of anypony's reach for six months, so it’ll be a pretty cold issue by the time I can possibly get yelled at anyway. Besides, I didn’t mention any names in that note, so I don’t think I exposed anypony to any real risk of scandal or embarrassment. Plausible deniability: always keep it handy for things like this.
At the end of it all, it’s worth whatever risk there is. I’m glad I can walk away with my head held high.
And with that, I’m done here.
My saddlebags are packed, and I’m ready. Enough writing. Time for me to grab a few hours of sleep, then grab my stuff and go.
Dear Princess Twilight Sparkle
SEASHELL
Dear Princess Twilight SparkleFrom the desk of Sunburst, April 23, YS 1330:
Dear Princess Twilight Sparkle,
I received your letter waiting for me upon my return to Canterlot from duty on the Seawall. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to respond sooner, but the Seawall is too distant and isolated to get mail service. It’s a very lonely place.
I’m extremely happy for both you and Captain Rainbow Dash. It’s deeply pleasing to hear that you’re finally able to have a relationship in the open in the same way any other couple would be able to. Reading through old issues of the Canterlot Times to get myself caught up on things here in Equestria after my return, I noticed that in the first days after your public acknowledgement of your relationship there was the expected controversy about the idea of a princess romantically involving herself with a close member of her staff. I’m guessing your situation must have been difficult, and it must have been exactly these kinds of issues you and Captain Dash feared so much. I’m sorry those kinds of things helped keep you apart for so long. However, I was also highly satisfied to see that any problems were largely quenched after Princesses Celestia and Luna stood firmly behind you in support.
I was also humbled to learn that you had put in your recommendation that I receive a decoration. Your gratitude is very flattering to me, but no special thanks are necessary.
It is the duty of any protector to look after her master’s well-being, and of any soldier to do what her nation and its leaders need her to do. That’s really all I did, if maybe in a way not considered strictly conventional. A few roses may have been an unusual choice of weapon, but I had a feeling they were just the thing to help you achieve this victory.
I did of course face a difficult decision about how far the scope of such a duty extends. I worried for a very long time that doing or saying anything would be overstepping the bounds of subordination and obedience. I was scared it might do more harm than good. I’ll be honest and say that I doubted myself. It was hard to admit to myself what I was seeing. I thought at first that it would be for the best if I just kept your secret silently. I realized in the end that I couldn't do it – living a lie, and seeing the two of you living in suffering for it, is something that my conscience just wouldn’t let me accept.
As for the question of how I knew about you and Rainbow Dash and why I was finally driven to act as I did: well, I’ve wondered that myself at times. It still seems like a dream in some ways, and it’s a little unreal even to me that I would be caught up in such a simultaneously wonderful and frightening thing as bringing about a realization of true love. It all seems like something out of a fairy tale, doesn’t it?
All I can tell you with certainty right now is that I heard it in the voice of a child and the song of a seashell.
If that seems esoteric (and I know it does, I’m sorry), a better and more detailed explanation might be in the things I’ve already written about it. For that reason, you’ll find enclosed with this letter copies I’ve made of some selected entries from a journal I kept while all this was going on. These excerpts are all numbered and dated and in the proper order for your convenience.
I hope that these will help make everything clear. I feel greatly honored to have had the opportunity to to play a part in assisting you with this.– Sunburst
