Princess Luna Picks Up Hitchhikers

by horizon

Rating: teen
Tags: Princess Luna, Drama, Original Character, Comedy, Royal Guard, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 14351

And learns important life lessons, somewhere in between everything going wrong.

... and learns important life lessons, somewhere in between everything going wrong.

* * *

"The first thing I thought upon reading Hitchhikers was that the gods of ponyfiction … had smiled upon me." – Ezn
"Congratulations, you have written the first 'Proper Noun Verbs A Noun' story that does not actively disgust me." - Prereader Benman

Published 2012-10-23 20:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-07-22 04:15:03 UTC

Leafy Greens

"What's on your mind?"

Naturally, she asks me halfway through a large mouthful of spinach. I gesture to my muzzle and chew. Celestia watches quietly, a smile creeping across her lips.

The silence stretches out. I shrug helplessly and make exaggerated chewing motions. She suppresses a giggle. I barely manage to keep spinach from spraying out my nose. Then she snickers, and I am straining not to gag on my food, keeping it still in my mouth until I can bring the shakes of withheld laughter under control.

I swallow. "Tia," I say, in playful disapproval.

"It was an honest question." She takes a small bite of her own greens. "You've been rather quiet since Nightmare Night."

It is a fair observation, if an uncomfortable one. To give myself a moment to think, I float up a carnation and take a nibble, rolling the spicy petals around in my muzzle. I breathe in through my nose to savor the scent as I grind the colorful treat between my teeth. I swallow. She remains silent.

"No offense to thee, beloved sister," I say quietly, looking down at my plate, "but ... I am beginning to regret having returned to Canterlot."

She clears her throat. I look up. She is staring at me pointedly. My heart stops for a moment, until I remember.

I close my eyes. "No offense to you." When I look at her again, her face has returned to its typical mask of mild maternal amicability.

"None taken, of course." She lifts a second helping of the sautéed coriander eggplant to her plate. "Then go back."

The suggestion is so casual, so cheerful, that I am uncertain how to respond. "But … my duties! Night Court, and trade negotiations, and the upcoming soirees to which I have committed —"

"All the more reason to go. You hate all those things."

"I do," I say desperately, "but I am trying, Tia! How can I return to thy side as regent of the night if I cannot meet the obligations of nobility?"

"How," she asks calmly, a touch of a smile playing at her lips, "can you rule ponies who your every duty makes you resent?"

My mind knows it is not a rebuke, but my heart cannot accept that. My eyes fill with tears. I am about to whirl and flee the table when Tia brings a hoof to my withers.

"Luna." Her voice is gentle, loving. "Please … listen to me. I've seen all your hard work to fit in to the modern world. I trust with all my heart that the Nightmare has been banished from yours. Never think that I doubt you." She leans forward and brushes the side of her muzzle against mine in an old and intimate sororal gesture.

"But I have also seen how Canterlot tears you apart," she whispers. "I will not make the mistake again of ignoring your self-sacrifice while you are surrounded ceaselessly by ponies who haven't discovered the beauty and wonder within you."

"Tia …"

"Canterlot is an arrogant place, and slow to change. We must not forget that it is not the whole of Equestria, nor the most important of those who we serve. No matter what those who cling to titles and fancy themselves our equals may wish to think." She stares straight into my eyes and smiles. "Have you found joy in the world beyond the palace? Then by all means, take some time to visit your friends. Our most fundamental duty is to care about those we guide — without that, any bureaucracy or diplomacy or hierarchy is meaningless."

I do cry, then, but it is in catharsis, not pain. She holds me quietly until my shakes subside.

* * *

The prospect of returning to Ponyville so thrills me that I have packed within the hour. I commission two Night Guard and a chariot, throw my luggage into the carrier rack, and set off under the blazing sun.

But it is a long trip, and despite my excitement, sleep overtakes me.

"Princess?" A voice cuts through my dreams. "We are approaching Ponyville." The afternoon sun is in my eyes as I open them; I blink spots out of my vision and lunge to my hooves, staring over the side of the vehicle at the land hurtling by below.

There they are again! — The endless apple groves! The wild growth of the Everfree! In the distance, a small cluster of buildings crowds around the soaring pinnacle of Town Hall. My heartbeat quickens. And there — in the road far below us, straining against the corner of a cart of vegetables, wrestling to drag a wheel into place with her mouth, is a grey earth pony with brown hair topped by a dashing western hat.

"Ah!" I cry. I would recognize that hat anywhere; it is the Element of Honesty! "Polar Star! Fireball! Land there, at the cart!" We have not even reached town and I have already chanced upon one of the friends I came here to see!

We are hardly halfway to the ground before I realize: in my sleep-haze, I have made an egregious error. The Element of Honesty is a mare of orange coat and flaxen mane, and there is no reason that the cart of an apple orchard's owner would contain a late harvest of arugula. I squint and look closer. The grey pony is not even a mare!

To compound my embarrassment, at that moment he chances to look skyward, and spies our descent. His eyes widen, and he stares slack-jawed at our arrival. My desire to correct my error and fly onward vanishes like the last dew of moonset; he is clearly in need of aid, and to willfully reverse course would provide a poor impression which my shaky reputation cannot afford. I remain silent as my guards carry out our spiraling descent.

He has thrown himself to the ground, trembling, long before we land. I hop from the chariot. "Salutations, my little pony. Thou needst not demonstrate thy obeisance. We —" I catch myself, cursing inwardly. "I. I noticed th— your struggle and landed to assist." The lie would prick more at my conscience had it not become truth along the way.

"P-p-pr ..." He swallows, not meeting my gaze, not even daring to stand. "Princess! You're too kind! I, I, don't want to be a b-bother ..."

I give him my best soothing smile. "Arise, and be not gasted. What woe betides your cart?" (I remembered the correct pronoun! I am making progress.)

He stands at my command, trembling. "I-i-i, ah, it threw a w-wheel in a rut in the dried m-mud."

"Oh-ho! That is easily repaired."

It is not, as it turns out. The axle sits too low to remount the wheel. My magic — which will take another decade, or more, to fully recover from the flensing of the Elements of Harmony — is insufficient on its own to lift the fully laden cart. After some discussion, Fireball and the farmer step in, brace themselves, and lift; between my horn and their muscles, we barely manage to raise the affected corner.

Polar Star darts in with the wheel, grunts as he shoves ineffectually, and backs away again, frowning. He sets the wheel down, crouches, and peers under the cart. Fireball — who has begun to sweat with exertion; pegasi are not built for feats of strength — shifts his grip to keep his hooves from slipping.

"Well, that tears it," Polar Star mumbles, standing back up. "Axle end's cracked."

"Which means?" I query.

"It won't fit in the wheel hub, not as a field repair."

"Consarnit," the farmer says, releasing the cart. I sigh, and similarly quell my magic.

Fireball — feeling the weight shift, but too focused upon his lifting to see us give up — redoubles his efforts. Then his hoof slides out from underneath him. The cart drops back to level all at once, yanking his body down with it. He grunts. His eyes bulge.

Polar Star notices. "… Fireball?"

My other guard releases what I can only assume to be a colorful epithet, pressing a hoof to his back. The muzzles of the uninjured stallions flush. The farmer goes rigid, his eyes darting back and forth between myself and my fallen attendant.

I quickly conclude that my most important contribution to this sudden farce is to maintain my royal bearing, reassuring the earth pony that the situation remains under control. Calmly, I walk around to the rear of my chariot, extracting a portmanteau from the bottom of the stack of luggage. I open it, fish from it a leather-bound tome, and quickly scan through the pages, holding it in hornglow. Fireball bites back another curse, flopping down upon the earth, breathing in short, controlled gasps.

After double-checking the spellbook's contents, I snap it shut and return it to storage. "Fie! I did not think to bring a spell of mending."

The farmer swallows. "I-it's alright, Your Highness, th-there's a hospital in Ponyville."

"I was referring to thine axle."

Polar Star looks at me incredulously, opens his mouth, but reconsiders before speaking. I give him a quizzical glance. He straightens up into attention, eyes focusing into the middle distance.

"The Night Guard are ponies of consummate dedication and professionalism," I continue. "Worry thou not …" Agh! I am slipping again. "Worry you not about his health. We needs must resolve your quandary."

"Oh, n-no, I couldn't. I'll just g-go to town for a new one thank you goodbye."

"I insist." I restack the luggage and wingpoint him to the chariot. "Come. We shall provide you with transportation into Ponyville."

Polar Star glances at me, the farmer, at Fireball prone upon the ground, and at the lead of the chariot. He wilts.

Frantic words burst forth from the farmer as if a dam broke. "A-actually your highness I just remembered I shouldn't go if I leave the c-cart here all the vegetables will get eaten!" He points at the grass at the side of the road, where a small army of woodland foragers, nose to the air, are following the scent of fresh greens. Dozens of beady little eyes meet ours, and their stealthy forward motions freeze.

I brighten. This, at least, is a simple puzzle.

I step forward, horn shimmering, and Fireball's form lifts with a yelp of surprise. (I am careful not to aggravate his injury.) I set him on his hooves, then lean forward and touch his armor with my horn, activating the latent spell embedded within all Night Guards.

Of a sudden, the area darkens. Dark fog pours out from Fireball's body, which jerks as energy surges through it. There is a roll of phantom thunder. His wings snap outward to full extension, feathers melding into a smooth leathery surface, body hardening and taking on a gleaming cast matching the armor. His head spasms back, then whips forward, pupils elongated into slits, teeth lengthening into wicked points, air rushing out of his lungs in a draconic hiss.

Within an eye-blink, there is not a woodland creature within sight.

‹‹suɹnʇǝɹ ɹɐʇs ɹɐlod lıʇun ʇɹɐɔ ǝɥʇ ɥʇıʍ uıɐɯǝɹ,›› I command in the guttural growl of the First Tongue, ‹‹ʞɔɐq ǝƃuɐɥɔ uǝɥʇ.›› Except for a twitch of wing-tips in acknowledgement, the creature that was once Fireball does not move. It will not, save to follow my order. The ancient magics have metamorphosed him into a Lunar Knight — a magical chimæra with no volition nor independent thought. The rigid scales of its augmented form will brace Fireball's injury, and it will feel no pain — nor even awareness of the passage of time — until fulfillment of my order reverts the spell.

"Now then, good farmer —" I say, turning back to him cheerfully.

The earth pony has fainted dead away.

* * *

I touch his consciousness with the subtle brush of my magic when we are comfortably on our way to Ponyville. He groans and struggles to awareness, eyes opening to see the orchards and fields passing by alongside, the road rolling underneath. (It is a slower, rougher journey than I had hoped, but I did not wish to risk another injury by having Polar Star pull the weight of two ponies through the air.)

He sees me. He is instantly awake. I incline my head in acknowledgement, sitting regally opposite.

He bolts upright, avoiding my gaze.

I politely await his verbal acknowledgement.

He clears his throat and doffs his hat, but says nothing.

I look out at the scenery.

He looks out the other way.

I examine a solleret, blowing some trail dust off of it.

He rotates his hat in his forehooves.

"So —" I state, as he turns to me and says "Um —"

I stop and nod, graciously yielding to his speech. He gives me a look of terror, snapping his muzzle closed.

I smile reassuringly. He smiles back with false cheer and glances around the chariot.

I clear my throat. His entire attention is immediately upon me.

I smile again and incline my head at him. It is a cue to speak, but he does not seem to understand. He fiddles with his hat again. A bead of sweat trickles from his mane.

I give up. "Have —" I begin, just as he finally summons the courage to say "I —"

Silence.

"Have you —" I press on as he tries again: "If —"

I facehoof. "For all stars' love. Speak."

"Your Majesty! No! I couldn't interrupt." He eyes the door of the chariot, presumably calculating the benefits of a premature departure.

I mask a sigh with a smile. "Have you any destination in mind?"

"Th-the edge of town is f-fine."

"No. I insist. 'Tis no added effort to deliver you directly to your destination, and 'twill save you a trot."

"You're too k-kind, Your Majesty." He smiles unsteadily. "I can get what I need at Forge's shop on Meadow Street."

"Ah! Your city's cartwright?"

"No, just a new axle for mine."

I raise an eyebrow, certain I've misheard. He goes rigid again.

I change the subject. "Polar Star! To Meadow Street."

My guard glances back mid-gallop. "Don't know it!"

"S-second right off Larkspur?" the farmer adds. Polar Star shakes his head.

"Perhaps a nearby landmark?" I query.

"It's not far past Quills and Sofas."

Polar Star glances back again. I shrug. He shrugs.

"... The edge of town is f-fine."

"Just so."

We sit in silence.

This is — I am forced to conclude — awkward, even beyond my chariot-guest's obvious terror of Nightmare Moon. My mind asks, unbidden: How would Tia handle this? As much as it grates to follow in her hoofsteps, right now I could use her experience. Time and again I have seen her approach ponies intimidated by her royal presence and nevertheless elicit pleasant conversation. Indeed, I had watched my sister do so just a fortnight past with our new gardener — who had been so overwhelmed by Canterlot's profusion of nobility that at one point we caught her bowing to an ornamental vase.

I close my eyes and summon the memories. Tia sat down with her, smiled, asked her name, and asked about the progress of her duties — putting her on familiar ground, as it were. Then Tia coaxed out some of her opinions on the finer details of horticulture; then, discussion of her family; and from there of her hobbies … exactly the base trivialities that so numb me at the endless galas and dinner parties of the Canterlot elite.

Well, I think, I have endured such idle chatter enough. If it calms down this poor stallion, surely I may bear it once more.

I clear my throat again, and force my most calm and regal smile. "My little pony, I apologize for my poor manners. I have yet to inquire of thy name."

The question appears to catch him off guard. "Leafy Greens, your majesty."

'Tis a start! I nod encouragingly. "Thy talent, then, lies in thy agriculture?"

"Yes, your majesty."

"Thou needst — you need not call me that. My name is Luna."

"O-of course." I wait for a moment to see if he has more to add, but he turns and stares out at the scenery.

"I admit I am poorly versed in modern methods of farming," I say conversationally. "Have they changed greatly?"

"… What?"

"In the, er," and I realize as I say it how ludicrous a topic it must sound, "thousand years since my departure."

The terror is creeping back upon his face, but he responds. "We, uh, plant seeds. The pegasi bring rain. The princess raises the sun. So, pretty much the same, I guess?"

I let slide the sting of Celestia's singular title. "Once," I say brightly, "before the reign of Discord, 'twas the unicorns who controlled the heavens."

"Oh?" he says.

"Truly."

All of these pauses are giving me occasion to note a minor squeak in the chariot's axle. I shall have to mention it to Polar Star upon our arrival in town.

"I guess I always knew they were good for somethin'," he jests. His delivery is desperate, and his smile a rictus, but it clearly is an attempt at humor.

I giggle politely. He relaxes infinitesemally. Our idle chatter is serving its intended purpose!

"In truth, I am here to visit a unicorn."

His face blanches. Oh, feathers.

"Twilight Sparkle," I say hurriedly. "The bearer of the Element of Magic."

"Oh!" he says. "Yeah. The librarian."

"Yes!" I blurt out.

Squeak, squeak, go the wheels.

"… Do you share her fondness for books, then?"

He fidgets. "Ain't never been much for them."

Squeak. Squeak. It is wondrous how such a subtle sound can get so under one's coat.

Our topic is clearly insufficient to the task at hoof. I withdraw and start over: "How has your harvest been this season?"

"Uh … okay!" he says, voice slamming half an octave upward, pupils shrinking. Even to me — a thousand years out of practice at the subtleties of communication — the lie is obvious.

I attempt to coax the truth out via gentle redirection: "Rather late in the season for arugula, is it not? Greens spoil so easily in the deep autumn frosts."

He is thrown. His eyes dart around. "They … they do."

"I cannot imagine you would plan to raise it for the late harvest."

He rotates his hat in his hooves again. "Can't rightly say I did, your highn… Luna."

I smile. "Come now. Agriculture requires making the best of a thousand little factors outside of any one pony's control. There is no shame in a difficult year."

"Course not," he agrees readily, making his reticence all the more a mystery.

"Leafy Greens," I say, my gentleness slipping. "What happened to thy early autumn crop?"

"… Lost it."

The squeaking may drive me to madness before he does.

"Why?"

His look gets more frantic, and he edges toward the door. I pin him down with a questioning stare.

"No water," he says.

I frown. "Are the Ponyville pegasi not performing their duties?"

"They're fine!" he squeaks. He points at Ponyville in the far distance. "L-look, we're here, I'll just g-go get my axle —"

"Sit down," I thunder. He complies, looking much as the Element of Kindness did on Nightmare Night.

"Leafy Greens," I continue, less royally, "the foundation of Equestria's prosperity rests upon a reliable and abundant food source. We take seriously the agriculture of our subjects, and desire to rectify thy difficulties. Tell us why thy fields lie in drought."

"... .... ..... ..," he mouths.

"What?"

"Youtoldthemto I'mnotcomplaining pleasedon'tbanishme!" He cowers.

"… What?"

"Royal decree Everfree project waiver rejected!" he wails.

I stare, open-mouthed. The pieces fall into place.

The Everfree Reclamation Project had been one of the first programs instituted under my seal. It was an ambitious plan to change the weather patterns to choke back the overgrowth, and then begin bleeding off the excess magical contamination from the War, pushing back the boundaries of the wilds. Tia and I had spent months combing through the plan to stamp out any problems. I had been so proud.

"The Minister of Agriculture's final report confirmed that all affected farmers were given relocation assistance," I say numbly.

"I tried to buy new acreage with the resettlement scrip, but land prices soared after the Princess' visits brought thousands of tourists into Ponyville."

"But ... if thou couldst not relocate, why would they not grant thee an exemption for localized rainfall?"

"I'm right on the forest's edge."

"Irrigation?"

"I dug all the ditches, but a week later the Ponyville Reservoir was emptied for cloud production."

I feel a sharp sting of guilt. I had personally signed that order after the Element of Loyalty wrote me a heartfelt letter begging for a chance to break the wingpower record.

The squeak of the axle turns accusatory.

"We," I stammer in a most base and unprincesslike fashion, "we did not know."

He looks away. "It's alright," he says faintly.

"No. No, Leafy Greens, it is not." I can hear a fiery edge in my voice that surprises even myself. "Thou wilt tell Forge that the bill for thy replacement axle is to be sent to Canterlot under our name. Then we will personally direct our steward to investigate the loss of thy crops. There is a mitigation fund for such purposes; he will assist thee in lodging a claim. Finally, we will direct the Minister of Agriculture to reassess the relocation assistance budget in light of local economic disturbances, and if the purchase of land remains too costly, we will introduce a bill into the House of Lords to authorize use of thy scrip for the wells and pumps required for aquifer irrigation."

"I," he says. "I." He swallows. "Thank you, Your Highness."

"Are there any others similarly affected?"

"Er ... twenty-one farms, I think?"

I can feel my eyes bug out. "A full score?! Wherefore didst thou not bring thy grievances to Night Court?"

"We didn't think there was a point," he says. "I mean … who listens to ponies like us?"

* * *

Although it is good to see the Bearers of the Elements again, my mind remains restless. Late into the night, when Laughter's welcome party has wound down, I excuse myself into Twilight's darkened study, where the only noise to distract me is the snoring of her bound companion. I quietly borrow a quill and scroll, sit at her desk, and write.

Write and write. The entire tale of the encounter, six pages' worth.

The next morning, as I am preparing for slumber, Polar Star quietly enters my sleeping-room in the library's basement. He presents me a slightly damp scroll, wipes some green phlegm from the corners of his muzzle, and departs with all the dignity he can muster.

I break the seal, holding it in horn, and read:

Dearest Luna,

I am so proud of you. It is a rare and precious ruler who understands what her decisions mean to those without a voice.

Tia

My eyes fill with happy tears. My heart fills with purpose. I returned to Ponyville for friendship, but there was something more important here which I had never even thought to discover.

I know now what I must do.

Leafy Greens: Coda

Two minutes later, Polar Star returns, muzzle again dripping green slime. He sighs, and hands me a second scroll.

I open it. It reads simply:

P.S.: Is Fireball okay?

I look up in growing horror. "Polar Star?"

He stands a bit straighter. "Yes, mistress?"

"I did instruct thee to return to the cart after dropping me off at the library," I say slowly, "yes?"

He stares at me blankly.

I repeat the colorful epithet I learned from Fireball.

Granny Smith

"Fair citizen of Ponyville! I offer you a chance to ride —"

"AAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

* * *

"Salutations, fair citizen! Would you like —"

"AAAAIIIIEEEEEEEEE!"

* * *

"The yellow one with the carrot mark?"

"Yeah, her," Fireball whispers. "She's been waiting in front of City Hall for ten minutes, looking at her watch."

"Alright." I hesitate, tapping my chin in thought. "Polar Star? Perhaps you should instigate the inquiry this time."

He stands up from the bush when she's not looking and saunters over.

"Pardon —"

"BWAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

* * *

"You are certain." I am dubious.

"I walked right in front of her and she didn't even blink. She won't gallop away."

"Everypony has." I do not mean it as an accusation, but Fireball's mouth guiltily closes anyhow.

"Even if she does," Polar Star chimes in, "she couldn't outrun a turtle. Just walk alongside her as she totters and explain yourself."

"No. I should fear to send the poor mare into cardiac arrest." I sigh and begin to walk away. "We shall move onward. There must, somewhere in this town, be a pony who desires an audience, even after hearing of the fearsome visage of the Lunar Knight guarding the arugula cart."

Polar Star and Fireball share a brief glance whose meaning I cannot discern.

"From the looks of her," Polar Star counters, "she couldn't hear a marching band explode."

"Polar Star," I chide mildly, "did not thy dam and sire teach thee to respect thy elders?"

"You should see me when I don't respect somepony."

Fireball quietly rejoins the conversation: "Mistress Luna?"

There is an unexpected gravity to his words that causes me to pause and turn back. "Yes?"

"I think you should at least try."

I fix him with a lengthy stare. He shifts uncomfortably, closed wings rustling past the bandages swaddling his torso. I squint and lean forward. He stands his ground, trembling, and holds my gaze.

I have come to prize the openness of speech which my Night Guards bring to their station, but I brook precious little disagreement — no matter how trivial — in matters on which I have made my opinion clear. This ensures that any dissent proffered carries the threat of retribution, and hence the weight of genuine conviction.

This is one of those times.

After due consideration, I nod and walk up to the elderly green mare.

"Fair citizen!"

She does not gallop. "... Eh? What's that, young lady?"

"Fair citizen! You appear to be in need of a ride!"

"The beer's already inside, we age it in the barn."

"A ride!"

"Well, ain't that lovely of you! Big Macintosh, give the filly her coach fare."

"I ask no charge! I offer transportation and conversation, that I might better understand the concerns of the common pony."

"Big Macintosh?" She looks away. "Consarnit, where did that boy go."

"I saw no other ponies here when I approached."

"Well, ain't that a shame." She turns back to me. "Oh, hello there! What kin I do for ya?"

"A ride!"

"I don't drive, young lady, but there's a coach station right down the block."

I restrain my temper. "I offer unto thee. A ride in my chariot. Fair citizen of Ponyville."

"Ooooh-hoo-hoooh." She croaks out a giggle. "You flatterer, you're gonna set me to blushin' with all that courtly talk from my youth."

"Dost. Thou. Desire. A. Ride."

Her face brightens. "Why, sure!"

I blink.

"… Really?"

"A'course, and if you don't mind me sayin', you're a sweet young thing for askin'."

I brighten. "Polar Star! Fireball! To the harnesses!" I aid the elderly mare into my chariot with a flourish. "Where might I take thee?"

"It's Wednesday!"

"Yes," I say, "it is."

"That means pinochle at the Mason's Hall!"

"My faithful Night Guards! To the Mason's Hall!"

They do not move.

Polar Star coughs and discreetly wingpoints at the building we're parked in front of.

"Oh! We're here!" the elderly mare cries in glee. "Thank ya, young filly, that was as smooth as zap-apple marmalade!" She backs out of the chariot on shaky hooves, and then in a shockingly fluid motion, digs her mouth into her saddlebags and flings me two bits as a tip.

I stare, at an utter loss for words, as she hobbles into the building.

* * *

A muffled voice from outside breaks my concentration: "Is the Princess still in there?"

"She doesn't want to be disturbed," Polar Star says, his voice similarly dampened by the closed door separating my room from Twilight's basement.

"It's been eight hours," says Twilight Sparkle, apparently undeterred. "I'm starting — we're all starting — to get a little worried."

"Yeah."

I do my best to ignore the dialogue, staring at the darkened ceiling. Focus is the key to a good sulk.

"You've been standing here for eight hours," Twilight continues.

"Yeah."

"Eight hours."

"Yeah."

"Aren't you a little worried about her too?"

"Yeah."

"Let me go in, then. I just want to check up on her."

"I reeeeally shouldn't do that," says my loyal and dutiful guard.

"Does this have anything to do with why Fireball transformed back into that monster thing and is rolling in that patch of itchweed behind the library?"

Polar Star's voice rises to an uncomfortable squeak. "Maybe."

"Oh, stars," Twilight mutters, then raises her voice: "Luna! Please come out! I want to talk with you!"

I make a mental note: If I am to be staying here for any appreciable length of time, I ought to see what might be done to further soundproof the room.

"Oooooo-kay," Twilight says, and leaves. I sigh in relief and return to my sulk.

Five minutes later, she has returned, amid the clopping of several more pairs of hooves.

"Let's try this again," Twilight Sparkle says. "Princess Luna's friends are very concerned about her and we want to make her feel better. Let us through, please."

"Pretty please!" Laughter adds.

Polar Star clears his throat. "My orders were very specific. Nopony else is allowed in."

"I brought cake!"

"Still no."

"This is for her own good," Loyalty says. "You want what's best for her, right?"

"I know the last pony who second-guessed Mistress Luna to do what he thought was best for her. Three words: 'Rolling in itchweed'."

"Alright," Twilight concedes, "this is getting us nowhere. Huddle, girls."

Hooves gather. There is the murmur of whispered voices, then a brief silence.

"Um … Polar Star," Honesty says, "it havin' been eight hours and all … don'tcha need to go to the bathroom?"

I hear Polar Star's hooves shift. "… Yeah."

"Well, tell ya what —"

"This is one of those plans that ends with somepony impersonating me because I'm allowed through, isn't it?"

"Oooh," Laughter says, "he's good."

"Let's just call that one a no in advance."

More whispers.

"Oh!" Twilight says brightly. "Why didn't I think of that?" She runs off upstairs. "Spiiike!"

"Where's she going?" Polar Star asks suspiciously.

"Don't worry about it, darling," Generosity says. "You just stay here and keep at your duties. Oh, you poor dear, your posture. You look like you could use a neck massage …"

"Look, lady, whatever it is you've got planned … hrrk. Nnnn. BLEARGHK!"

Generosity shrieks. Hooves thunder away upstairs, her wailing fading like a receding siren.

There is the dull thump of teleportation just outside the door. "Well," Twilight says triumphantly, "the Princess got some mail, so I guess you'd better … um. Where's Rarity going?" There is a brief pause. "Oh, ew!"

The door slams open. Polar Star stands in the doorway with smoldering eyes. "Scroll for you, Mistress," he snarls with poor grace, green slime spraying from his muzzle as he speaks.

A pink head pops up into my peripheral vision next to the bed, without covering the intervening distance. "Oh look the door was open so I guess we can come in how are you doing ohhhh you're all frowny I know what'll fix that a PARTY," Laughter blurts out in a single stream.

Four other ponies wedge their way past Polar Star toward me. "What she means, Princess, is that we haven't seen you since this afternoon and we're gettin' right worried," Honesty clarifies.

"I am sulking," I say with regal dignity, spread-eagled across my mattress. "It is an ancient and honorable method of seeking emotional equilibrium amid unfavorable circumstances."

"I used to do that," Twilight says, "but my friends have taught me there are better ways of dealing with your problems. Friends can help cheer you up when you're feeling down." She leans over me and gives me a hopeful smile. "And we can help fix what's wrong!"

I sigh and sit up, consoling myself that conditions had been inopportune for a sulk even before the interruptions. "I doubt that, Twilight Sparkle. I am rapidly approaching the conclusion that this is a difficulty inherent to my station."

"That's not true!" Twilight says, a bit of desperation creeping into her voice. "Ponies like you, Luna! They need a little bit of time to adjust, sometimes, but they do like you. Remember Nightmare Night?"

"Oh, yes indeed!" I say, perhaps a bit more caustically than she deserves. "The one night of the year when ponies allow themselves to enjoy being scared. I am the world's most accomplished expert in that field, certainly! The citizens of your town have been showing the highest respect at my skill, so much so that I cannot utter a single sentence before they scream and flee."

"There, um," Twilight parries, a smile etched onto her muzzle, "there have been some … misunderstandings, yes —"

"The Arugula Monster," Loyalty clarifies.

Twilight shoots the blue pegasus a sharp stare. "Rumors. Unfounded assumptions, which we've been trying to correct —"

"Your guards are actually undead zombies who go feral if they aren't fed pony flesh every three hours, and —"

Twilight jams a hoof into Loyalty's mouth. "Not. Helping," she whispers.

"Um," Kindness says, shifting uncomfortably, "maybe it was a little scary when Leafy Greens made his first sale, and the big, fangy, Fireball-monster tackled Bon-Bon and took the lettuce back —"

"What?!"

"Fluttershy!"

"Eep," Kindness squeaks, and backs away.

"Ooh!" Laughter chimes in excitedly. "Or when Leafy Greens tried to flee town with his cart, and the monster chased him over the edge of Ghastly Gorge!"

"Blessed stars!" I say, eyes widening. "Was he injured?"

"Nopers! He jumped off the cart before it went over the edge!"

The small knot of guilt at the back of my throat loosens. "Oh. Good."

I can see a subtle twitch developing at the corner of Twilight Sparkle's eye. "Girls," she says with false cheer, "we really should focus on the solution instead of the problem."

"Yeah, he was fine," Honesty adds. "But he wouldn't stop talkin' about it the entire time I was givin' him a ride back into town."

I feel the corner of my own eye twitch. Twilight and I exchange a glance — a singular shared moment of mutual powerlessness.

"Girls," Twilight pleads.

I whirl on Polar Star, wings flaring and hoof raising in royal posture. "Why did you not inform me of the full extent of this incident when you returned with Fireball?"

My guard's pupils contract to points and his posture goes rigid. "You … didn't ask?" he ventures, slinking backwards.

"Perhaps because I foalishly believed the topic self-evidently germane to my complete inability to assist the citizens of this village!"

Polar Star's backpedaling carries him into the cowering form of Kindness, who squeaks in shock. He yelps and leaps. They both dash out of the room.

"Lunapleasewait!" Twilight yelps as my righteous frustration begins to shimmer off of me in waves of energy. A gust of wind spirals around the basement. The wall begins to sparkle in the soft glow of the room's magelights as tiny ice crystals begin to seed.

"What."

"I asked them not to say anything."

My wind dies down. "… Thou what?" I query, shocked.

Twilight cringes. "I knew you wanted to help ponies. That's a really good thing! But if you'd known how much they were afraid … you would have gotten discouraged … you wouldn't have even tried." Her gaze gradually lowers to her hooves. "We've been trying to talk to ponies, calm them down, get them to listen to you. But it's slow work — every time we squash a rumor a new one pops up. I didn't think you were going to be back out on the roads so quickly. I just wanted a little more time before you heard what it was like and gave up."

I float back down to the bed and hop down to the floor. "Twilight …" I fold my wings and grope for words. "We are … touched. Upset at thy lies of omission, yes, but … even in that, thou showest a wisdom far beyond thy youth." I allow myself a sigh. "We fear — I fear you have the mark of me. Knowing now the truth, mine efforts seem a waste of time."

"They're not!" Twilight protests.

"Um …" Loyalty says, swinging a hoof, "to be honest, Twilight, maybe they kinda are."

"We're not saying she shouldn't be talkin' to ponies," Honesty hastily adds. "But maybe, we're goin' about this the wrong way."

Laughter gasps. "A party!" She bounces. "I've still got my chicken suit!"

"Nightmare Night has come and gone," I remind her, "and furthermore, I confess that Canterlot has left me with a profound distaste for being the center of attention at social gatherings."

Twilight taps a hoof to her chin. "Not a party, then … but." She gasps. "I think they're onto something, Princess!"

"Oh?"

"Night court!" she says brightly.

"… Night … court."

"Yes! I was reading up on it last week after your offhoof reference to it on Nightmare Night. There's ample precedent for holding court out of the palace to deal with regional issues. What better way to connect with the citizens of Ponyville and help everypony out?" She grins at me hopefully.

Her eyes are desperate. I fake a toothy smile.

A thousand images swirl to mind unbidden: self-entitled nobles demanding, at great length, preferential royal treatment for their projects; an endless stream of petitioners whose requests are too banal for the legislature, too esoteric for the bureaucracy, and too intricate for the general-welfare fund; estranged couples certain that external mediation will kindle a flame of love which both continue to vigorously quench; and that one peerlessly uncomfortable moment of explaining to an inconsolable filly that not even a princess can return her housepet from the Ever Upward.

"There is precedent," I allow, stalling, mind racing for a method of deflecting the idea without crushing the spirit of one of the few ponies whose affection I genuinely return. Ah: "But if the citizens of Ponyville already fear to speak with me, I hardly expect they shall summon the courage to approach me with grievances."

"That's where we come in!" Twilight says with unbounded enthusiasm. "We'll get everypony there. Then all you have to do is give a little speech — explain how the arugula cart thing was a huge misunderstanding — and then you can help ponies out with what they need." She beams. "Everypony! All at once! Isn't Night Court the best idea ever?"

More images: The eight-pony brawl over my inability to state my favorite team of the National Hoofball League; that startouched pegasus who requested relaxation of the lese-majeste laws so that he might attend future Night Courts for the sole purpose of insulting my parentage to my face; the innocent request to correct a minor spelling error in the university's most recent Pony-Zebran dictionary; the six-month diplomatic nightmare that resulted.

Twilight and the Elements lean forward, faces aglow.

I wilt. "I shall make arrangements."

* * *

I pace restlessly, the age-faded wooden floor of the Mason's Hall creaking under my feet.

"This was a poor idea," I say.

"We don't have any better ones," says Polar Star, who is lying sprawled on his back across an uneven pile of the theatrical props and chairs stored backstage.

"Except, perhaps," I observe, "for giving up."

"I don't think —" he starts, then cuts himself off. When I wheel about at the far end of my pacing, I realize he is staring uncertainly at my face.

"Thou m— you may speak freely."

Even so, he appears to choose his words carefully. "Thank you, Mistress. Have you considered that maybe there was something to what Fireball and Twilight said? You …" He shifts, sits up, looks at me earnestly. "Even counting how excited you got before this trip, I've literally never seen you as happy as when you sent that second letter back to Princess Celestia. Sure, things have been a royal mess since, but it's good to see you chasing that feeling. Believing in it. Wouldn't even one more moment like that be worth all this trouble?"

I feel my lips curl into a genuine and involuntary smile. "Perhaps so. Thank you, Polar Star."

"Sure." He settles back onto his uneven pile, prodding some wadded-up costumes into place to keep a box-edge from poking into his back.

I walk up to the stage curtains, horn shimmering to draw them back far enough to peek through. I stop myself at the last moment. I will have faith in the Elements.

The side door slams open, and Twilight's bound companion dashes backstage, wheezing for breath. "Princess!" he gasps. "Need … brass … monocle."

Polar Star and I exchange a quizzical glance. "… Pardon?" I ask.

"Rarity … sent me … ask … monocle." He gulps in air. "We need one fast and she thought. You might have brought one. From Canterlot."

"It is hardly the sort of apparel which either fashion or necessity would dictate for my station," I say. "Have you tried the stallions-wear store in Town Square?"

"Can't find. It any more."

"'Any more'? What do you —"

"Ah," Polar Star says, rummaging through his pile of props, grasping a small shining object in his teeth and flinging it at the dragon. "Here you go."

Twilight's companion whirls to catch it, eyes lighting up. "Thank you!" Then his eyes widen. "Uh … this has a silver rim."

"Sorry, munchkin," Polar Star says. "Best we can do."

"Glrk. Maybe it'll work anyway. Wish us luck!" The dragon dashes off again before I can inquire for an explanation.

"What an odd little creature," I say.

Polar Star shrugs and lies back down.

A wandering thought percolates through my mind as I return to my pacing. "Polar Star," I finally ask, "what are you doing backstage with me?"

"Resting," he says immediately.

"I can see that," I say. "However, it occurs to me that I directed you and Fireball to stand at the main entrance to this building, in accordance with Court tradition."

"Six twenty-four," he says.

"… Pardon?" I ask again.

"Legislative Regulation 624. We played Rock-Scroll-Scissors and I won."

"I have not yet memorized the hundreds upon hundreds of regulations instantiated since mine exile," I say, ears flattening, "and I am greatly unamused with thy casual dismissal of thine orders. I suggest thou explainest."

At the tone of my voice, he bolts upright. "Oh, no. There's nothing casual about it, Mistress. Twilight showed us the rule. 'At any official Canterlot-sanctioned event held within 30 leagues of any Equestrian border, all nobles attending in an official capacity must be accompanied by a guardspony at all times.' Since the rule was passed over Celestia's veto, after she got kidnapped at the Summer Sun celebration, we're obliged to follow it despite any orders to the contrary."

I frown. "But it is a breach of court protocol to have a single guard controlling access to any event."

"Yeah, she mentioned that too when she led Fireball away."

"But why would she … oh. Clever." I sigh. "I shall have to have words with her regarding her methods after this event, but once again I find wisdom in her approach."

Polar Star lets out a breath, gives me a hopeful smile, and begins to lie back down. "Yeah, she's a smart —"

There is a distant rumbling. The building rocks gently back and forth.

"Stars and feathers!" I cry, dashing for the side door to exit the building and investigate.

With a bright flash of light, Twilight Sparkle appears in my path.

"Six twenty-five!" she blurts out, wild-eyed, throwing herself across the doorway.

"… Pardon?" I say, beginning to dislike that word.

"If the civic division providing the venue is unable to provide for adequate security as defined in subsection (B) —"

"What is going on, Twilight Sparkle," I snap as dust showers from the ceiling.

"We're taking care of it!" she pleads.

There is a low and distant roar, followed by several dull thumps and another rumble.

"I will not sit idly by as disaster strikes the ponies I am here to assist."

"No!" she wails. "You have to stay right here or Night Court could be … cancelled!"

"But —"

"Please," she begs, eyes wide, lower jaw trembling.

I stare at her helplessly, then let out a long sigh. "Very well."

"Thankyou thankyou thankyou we'll fix it see you in fifteen minutes everything will be fine. By the way," Twilight adds hurriedly, "do you have a brass monocle?"

"Your companion already asked," I say.

"Oh," she says, crestfallen. "On to Plan C. Polar Star, I can activate your transformation if you let me, right? Let's go save Ponyville."

At his name, my faithful guard sits up, raising an eyebrow. "Um," he says uncertainly, "but six twenty-four?"

Twilight's pupils shrink to dots. "Oh fudge! But Fireball's still hurt, and on top of that, swollen up from the …" She gasps. "Of course! Polar Star, you're a genius."

"Um …? Thanks?"

There is a flash of light, and Twilight is gone again. Another distant rumble sets the racks of stage lights to swaying.

Polar Star sits on the props, jaw hanging open.

"But …" I say, then shake my head and resume pacing.

There is the rumble of a distant building collapsing.

"… I will have faith in the Elements," I say.

After several long minutes of rumbling, roaring, thumping, and swaying, there is one final crash, and then stillness.

I sigh in relief. "Ah, good." I check the time: Ten minutes until Night Court.

Polar Star, who has been pacing alongside me, looks up. "Do you think we should —"

"No," I interrupt. "We will have faith in the Elements."

A long, quiet rumble builds up, and does not recede.

"Okay, to thunderbanks with this," Polar Star says, marching toward the side door. "That sounded like the Ponyville Dam. Mistress, let's go — hrrk. Nnnn. BLEARGHK."

I snatch the scroll out of the green slime on the floor. "Everything's fine! See you in ten. -T.S."

"Faith in the Elements," I repeat faintly.

The minutes drag by. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Finally, at one minute to the hour, Twilight's companion staggers in through the side door, scales waterlogged, leaving a trail of puddles in his wake. He shakes himself off and gives me a smile which, in its false cheer, borders on a grimace. "I, uh, think we're ready to get started," he says.

"Faith in —" I say before my brain catches up with me. "Yes. Thank you. Of course."

The clock ticks to the hour. Underneath the curtains, I see the house lights dim. A spotlight snaps on at center stage. The little dragon grabs a stack of cue cards, slips out through the curtain, and clears his throat.

Polar Star glances at me nervously. "Faith in the Elements," he repeats.

"Fillies and gentlecolts," Twilight's companion announces, "thank you for attending this special session of Night Court. By special arrangement, Her Royal Highness Princess Luna has come to Ponyville from Canterlot in order to hear greev." Pause. "Grievings."

"Grievances," Twilight stage-whispers from somewhere in the auditorium.

"Right. Grievances. Also to aduh. Adjuh."

"Adjucate."

"Adjucate problems. Right injustices. And grace us with her immortal wisdom." He clears his throat nervously. "Please give a warm welcome to Her Highness."

I step out through the curtain into the spotlight … and dead silence.

Then a single pair of hooves clops together from the front row, echoing around the room.

I squint against the light, then abandon all pretense of dignity and raise a hoof to shield my eyes. The darkened auditorium is empty, save a single pony in the front row and a huddled, miserable cluster of seven ponies in the last.

The Elements are sprawled out in their chairs, muddy and dripping. Twilight Sparkle has a small green alligator clamped to her left ear and is desperately flipping through a waterlogged law book. Honesty is slumped low, attempting not to be seen; she is wearing a silver monocle, and her normal headwear has been replaced by a black velvet top hat. Loyalty, tangled up in a fishing net, is upside down in her chair, hinds undignifiedly flailing. Generosity — coated horn to hoof in cake icing, glitter, and macaroni — is rocking back and forth, eyes fixed forward in a thousand-cubit stare. Laughter is seated upon Kindness's shoulders in an awkward slant suggesting adhesive, wearing a clown wig whose hair has straightened into a limp and sopping multicolored mess; Kindness is sitting with forelimbs awkwardly outstretched, desperately whispering to a horde of rats which are clinging to them and refusing to be dislodged.

Fireball, sitting amid them, is coated head to toe with thin green dragon-saliva, sprigs of itchweed stuffed haphazardly through his armor straps and threaded through his mane and tail, attempting not to move a single muscle, eye twitching every time one of the Elements jostles him in his seat.

My eyes return to the front row. The sole Night Court attendee is an elderly green mare with an apple mark, squinting at me through clouded eyes, her white mane drenched but remaining tight in its bun.

I clear my throat uncertainly and address her directly: "Welcome to Night Court, my little pony. How is it that we might assist you?"

She stops clapping and sits up, startled. She looks around the room. "Night Court?" she asks nopony in particular. "Isn't this Wednesday?"

I open my mouth. I make my most valiant attempt to form and speak words. "…" is what issues forth.

"Um," Twilight's companion says, "no. It's Thursday."

"Oh," the mare says, disappointed.

She stands and hobbles out of the building.

Granny Smith: Coda

A muffled voice from outside the door breaks my concentration: "Look, we really need to talk to her."

"No," says Polar Star.

"Please."

"I believe her exact words were, 'go away'."

I do my best to ignore them. Focus is the key to a good sulk.

Blade

"Please allow me to ascertain that I have correctly interpreted this statement," I say levelly. "Polar Star … You aver there does, in fact, exist a place we may go in Ponyville to find ponies who desire both my assistance and conversation."

His eyes flick around the room. He nods.

"Despite all that has occurred."

He nods.

"You are certain."

He winces, and finds some point on the wall to study in great depth, turning his gaze as far from mine as possible. He nods.

"He is certain?" I ask Twilight. Twilight nods.

"And" — I turn back to Polar Star — "you have known of this opportunity All. Along."

As the Royal Canterlot Voice thunders through the basement, he bolts. His figure returns to the room hinds first, encased in a purple glow, wings and hooves flailing for midair purchase. He drops to the floor in front of me. Twilight clears her throat and prods his side.

Polar Star whimpers and nods.

I press my hoof against my forehead, and take several deep breaths.

"It is a remarkable thing," I state. "I am encountering quite some difficulty in summoning within myself the outrage which this situation truly deserves."

"That's because the Elements of Harmony took away your spooky angry face!" Laughter says.

Polar Star pales. He leans over to Laughter, and whispers: "You mean that wasn't her angry face the second time you got into her bedroom?"

"Oh, no," Laughter says. "She was much scarier before we blasted her with rainbows."

Polar Star bolts again. Twilight drags him back in again.

I step forward and bring my muzzle to his, close enough to see the beads of sweat on his brow. "And," I say softly, "why, pray tell, didst thou omit knowledge which might have allowed us to bypass this entire ruinous debacle?"

His jaw works; no sound emerges. Twilight helpfully prods him in the side again.

"… I was scared," he says.

"Clearly."

"Of what you'd think of me."

I coolly hold his gaze for a moment, then break away and stomp across the room. "Unbelievable."

"Um," Kindness says. "Please, Princess, don't be too mad, that is, he meant well —"

"On the advice of our sister," I say, "we have tolerated the most outrageous laxities of discipline and decorum in the Night Guard. Clearly, it is not the elite and feared fighting force which we led a millennium ago. But this. This! It is too far. For a Royal Guardspony to so soil the honor of his position by placing base vanity above his duties —"

"Princess?" Twilight manages to work in edgewise.

"Be thou quiet, Magic," I say. The temperature in the room lowers a degree. "How dare thee, Polar Star. How dare thee. For a millennium prior to our exile, and a millennium after, the Royal Guard hath represented the best and brightest of Equestria, those who have been called to stand closest to divinity herself, sun and moon both. It is not us who thou insultest to-day, but a forty-generation legacy." I wheel and shout in his face: "Courage! Honor! Strength! Do the highest ideals of the Guard mean so little to you?"

"Princess," Generosity pleads.

"You. Hush," I snap to the other ponies in the room. Ice crystals again begin to form.

Polar Star, for his part, is sitting stunned, horror spreading across his quivering muzzle.

I lean in, wrench his jaw level with a brief hornburst, and hiss: "What hast thou to say for thyself?"

He squeezes his eyes shut rather than meet my gaze. "Mistress. I … I never wanted …" Tears escape down his cheek. "I'm so sorry. You deserve better. I'll … I'll resign."

"No," I thunder. "Thou wilt not. Resignation is too good for thee, Polar Star. In the morning, thou wilt deliver me unto this location of which thou speakest, and thou wilt face our judgment of thy vanity in full measure. Then, we shall return to Canterlot, and we shall search through the entire structure of the Equestrian Guard until we find the most base and abject post to which thou couldst be assigned. And there thou wilt languish until the end of thy nights."

Kindness bursts into tears and runs sobbing from the room.

"Princess!" Twilight cries.

"What."

She works her jaw silently as I turn my gaze upon her. "… Please," is all she can manage.

I stare, unamused, then turn my back. "Depart from our sight. All of you."

"But —"

"Now."

They retreat. I stare pointedly at the back wall, neck straight, wings out and quivering, hoof lifted.

"Don't fret none," I hear Honesty whisper to Polar Star behind me. "It'll be alright. She's overreactin', is all."

Polar Star sobs and trudges away, hoofsteps slow and heavy.

I hold my pose for several seconds after the door closes, then glance back to make certain that I have been left alone in the room. I wait for the sounds of hooves to finish retreating up the stairs.

Then I throw myself to my bed and, likewise, burst into tears.

I attempt to console myself that it was a necessary harshness. That an example must be made, and a Royal Guardspony afraid to perform his duties is a line Equestria dare not cross.

But I keep seeing the tears streaming down Polar Star's face. Dear, faithful Polar Star. I keep hearing Kindness' sobs as she flees.

And my heart rips along with theirs.

* * *

I am interrupted once during the night. Polar Star enters, muzzle green, and sets a scroll down at the corner of the bed. I lift it far enough to note the solar seal and then fling it into the corner unopened. My guard slinks out without a word.

Breakfast is pancakes and silence.

Twilight Sparkle, Polar Star and I sit in mutual solitude, trisecting the arc of the oversized kitchen table. Twilight's companion tiptoes back and forth between us and the stove, as if sneaking past the slumbering muzzle of one of his largest ancestors. Polar Star stares at his plate. Twilight Sparkle stares at me. I stare into the empty space between them.

Twilight finishes her first serving, then very deliberately places a hoof on the table and pushes her plate away from her with the slow scrape of ceramic on wood.

I float a geometrically precise triangle of bread and syrup to my muzzle, chew, then dab the corner of my mouth with my napkin.

"Celestia told me two things," she says, shattering the silence. "One, that she has another letter for you to read once you've decided where you're reassigning Polar Star. And two —" her voice remains level with obvious struggle — "that I shouldn't talk to you about what you did until after you return from today's trip." She stands and stalks out of the room. "So I won't."

Et tú, Twilight?, a small voice in the back of my mind mutters.

Polar Star looks up for the first time as she departs. His eyes flick over in my direction. He freezes. I sigh and set down my utensils. He straightens to rigid attention, gaze snapping out into the middle distance.

My hunger evaporates. "Come," I say, leaving my last pancake unfinished. Polar Star scrambles into step behind me, and we walk to the front door.

I swing the door inward as Honesty raises her hoof to knock.

"Oh, hey, Twi, I — oh." She scrambles out of my way and dips her head. "Your Highness."

She's overreactin', is all. My stomach twists.

For a moment, my resolve wavers. "Applejack?" I say. "I … would ask thee a question."

"If ya gotta," she says.

Her tone gives me pause. Do none of them realize my obligations? How dare they judge me after all I have endured — all I have sacrificed. If even those who would call themselves friends cannot understand what Equestria requires of me, my second thoughts are fruitless.

Nevertheless, Honesty is awaiting my question. I glance around at the trail of devastation from the previous day's debacle, and the obvious escape presents itself: "What is the best manner in which to offer our assistance to the Ponyville reconstruction effort?"

"Oh!" The query appears to catch her off guard, and she glances back as if to remind herself that the town is, in fact, in ruins. "Honestly, Princess, somethin' like this happens 'round about every other week. They've got rebuildin' down to such a science that most times even me an' Mac just get in the way." She clears her throat. "I wouldn't worry about fixin' town."

"Very well," I say neutrally. In the ensuing silence, her muzzle sinks into a frown. I refrain from gritting my teeth, and lean forward. "Then I shall attend to my royal obligations."

Uncertainty crosses her muzzle, and at her hesitation, I look around for my chariot, seizing the opportunity to end this conversation. I espy it parked around the side, and glance back at Polar Star — only to see Honesty placing a comforting hoof on his withers, gazing earnestly at his face.

Polar Star is standing at full attention, eyes fixed into space. His jaw quivers at her touch, but he does not spare her a single glance. He anticipates my question, gives me a brief nod, and high-hoof trots over to the chariot, the very model of professionalism.

Honesty — left with a hoof hanging awkwardly in midair — frowns at me again and walks inside, slamming the door behind her.

I settle in to my chariot seat as Polar Star straps himself in. "Will Fireball be joining us?" I ask, looking at the empty second lead.

"Mistress, no," Polar Star says crisply. "Doctor-ordered medical leave."

"Oh."

Polar Star says nothing more, and I realize he is awaiting my order.

"That is good," I say, because it sounds like something I ought to.

He nods in silence.

"That he is getting rest," I clarify. "After his brave sacrifice in defeating the dragon."

After long moments, Polar Star says simply, "Yes, Mistress."

I find myself growing steadily more unnerved. It is like speaking to one of Celestia's walls of meat. "Stop that," I order.

He turns back to meet my gaze for the first time since my challenge the previous night. "Stop what?" he says. "… Mistress."

"That."

He looks at me with increasing unease, then nods and turns back into his lead in silence.

I very nearly confront him on the false respect of his formality, but pragmatism wins out: No discipline I might administer could hold any worse threat than that which I have already promised. I shift the topic instead. "To what location shall we depart?"

He begins to trot stiffly. "Not far from where I lived, Mist—" He catches himself. "… Where I lived four years ago."

I digest this. "You lived in this town?"

"Yes, Mih." I can see his shoulder muscles work as he swallows. "… Yes." He turns on the main road and brings the chariot up to speed. "For a time."

"And yet you recognized none of its streets nor landmarks when we were assisting Leafy Greens?" I attempt to make it sound curious rather than accusatory.

"Not on this side of the tracks."

"Surely Ponyville cannot be that large in size, that any resident may remain ignorant of its geography for long."

"When we cross the tracks, Mistress," he says, "you'll understand."

He trots east in silence, through Town Square and past Generosity's boutique, then along an arterial road through an increasingly residential neighborhood. As we near the edge of town, he turns south on a poorly marked but wide street. The houses shrink in size as we travel, and begin to accumulate signs of aging and disrepair: peeling paint, overgrown yards, half-disassembled carts propped up on cement blocks.

The chariot lifts over a slight rise, wheels rumbling over iron rails, and the sights grow even more shocking.

A thin line of squalor clings to the edge of Ponyville like a scar across a flank, some two blocks deep and a dozen wide, squeezed together by the railroad track on one side and rocky, uncultivated hills on the other. Dropped haphazardly within the blight are squat grey stone buildings with barred windows; abandoned weed-choked lots; a large gutted shell of what once must have been an apartment building; and flimsy lean-tos of corrugated metal which one might charitably label dwellings.

From around corners and behind curtains, a dozen eyes stare at me with a suspicion that at first feels all too familiar — but this is a suspicion that precedes my watchers' shock of recognition. In truth, there is no shock at all. These ponies stare at me until my eyes meet theirs, and then — instead of pretending their attention was elsewhere — coolly hold my gaze for some moments. Finally, they turn away, slowly, deliberately.

A strange thrill runs up my spine … along with a few nibbles of fear. I am by no means unfamiliar with poverty, but this makes no sense. At the scrutiny of a princess, the proud poor flinch in shame, or comport themselves as befitting the richness of their spirit; the ambitious poor seek profit; the humble poor seek alms; the dishonest poor scatter like insects from an overturned rock. Not once since the Alicorn Ascendance have I been treated with disinterest.

What madness, this modern world?

Do they not recognize me? … How could they not recognize me, here in Ponyville of all places, whence my regrettable reign of terror began? Do they recognize me … and yet not care?

"Welcome to Lostside," Polar Star says quietly, as if that answers the question.

The first intersection at which we arrive appears to be the neighborhood's hub of commerce. The largest and most fortified of the buildings has a small sign advertising it as a pawnbroker's. On the opposite corner is a building painted faded orange, with a prominent sign stating "MARKET", even though the establishment seems of insufficient size to hold any significant stock of goods. From an even smaller, unmarked door directly adjacent, the scent of fry-grease wafts out. Just beyond it is a liquor store, a fortress almost rivaling the pawnbroker's in size and defense. The intersection's third corner stands open-doored into some variety of bar, with a muscular earth pony sitting discreetly inside the doorway. The fourth corner is another drinking establishment, but the advertisement over its closed door reads simply "SALT."

Polar Star smoothly turns left, taking us past a second, smaller liquor store; a featureless storefront bearing the ominous placard of "SPELLS CAST CHEAP"; a squat bunkerlike building that appears to be a gambling establishment; two more bars; a shop advertising paraphernalia of salt consumption; and a small studio with artwork displayed in the windows. The last is incongruous, and I examine it a moment before blinking in recognition.

"Ah! This is the first skin-inking establishment I have observed since my return," I say conversationally. "It is a pity they have fallen so out of fashion."

"Yes, Mistress."

It soon becomes clear no more is forthcoming. I press forward regardless. "In the 600s, there was quite the obsession with the alchemy of the Zebra. No small number of self-proclaimed indigenous practitioners promised to teach pony students their sacred mysteries through a complex and costly program of initiations, each of which was commemorated by the skin-inking of a black stripe. Equestria's skin-inkers trebled overnight, and even so, it was not uncommon to find renowned artists booked a year in advance. For a generation, walking into the soirees of the High Everfree Court felt as though visiting a foreign capital."

I await laughter, or a sharp-witted pun, or an off-color joke. As the silence begins to stretch out, Polar Star says only: "Fascinating, Mistress."

"Apparently so," I say — upset anew at him, and upset with myself for it. I change the subject. "Where are we going, Polar Star?"

"Hitchhiker's Corner."

The cart rolls past the vomit-stained walls of a medical clinic and a small complex of state buildings — most notably a beaten-down Guard outpost and a wellmare benefits office.

"Who is Hitchhiker?"

He turns his head back to look at me, apparently attempting to gauge whether I have asked the question in jest. "Not a who, Mistress. A what. Not many ponies here are the sort you'd want to meet, but that's where to find those you do."

"What is a hitchhiker, then?"

"It's. Um." He gropes for words as the cart passes a block-long fenced-in lot that appears to be a salvage-yard; several ponies inside are arguing over a pile of warped and aged building supplies, and pay us no mind.

"A pony who hikes hitches?" I guess. "A day-laborer, hired to fill empty leads for cart-pulling?"

"No, more than that. Supposedly that's where the term came from, but the word kinda … grew. It's about keeping on the go. Not wanting to be where you are. Sometimes that means doing day-labor and moving on from where they drop you off. Sometimes it just means catching a ride and seeing the sights. There's this whole culture to it that I don't think I can explain."

"Ah," I say, the puzzle assembling itself in my mind. "And you feared to reveal this to me because you were a hitchhiker, once."

"No, Mistress."

"Pardon?"

He trots in uncomfortable silence.

"Polar Star," I say in warning.

"Some hitchhikers helped me get here from Fillydelphia," he says quietly. "But I wasn't trying to keep moving. I just wanted to get away."

"Then I understand your fear even less."

"It wasn't the hitchhikers I was afraid to tell you about." He sighs, risks a look over his shoulder into my eyes, and summons his courage. "It was —"

"Hey!" a gravelly voice shouts from the sidewalk behind us.

Polar Star, who is already facing that direction, reacts to this interruption before I do. His eyes flick over to the voice's source, then go wide. He stops midsentence, whipping his head back around toward our direction of travel, and subtly picks up his pace.

"Stop the chariot!" I order, our conversation momentarily forgotten. Polar Star makes an odd little strangled sound in the back of his throat, but complies, staring forward at rigid attention.

I turn to the pony who hailed me, my most Celestial smile on my muzzle. Having gone to these lengths, I would be mad to deny anypony the opportunity to speak with me — hostile or no. Besides, it is not as though a princess and her retinue have anything to fear from a lone mortal.

That mortal is a sorrel-colored earth stallion whose facial features have been chiseled by age into a granite caricature of his younger self; the material thus eroded appears to have settled into the rolling hills of his torso. Said barrel is lumpy and gentle in a manner wholly at odds with his Cutie Mark — a pair of crossed mouthblades that would not look amiss as an insignia for an Equestrian Guard regiment.

"Salutations, my little pony," I say with regal gentleness. "How is it that I … might …"

He marches past me as if I have not even spoken, plants himself in front of my guard, and squints into Polar Star's face from mere inches away. Then his face lights up, and he lets out a short bark of incredulous laughter.

"Alicorn apples!" he says. "It really is you! What the rut are you doing back in Lostside, Polar Star?" He lunges forward, forehooves clamping around my guard in a bear hug.

"Aheh heh hrk!" Polar Star's chuckle is cut off for lack of air. He wheezes for a moment until the strange stallion eases off, and scrambles back to rigid attention. "Blade! Great to see you, it's been a while, we'll catch up later because I'm on duty."

"Duty?" Blade grabs Polar Star's head, and twists it in both directions, squinting at the light gleaming off of his helmet. "Rut me up the out hole, that's Royal Guard gear!" He turns to me, seeming to notice me for the first time.

I smile uncertainly; I might as well seize this opportunity. "Salutations, my little pony. Might I offer you a —"

His face cracks into a broad smile, one tooth prominently missing. "A job, Princess? Of course! It would be a drippin' honor to serve the crown again." Blade chucks a hoof at Polar Star's shoulder, clanging off his armor.

"That is not —" I begin, until I realize that I am about to make our first interaction a rejection of his cherished hopes. "Ah. Well."

But how can I not? Even though the Night Guard has changed in the last millennium in ways I despair of understanding, if this stallion is fit for the prestige of a royal post, I shall eat my sollerets.

I stall. "There are procedures, of course, and training …"

Wait.

"… Did you say 'again'?"

Blade waves a hoof loosely forward in a gesture that might charitably be agreed to resemble a salute. "Shoveled my road apples in the Third Royal Cavalry on the Mongrel Line in eighty-eight. You'll never catch me carrying a point again, but by Tartarus I'll give you your bits' worth for a fair day's work."

Now I am simply confused. "Then we shall see if we might assist in securing you employment," I say. "What skills do you possess?"

Blade looks confused himself for a moment, then barks out a laugh. "Ha! You sure found a joker, P.S." He draws himself up in an exaggerated swagger and harrumphs. "My cerviculum vitae, you ask? I am currently employed as royal ambassador to the squirrel kingdoms — but don't ask the pigeons for references, they're filthy liars. As to the matter of my qualifications! Well! They knighted me High Lord of Lostside last winter, after I saved the Seapony Barony using nothing but dental floss, a large chunk of granite, and a knocked-up sardine. I know ninety-seven foreign languages, including dinner party, and —"

"Blade," I interrupt, an edge creeping into my voice, "art thou mocking me?"

The question slams him to a halt. He glances at Polar Star, then back to me. "What?"

"Thou ask— you asked me for employment, and this is how you see fit to respond to mine inquiries?"

His mouth opens and closes. He points down at the chariot yokes. "Whoah there, High and Mighty, don't get grit up the slit. You're in Lostside with an empty lead. We both know what you're here for."

I feel my face flush as his colorful image passes through my mind. "I … but …" I recompose myself. "There appears to be a misunderstanding. The purpose of my visit is to better acquaint myself with the concerns of the common pony. I seek to offer my citizens the kind gesture of transportation to their destination, and meanwhile to engage them in conversation."

"Well, I'm common as road apples, and I'm concerned about a few bits in the bag. You'll want a full lead to pick up your passengers. And if you wanna gab while we trot … Tartarus, lady, whatever caulks your cart." He begins to fumble with the lead-straps.

My heart quickens. He wishes to speak to me!

No, a calmer and wiser voice cautions. He is willing to speak with me as part of what he mistakenly assumes to be an employment relationship.

But he wishes to speak to me! I cannot keep a smile from my muzzle.

The wiser part of me recognizes how desperate and delusional that must seem. I console myself that it is not as though I need to bribe respect and companionship from the common pony; this is merely a confidence-builder during my recovery from the missteps of the past several …

No. I cannot finish.

It is no use deceiving myself. I have so terrorized Ponyville that I cannot obtain simple conversation without travelling to the dregs of the city in order to purchase it from a road-mouthed friend of my guard's. My sense of victory wilts before it has even taken root.

And yet … here I am. I might as well make the most of this sordid situation.

I conceal a small sigh. "I shall make arrangements to remunerate you for your time."

"No problem! I'm easy!" he says, threading the chariot-yoke through the cinch. "But you are going to pay me, right?"

"… Yes, Blade. I am."

"You won't regret it!"

"Naturally."

Regrets mount, naturally.

I glance at Polar Star — still frozen at rigid attention, in the manner of a lone prey animal surrounded by timberwolves. He knew — feared — what I would find here. He went to great lengths to keep me from it. A sick clarity overtakes me. He feared what I would think of him … were he to propose I stoop this low. And I, in my arrogance and naïvete, punished him for his wisdom.

Polar Star happens to glance back as I am examining him, and our eyes meet. His lips curl into a grimace, poorly disguised as a smile. He turns his head back away.

"Polar Star," I say quietly, "might I speak with you privately for a moment?"

His ears twitch. "Yes, Mistress."

Admissions and apologies race through my mind as we step away from the chariot. You sought to warn me. I ought to have placed faith in your judgment. I was so obsessed with the perceived failure of your fears that I never considered their validity. I did not listen. You were right, and I did not listen.

I clear my throat uncomfortably. This time, it is I who cannot meet his gaze.

"It occurs to me that I failed to request your appraisal of our circumstances," is what comes out. It is a start. I look up, baring my teeth in a forced smile.

His ears are flat. His eyes are wide. His jaw hangs open. It is a look of terror no longer, but of horror — as if staring into the face of a monster. A monster! My breath catches. What did I say?

"Circumstances," he echoes.

We hold each other's stare. My heart pounds in my chest. My smile begins to itch on my cheeks.

I swallow and wingpoint at Blade. "I promised him employment without so much as requesting the insight of your prior experience. An error I desire to rectify."

Polar Star's face hardens. "Of course, Mistress," he says. "Because you've got to follow through on your promise, right?"

I blink. "Polar Star?"

"With all due respect, Princess," he snarls, straightening up to stand at attention, his eyes straying out into the distance, "stuff it."

I take an involuntary step back. "What —"

"You know something?" he barrels onward. "I really let myself believe that you were overreacting. I thought you cared about ponies. I respected you. But rubbing my nose in this? It's true what they say — Nightmare Moon just can't give up her grudges."

My brain seizes. Something in my gut plummets and crashes to the ground. The sound of it escapes my muzzle as a tiny, incoherent squeak.

"So bring it on," he continues, tone growing fiercer. "You're going to break me — I've got no illusions about that — but my time in the Royal Guard was the proudest of my miserable life, and I can at least face the end of that with the courage of the forty generations that kept Equestria safe from threats like you."

I stare at him, mute. My vision blurs. I try to blink it away, and I feel wetness spread down my cheek-fur.

"And I." I can see the blurry outline of his face finally turn to look at me. "Uh."

I quell my shaking, squeezing my eyes shut to recover my vision. When I open them again, he is staring at me, uncertain. Terrified.

Good.

"If it be the spirit of vengeance thou desirest as an employer," I whisper, "thou shalt have her."

"I," he stammers. "Hold on. Meeting him was intentional, right? It can't just be —"

"Stuff it," I hiss. I whirl and walk away, struggling to breathe without bursting into sobs. "Blade!"

"Almost … ready!" he calls back, teeth still clenched around the yoke-strap. "This thing's tighter'n a unicorn rut-ring on an earth pole."

"Cease thy blithering," I order. "We have immediate need of thy knowledge. Tell us of the most base, sordid, intolerable post to which thou ever wert assigned."

He looks up from the strap, then spits it out. "Tartarus, lady, you sure must be fun at parties. My year on the Mongrel Line's what I drink to forget."

I frown. "That war is fifteen years concluded. There must be some foreign posting as miserable in the modern Guard."

His eyebrows lift, then furrow. "Road apples. As bad as the Line? Well … I did hear some of the vets say at least we weren't fighting in Saddle Arabia. Too drippin' close to the sunrise. Land of the two-minute suntan. Too hot to think till noon."

"Yes!" I say. "Good." Equestria maintains an embassy there, and where there is an embassy, there are guard stations.

"Or the jungles of Brayzil. If the fever don't get you, the snapfish will." His eyes light up. "The Everfree! Oh, now that's gotta be a dam-rutter. I remember a pegasus who volunteered for the Line to get out of Everfree overflights."

"Excellent," I say, raising my voice in cold satisfaction. "There is a transfer I must arrange at once."

"'Course, even the Everfree," he says, "still would beat bein' a Moonie."

An argument from the distant salvage-yard drifts in to fill the sudden silence.

"What," I say.

He leans in conspiratorially. "The Night Guard. The out-hole of the force. They put 'em through these weird rituals and make 'em flesh-eating monsters. It turns 'em loose in the caboose." He twirls a hoof alongside his head. "Not that transferring's an option. The whole branch is so drippin' up-rutted that, no matter the applesauce you get yourself into, your CO can't ship you there without a hoofprint straight from Herself."

I glance back at Polar Star. He is staring at the ground, ears flat, face an ill shade of pale.

"Got some great jokes about 'em, though," Blade says. "How many Moonies does it take to screw in a magelight?"

I can bear no more. I whirl and flee.

* * *

My mind is aroil as I gallop. My beloved Night Guard — once Equestria's most stalwart and legendary defenders — now the mocked and pitied dregs of the armed forces. But how could it be otherwise? They are mine, and as with everything else I have ever touched, they lie in pathetic ruin.

Just as with Polar Star. Polar Star! How could he have said such things? The tears burst forth, and soon I am galloping blind. I respected you, his voice echoes in my mind. Nightmare Moon just can't give up her grudges. I respected you.

I cannot understand. What did I say? How could it have been worse than … than … promising to make the rest of his existence as miserable as possible, in a worthless effort to defend the nonexistent integrity of the Night Guard. Sweet stars, no wonder they think me so horrible.

Around me, the blurry shapes of carts and buildings crowd in, and I take to the skies. It is not fair! Do good intentions count for naught? Even as my mission has crumbled to dust around me, every last action I have attempted has been to demonstrate my reform and improve my reputation. Is there nothing I can do to prove myself worthy of returning to Celestia's side?

… Celestia.

I am halfway to the library before my mind fully processes the change of course. My sister believes in me. She is proud of my efforts. She will know how to repair this ruination. I can send her a scroll via Polar … no. Via Fire … no. Via Twilight's companion? Not likely; fresh guilt seeps into my heart as I remember the stares at breakfast.

Wait. Twilight mentioned a second letter!

I tuck my wings in for a steep dive and hurtle through the library's open window, hooves slamming into the floor with a thunderclap, the shockwave of my entrance provoking a squawking owl from his perch amid a cloud of dun feathers. Twilight, too, leaps up from her writing-desk and spins to face me, yelping. "Dash! I told you —" She blinks. "Oh. Um —"

"The letter," I demand.

Twilight freezes. Her eyes flick backward guiltily to an open scroll on the desk, her dropped quill bleeding ink onto its half-filled surface.

"Celestia's letter," I clarify. "Where is it?"

"It. I." Recognition sparks in her eyes, and a scroll bearing a solar seal lifts from atop a pile on one side of her desk. "This?"

I snatch it from her hornglow, breaking the seal and unrolling it in a single urgent motion. "Hold on, Princess," she protests weakly, but I am already reading:

My beloved sister,

This was the hardest lesson I ever had to learn from our conflict: Sometimes, love requires letting those you care about make their own mistakes.

By now you've discovered the hard way what last night's letter would have revealed within moments. I'm truly sorry it had to be so, but what could I have done? To force you to listen would have been to return to my days of well-intentioned arrogance which so deeply wounded you. Never again, Luna. Never again.

I am not blameless in today's errors, and I will assist as I can in their repair. However, there is one thing which I cannot do, and which I strongly suggest be undertaken before this misunderstanding escalates any further: mend the heart of a guardspony whose regard for you, even now, is without peer in the modern age.

Celestia

I stare at the scroll numbly.

"Princess?"

I reread the final sentence, feeling the corners of my vision once again blur.

"… Luna?"

I glance up into the face of the living embodiment of the Element of Friendship. The corners of her muzzle are tugged into a frown, which drifts into open-mouthed concern as our eyes lock together in the manner of paired lodestones.

She swallows. "I," she says. "We should. Um. Maybe talk about, uh, what you …"

Twilight trails off as I sink to my cannons, choking back a sob. The scroll falls from my horngrasp and rolls away. I lunge forward, clasping my hooves around her foreknees. Another sob bursts free, taking my breath with it.

She stands above me, frozen awkwardly. "Um. Princess, I …" She pauses, and when she speaks again, it is in a quiet and hesitant tone. "Luna? What's wrong?"

I cannot fix this. This is all my fault, and I cannot fix this.

"Twilight," I whisper. "Help me."

Author's Note

IT'S ALIIIIIIIIIIIVE

Sorry about the cliffhanger. I promise it won't take me seven months to update this time.